Derek held onto me as he looked over his shoulder to scan the hall. I shifted the angle of my head to spy over his tall frame, seeing only a few shadows flit passed the glass windows.

            He looked back at me, glancing up and down at my figure with an aggravated look as someone screamed from inside.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Someone dropped their caviar. We're free to continue—"
"Derek," I sighed.
He groaned then kissed my lips. "Fine, we'll go."

            He swung open the door, pausing for a moment to shoot me a jocular grin.
"We can make up for lost time later."

            My mouth hung open as he drifted inside, chuckling to himself. Evil, evil man.

            I entered the room to find a silence cast over the party guests. Derek's mouth was shut, his body completely safe as a commotion occurred in the centre of the room.

            Three figures had infiltrated the party, each clutching a heavy firearm. Two were burly men, the other the sandy-haired woman.

            Her peach-pink dress was a stark contrast to the weapon she clutched. Earlier in the evening, she appeared so innocent; a young woman dressed to impress for a night out while on her holiday of a lifetime. But she was here on business. The dark mark on her forearm told us that.
"You didn't notice the tattoo on her arm," I whispered to Derek.
"I wasn't looking at her forearm."
"Oh. And where were you looking, Derek?"
A pause. "... I was looking at you."

            I hid my blush behind an eye roll.

            One of the men had a woman in hand – the middle-aged one that critiqued me viciously at the buffet table – and pressed the barrel of his gun into her skull. She sobbed into the tiles as she was pushed further and further into the floor.

            The sandy-haired woman stepped ahead of the men that flanked her.
"I want your attention and I want it now!" The room stirred. "I know for a fact that Derek Barnes and Amber Knight are somewhere in this room." We shared a swift glance. "We have a hostage in hand, and demand you both turn yourselves in. Otherwise, we pull the trigger."

            The woman's whimpers echoed through the walls as her guard hit her on the back of her head.

            If I was alone, I would have turned myself in the second I spotted the hostage, even if she was cruel to me. However, with Derek standing beside me, sharing the same unsure expression, I was faced with doubt. There was a chance that Alistair was prepared to let me live – Mika proved to hold a different approach when he paid me a visit at home – but after being questioned, Derek's fate was sealed. I was not prepared to sign his death warrant.

            But the woman was innocent. She was a bitch, of course, but did not deserve to die for it.

            I slipped my hand to the table behind me and wrapped my fingers around a cheese knife.
"We're here," I called. Derek shot me a sideways glance, clearly hopeful I had a few shreds of a plan.

            The woman raised her chin to meet my stare from within the crowd and the guests parted, creating a path for Derek and I to march through.

            The older lady whimpered, her once-secure, twisted hairstyle now ripped from its pins, grey ringlets noosing around her neck.
"Let her go," I ordered.
The woman's pouted lips smiled. "When you get here," she said. "Don't try anything stupid."
"She'd rather we try something clever?" Derek quipped. "Is that not worse for her?"
"Shush." I felt him grin at my frustration but showed no sign of responding.

            The woman's vulpine hazel eyes ran up and down my appearance. "I've heard a lot about you recently, Knight. Alistair wants you alive."
Not Derek, then. "Is that so?" I took my eyes off her for a second, scanning for any lifeline surrounding us.
"Yes," she replied, smiling. She cocked her head, blonde waves falling off her shoulder. "Do you want to know what I think?"
"I don't think anyone really cares, dear," said Derek. The dryness of his tone almost made me choke.
She blinked and adapted her stance. "I think you and Barnes are liabilities; that you should be killed here and now for getting in the way."

            The crowd shifted with panic.

            "That's not your job to decide that," Derek retorted. "You follow orders – Alistair's given you one."
"He has," she said. Her pink lips stretched into a crooked smirk as her grip secured around the firearm at her side, fingers caressing the trigger. "But I work for Mika."

            We were barely a second faster than her. I swung the knife for the brute gripping the hostage, striking him between the eyes with an acute motion. Derek threw a kick at the sandy-haired woman, knocking her to her knees.

            The second male guard opened fire. We dove under separate dining tables as bullets unleashed upon the ballroom, ripping though the paintwork and fabric around the room, the shrieking sound drumming against my ears.

            I poked my head out from under the tablecloth, breathing a sigh of relief as most of the civilians bottlenecked out the doors.

            "How the hell did they find us?" Derek snapped.
I had to shout for him to hear me, "Scotty's helicopter," I guessed.
He groaned. "We need a way out."
As if it wasn't obvious. "Well done. Any other plans?"
"I don't see you contributing!"
"I just got rid of one!"
"With a cheese knife."
"Still did it, though!"

