Unlucky 13 (Women's Murder Club 13)

Lyle had snapped at her, “Put on your vest and go upstairs, Mrs. Brady. Go now.”

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Yuki had dialed Brady’s number, and when his outgoing message came on, she had left a message of her own.

“I’m going to the Veranda Deck,” she said. “Look for me.”

Panting, her hands shaking uncontrollably, Yuki had found her deck shoes on the floor of the closet. Her life vest was under the bed—and so was Brady’s.

She had put the vest around her and then had taken a last look around the cabin. Opening the drawer of the night stand, she had found her new coral necklace, her wedding gift from Brady. Clutching it, she joined the throng heading for the stairs.

CHAPTER 56

THERE HAD BEEN four armed men at the top of the stairs. They wore camouflage and ski masks, black with slits for the eyes and mouth. They had held serious assault weapons, and that was when Yuki understood that the captain had nothing under control. He had lied trying to keep order.

Her blood had rushed to her feet.

Lightheaded, close to fainting, she’d grasped the banister and began to climb. Terror had squeezed out any hope in her mind that this evacuation was about engine failure.

This was an attack.

Where was Brady? Was he even alive?

The men—pirates, as she thought of them—had directed the passengers at the top landing, sending the elderly and the women and children to the left. Men were sent to the right. Anyone who hesitated was shoved or poked with a gun.

Yuki and the rest of those sent to the left were herded into the Veranda Lounge, the pirates deliberately terrorizing the passengers who were as vulnerable as baby birds on a high window ledge. Then all the lights had gone out and Yuki had heard muffled gunfire.

What was happening?

A woman in a red kimono-like robe, her hair in a topknot, leapt up from the floor and shouted at the closest gunman.

“I need my medication. I need water. I need to use the toilet. I’m sixty-seven years old. Let me go back to my cabin. I’m not a flight risk.”

The gunman told her to shut up and sit down and then gave her a shove.

There was shrieking, and people shrank from the armed men, but another woman shouted, “You can’t keep us here like this. We are human beings.”

A gunman raised the muzzle of his gun and fired into the air, sending a shower of glass and plaster down on their heads.

The screaming that followed was cold, sheer horror transmuted into sound. It had been a building panic with nowhere to go.

Yuki had taken her phone out of her robe and pushed the button to record. She had narrated her video in a whisper but a gunman had seen what she was doing. As he was coming toward her, Yuki had quickly sent the video to Lindsay.

The gunman had grabbed her phone, dropped it, and crushed it under his boot.

“You’re crazy sending pictures,” he had shouted into her face. “And crazy has to pay.”

He had backhanded her across the face. Yuki staggered back, but due to the sheer density of people surrounding her, she didn’t fall. She’d never in her life been struck in the face. The pain was excruciating, and she’d heard herself moan.

She wished she could take that moan back.

She wished she hadn’t shown that she was afraid.

Another big man appeared in the doorway, at least six feet and maybe two hundred pounds, also wearing fatigues and mask.

He had shouted, “Everyone shut up! Sorry to be blunt, but everyone just shut the fuck up, okay?”

A restive quiet came over the lounge as the passengers muffled their fear and waited to hear what was coming.