DOUBLE KNOT by Gretchen Archer Page B

couldn’t help but join her. “Music puts me to sleep. The Hallmark Channel. Red lights.
     Lots of things. I fall asleep. There’s nothing you can do but get me out of here so
     I can get my meds. Or deal with it.”
    I was entirely too exhausted to deal with one more thing. I was too tired to think
     another thought and she needed to lie down somewhere so she didn’t break her neck
     the next time she decided to slam asleep. “It’s been a long day and it’s late,” I
     said. “We need to get you in a bed.”
    The word “bed” must do the trick too. Luckily, we caught her.
    “Now what?” I was having trouble holding up my half of Jess.
    “Come on.” Fantasy was carrying more than her half of Jess.
    Past the salon, we took a left and thumped Sleeping Beauty down three short steps.
     It wasn’t hard to figure out which was the empty crew cabin, because between the three,
     there was one open door. A thin light shone from under the door of the room at the
     end of the narrow hall and the door directly in front of us was dark and closed.
    We tucked Jessica in the bed and got out of there as fast as we could. We fell on
     our sofa in the moonlit salon.
    “What is going on?” Fantasy whispered.
    “I don’t have a clue.” I whispered back.
      
    * * *
      
    At midnight, the clock clicking from Saturday to Sunday, I locked the door to my stateroom
     behind me. I gathered my cat, pajamas, prenatal vitamins, and toothbrush, and was
     in a hurry for the bed when I stepped into the gold bathroom and saw an envelope taped
     to the mirror above the vanity. It was addressed to me. I recognized my name right
     away; I’ve had it all my life. The problem was—I took slow and steady steps toward
     the envelope—no one outside 704 knew my name. Correspondence to me aboard Probability should have been addressed to Bianca Sanders. Not Davis Way Cole. I reached for it,
     curious and apprehensive at the same time. I opened it to find a photograph of my
     boss, No Hair. My knees gave way and the vanity caught me. Hands bound behind his
     back, legs secured at the ankles, clothes disheveled, his tie gone, and his lower
     lip split wide open, he was in a straight chair against a wall between two dark porthole
     windows. No Hair was someone’s prisoner. He looked straight at me when the picture
     was taken, his eyes apologetic, but everything else about his expression and posture
     was livid.
    My head swam and I saw stars. I backed up to the square porcelain bathtub in the middle
     of the gold floor and sat down on the wide edge. I read the letter.
      
    Mrs. Cole,
    To ensure your safety and that of your guests and loved ones, sit back and settle
     in, because you’re not leaving your suite. Rest assured no harm will come to anyone
     as long as you follow these simple instructions: Do not attempt to escape or make
     contact with anyone. Jeremy Covey will be detained for the duration of the cruise,
     as will you and your party. You will walk off this ship unharmed if you cooperate.
    Unfortunately, the medical staff accompanying you tried to board with controlled substances
     and was refused passage. They’re not looking for you. Your photography crew has been
     reassigned. They’re not looking for you. No one is looking for you. There’s no way
     out. Not only is escape impossible, you will most assuredly jeopardize everyone’s
     welfare if you attempt any overt attention-seeking endeavors. In other words, Mrs.
     Cole, don’t start a fire. You’ll burn.
    Arrangements have been made to communicate with your husband for you. Should you try
     to contact him directly and by some miracle succeed, you run the risk of never seeing
     him again.
    Relax, follow these simple instructions, and all will be well. Attempts to escape,
     alert your husband, the authorities, or other passengers will be met with deadly consequences.
     It’s up to you.
      
    And that was it.
    We were hostages on a luxury cruise liner.

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