            He muttered under his breath but did not argue with me further. I locked onto the hostiles' positions; the male guard was turning on the spot, firing at every inanimate object in the room with the hope that he would eventually hit something living. The woman was nowhere to be seen.
"Where is she?"
Derek frowned. "I don't see her."
"Great," I huffed. "Now what?"
He swallowed. "The gun."
"It's all the way upstairs," I replied. I had left it in one of the drawers, out of sight from any cleaners that entered.
"We need it."
"It's too far." We were near-powerless against a machine gun while unarmed. Fighting back was a dangerous business, but we still had a chance at taking him out without running away. "We need to find another way."
"Do you want to take his gun?"

            The gunman stopped to briefly switch magazines then released a thundering of bullets upon the room once more. A waste of ammo, and a waste of time.
"We can't get out with him there."
"You can. Get out and go for the gun. Maybe the woman will reveal herself and follow you, so we can take them out separately."
"And what will you do? I'm not leaving you behind."
"I'll distract him... somehow. If I can take him out, I will."
"There's a lot of maybes in this plan." I shook my head. "I don't like it."
"I'm not here to give you a pep talk," he yelled. He met my stare for a moment and sent an encouraging nod. "I'm here to save your life."

            "Go!"

            I ran in one direction, he went in the other. The gunman spotted me first, firing a round my way. I ducked and rolled, dodging the bullets that now lined the way behind, and jumped up to sprint away as fast as I could manage in the heels strapped around my ankles.

            "Baldy!"

            Derek waved from the buffet table, brandishing a fuchsia weapon: a cherry pie. I seized the moment of distraction and burst through the double doors, hiding behind the wall and peeking through the glass to satisfy my curiosity.

            He threw the pie at him.

            The gunman was just as taken-aback as I was, growling deeply as he paused his shooting to wipe the sticky cherry syrup from his reddening face. Derek laughed, raising a lemon cheesecake.

            He sighed, shaking his head at the treat. "What a waste."

            He launched it across the room, the guard swallowing half the cream topping. It was unconventional, and few agents would have disapproved but it certainly was a distraction, at least.

            Derek cursed as the bullets fired his way – it was time for me to go.

            I darted through the dining room, pushing off the white-clothed tables to drive myself forward. Glasses were swept to the floor and cutlery clanged but there were bigger issues to concern myself with. The cruise was not a cheap one, and I figured the owner had a few thousand spare to revive any damage. I hoped so.

            There was no sign of the woman as I closed in on the door. It was so close, the light from the hallway beckoning me forward. Once there, I could climb the steps and snatch the gun from the room, then make my way back to save Derek.

            A fist met my nose.

            A pain-ridden cry escaped my lips as I fell on my back.

            The woman had slotted herself into a hiding spot, a column concealing her slim figure. She smiled as I forced myself to my feet, eyes taunting her into another attack.

            She lunged, gripping my shoulders to throw me onto a dining table into delicate glasses. I tucked in my legs and launched them her way, flipping her over the opposite table. She hissed as I clambered up, swinging her body to land like a feral cat.

            I caught her punch and kneed her in the stomach, getting her to cry, then pulled her down by her hair to take another shot, my kneecap crunching against her jaw. Within seconds I had caught onto her style: she was acrobatic, but I was faster, and my reaction had been successful.

            She groaned heavily and curled into a ball. I frowned and let her fall – I had no weapon to put an end to her.

            I looked around, trying to imagine how simple it would have been to restrain someone with a tablecloth, as she mumbled.

            "What was that?"
"Stupid bitch!"

            She unfastened a pistol holstered at her thigh and fired. I leapt backwards, rolling behind an overturned table to shield myself from the bullets. One ricocheted off the column I had brushed passed a split second earlier, making me scowl.

            I was not getting another scar. Even for someone with my choice of career, the number of times I had been shot at was starting to get ridiculous.

            She had started to shoot while injured on the ground. After a short moment, she would have needed to reload, giving me a couple of seconds to react before she pulled herself up with a full magazine.

            I glanced at the door. Those few seconds were crucial in giving me a head-start in our race for the door. If I made it, I had a chance at survival – and to fight back if I grabbed my gun. Or hers.

            It was a longshot anyway, but in my heels it was a suicide run. I fumbled with the delicate straps and ripped off the shoes just in time for the shooting to stop.

            I yanked myself up by a column and lunged into a run, pulling myself towards the door by using the tables.

            I was almost halfway there when a pistol knocked shut.

            With renewed vigour, I pushed harder off the balls of my feet, swinging my arms forward, reaching for the doors in the final ten metres – nine, eight, seven—

            She fired a precise shot the second I barged through the door.

            I landed on my front, grunting to ignore the pain as I flipped over and slammed the door shut with my bare foot.

            Leaving barely a second to catch my breath, I stumbled to my feet and sprinted up the stairs, the cold, hard floor numbing my toes.

