The snow was thick, but the flashing emergency lights cut through the white dark like strobe lights.

Three police vehicles had stopped near the security gate.

Officers were already climbing out, their weapons drawn, shouting commands into the wind.

But they were still too far away to help us inside the cabin.

Marcus was trying to get back to his feet, his hand rubbing his bloody chin.

The other two guards were backing toward the rear exit, firing blind shots toward the companionway.

“We have to go,” one of them yelled to Marcus.

“The cops are on the pier!”

Marcus looked at me, his eyes filled with a quiet, dangerous hatred.

He knew he could not escape the harbor, but he wanted to finish his job first.

He reached into his jacket for a backup piece.

I leveled my weapon at the center of his chest.

“Do not do it,” I said.

My voice was flat, devoid of any anger or fear.

He froze, his hand disappearing into the fabric of his coat.

The boat struck another piling, tilting the deck at a sharp angle.