            Stamina had always been my strong point, and now it would save my life. At this point, I was proud of it, almost longing to rub it in Scotty's face after the whole legwork argument.

            A bullet bounced behind me. I ducked my head, peering over the railings to find the woman had caught up to me, and glowered at the bottom of the stairs.

            I looked up; I still had a floor left to climb, then there was the long, open hallway that would have left me exposed. If I took that path, I was due a bullet in the back within the next sixty seconds.

            My eyes darted all over the place, looking for an alternative route.

            The floor was almost empty, its only feature being the modern glass window used to observe the cruise's best views. Then I spotted the stair railing. I may not have been able to outrun her, but I could use her own tactics to my advantage and take the gun from her hands.

            I jumped and grabbed the railings, turning around so I clutched them from behind, hiding in the shadows as her clanging footsteps grew louder.

            I held my breath as she reached the floor. She stopped on the landing, narrowed eyes scanning for any movement. My grip on the railings loosened in preparation for the jump.

            She turned, and I dropped.

            Caught off guard left her unable to fire her weapon. I landed on her front, my hands instantly fighting for the gun. She held on tight, fingers fumbling for the safety latch but unable to secure a grip. I held her arm at a safe distance from my skull, gripping her wrist viciously, burning her skin to force her to let go.

            Her free hand clawed at my face.

"You are not winning this," she growled.

            I winced as her nails scratched my cheek, seething at the pain. I channelled that rage into pinning down her free arm, securing it with my knee so both my hands could twist her wrist and grab the gun as it fell from her grasp.

            She kicked me away in panic, jumping to her feet. My head hit the floorboards, but I sat up just enough to unlatch the safety and aim a shot for her head.

            It missed as she dropped to the floor.
"Oh, for f—!"

            She charged and landed on top of me with a shriek, knocking me sick at the force on my stomach. She grabbed my collar before I could aim the gun, lifting then slamming me into the ground so pain rattled through me, the gun slipping through my fingers. I punched her in the stomach with my free hand and flung her off me.

            There was a short distance between us as we both choke on our own breath, groaning while fighting to stand. I clutched my stomach when I regained my stance, my opponent holding a similar form. She smirked when she saw my hand's position, patently satisfied I was hurt.

            With a glance over her shoulder, she sidestepped towards the glass.
"Come on then," she said, flicking her hair back. "Hit me."
I arched my brows. "You first." If I made the first move, she had the chance at throwing me through the glass and over the railings into the North Sea.

            She knew she had been found out, and shook her head, her hazel eyes finding a new target: the gun.

            It had been left between us, sitting on a mighty pedestal of equal distance away from either woman.

            We met eyes for no more than an instant before she dove for it. I charged but, having no time to bend down, kicked it away, running after it as it slid towards the glass wall.

            I reached down but flinched as a fist soared my way. It did not land, but closed just enough distance for me to topple off balance.

            She swung again – I caught the hit. Her knee struck my abdomen, and I rewarded her with a blow to the head. She swung, I blocked. I swung, she blocked. I swung, she kneed me for good measure.

            I was sure my lungs had shifted at the impact, and keeled forwards with a wet grunt, tasting blood. I took another kick, snarling at the sickening smile she wore. I released a breath, an obsidian glint catching my eye. To keep her oblivious, I exaggerated the injury.

           Her movements slowed with arrogance – I was finished. She had won this fight and wanted to savour it.

          Not a thought of the gun's location crossed her mind.

           I snatched its hilt and rolled onto my back, shooting a bullet her way.

           She actually screamed at my action, but had strong enough reflexes to stumble back. The bullet ripped through the glass wall, its fragments showering down a thousand miniscule knives.

          We both sheltered beneath our arms, distracted. I grabbed the opportunity and fired a perfect shot into her skull.

          And the gun jammed. The final bullet had done nothing but break down the wall.

          With several vulgar curses that would have made Scotty proud, I leapt to my feet and charged at her with desperation. She flung me back with the intention of knocking me over the railings, but failed to use enough strength to send me staggering outside only by a couple of metres.

          Shards pierced my feet as they landed on broken glass, dragging out a whimper. I was forced to bite back the pain as I blocked another high kick, relishing the look on her face as she found she was stuck, her ankle trapped in my hand. I yanked her towards me, grabbing her by the hair, and slammed her into the floor before she could even yell for backup.

          Scarlet streaked her yellow hair but the woman was relentless. Her kick sent me backwards into the railing, ripping the air from my lungs.

          I barely had enough time to breathe again before she teared across the balcony to throw me overboard. I held onto her arms, taking me with me as I flipped back. With shocked cries, we both let go, reaching for the railings instead so we were both suspended side by side.

          For a moment we were still, listening only to our thundering breaths that matched the slashing of the waves two-hundred feet below us.