Cold. So cold.

Zoe swallowed. Her mouth tasted bad—metallic and bitter, like blood and...something else.

She lifted her head and squinted in front of her. Off- white walls—bright, much too bright. A tentative stretch of her neck shot pain up and out the top of her head. She just barely swallowed a wave of nausea as her head dropped back to the soft surface beneath her body. She dragged shaking fingers over it. A mattress.

So damned cold. She stretched out her hand. Where was the blanket?

The mattress squished. Wet? She twisted, her face rubbed into the soggy fabric, and—

She gagged and sat up to escape the stink of ancient, wet mold.

Sharp fireworks in her brain made her shut her eyes hard with a groan. Oh God, her head hurt. After a brief exploration, her fingers found a lump behind her ear.

The fear trickling through her veins became a torrent until she couldn't see, couldn't hear through the rushing. One...two... She counted through several long breaths.

Nausea contained, she eased her eyes open again and took in the space around her.

A pale, overly bright, spartan bedroom of some sort, with a decade-old TV bolted high on the wall across from the bed, a set of drawers built into the room, and pretty much nothing else. Oh, and an empty dartboard on the door, half covering an emergency evacuation sign.

Slowly, she planted her feet on the floor, then squinted dumbly down at them. Why am I wearing neoprene? Her teeth clattered as her entire body shuddered. No wonder it was so cold.

And wet.

Another few dull-witted seconds rattled a memory loose. There was something wrong at Polaris.

She got her knees under her and wobbled before making her way to the door. The knob turned, but try as she might, she couldn't pull the thing open. When pushing yielded no further result, she resisted the urge to pound and scream, and spun in a slow circle instead.

No window. Nothing. Nothing else.

Where the hell—

The platform. Not under it, but in it.

She swayed as everything else came back in a rush—the eerie quiet, the pounding, and now the sick certainty that something, someone, had attacked her. She leaned against the wall to keep herself from falling and waited for another wave of nausea to pass.

Okay. Okay, whatever was happening here, she'd sort it out, explain why she'd been on the rig, and—

Something moved beyond the door and she froze, breath held.

Footsteps.

When a frantic look around confirmed that there was nothing more useful than a pillow, she yanked opened the drawers. Empty. No pipe wrenches or crowbars magically appeared. And then her eyes landed on a long drawer hidden under the built-in bunk. She fell to her knees, yanked it open, and found it...empty.

Devastated, she started to push it back in when some- thing rolled into sight: a flashlight.

She picked it up and hefted its weight—which was substantial, given that it was one of those metal Maglites. Fast, but less frantic now that she had something in her hands, she stood and hurried to hide behind where she hoped the door opened in.

Voices sounded, right on the other side of the door. With both hands, she raised the light over her shoulder, ready to swing it like a bat, and listened, breath uncontrollably shaky. She thought she heard two men, but she couldn't make out their words.

What were they doing? Please, please open the door. Unlock it, and then go so I don't have to hit you. She didn't have to look at her hands to see that she was trembling like a leaf.

Something metallic scraped, and the door swung in. Zoe didn't give herself time for doubt. She stepped forward and struck, as hard as she could, cringing at the sound of metal on flesh.

The man—small and dark and angry as hell—cursed, then struck out hard with the back of his hand, sending her sprawling, half on the bed, half off. She tried to twist in on herself protectively, but the man caught her arm, and seconds later, another grabbed her other side. They hauled her up between them, their grips as tight and mean as the expressions on their faces. The small one—the one she'd hit—was pissed.

"I'll fucking gut you, bitch," he hissed, sending shivers from where his spittle hit her ear to the tips of her fingers and toes.

She believed him, especially when he twisted her arm painfully behind her and shoved forward. "Come on. We'll call Sampson at headquarters. Or get him on video. He's gonna want to see your face when he tells you what happens next."

The other guy let out a huffed chuckle. "He's creepy like that."

Stuff had happened to her before—men getting handsy, guys being jerks back in school. She'd gotten out of her fair share of scrapes, but nothing had been this bad.

Fear was an animal inside her, crawling up her throat, blocking her airway, narrowing her vision. She'd hyper- ventilate if she couldn't slow her breathing down.

Maybe she'd puke on them. Serve them right.

She tried making herself heavy and dragged her feet as they pulled her down the dimly lit hallway, but the mean little man only slipped an arm around her waist and yanked her in tighter.

The better to carry her, she supposed, but mostly it smashed her against him in a way she couldn't stand. She decided to walk. And maybe, just maybe, they'd talk. Talking would help, right? Information, rapport, what- ever a victim was supposed to get from their kidnappers in order to avoid certain death.

"What's going on? What are you doing here?" They ignored her.

"I'm Zoe. What's your name?" Nothing.

"So, what did I do to get in your way?" "Trespassing, for starters."

This is my rig! she wanted to scream, although that wasn't strictly true. Her nonprofit had been granted use of the rig, but in some ways, these abandoned platforms were like homesteads. You occupied it; you owned it.

And she owned this one, dammit! Or, more to the point, Sea Lion Bob owned it. And the birds and the fish and—

She needed to focus.

"What are you guys pumping out here? There's nothing left in that well."

"That's what you think." The big one smirked. "What's that mean?"

"The new oil"—he stopped to push open a metal door and waited for her to pass through—"ain't oil."

"The new oil? What are you—"

"Don't worry." His fingers dug into her arm as he picked up his pace. "You'll figure it out eventually."

"Unlikely," the smaller guy broke in, following them down another long, dingy white hall. "Not in time, at least."

"True." The big man's dry, raspy laugh was the creepiest thing she'd ever heard.

"In time for—" She stumbled to a stop and really focused on them. In the split second it took for their intimidating male shapes to take on detail, the reality of her situation solidified. "You're planning to kill me."

When they didn't answer, something inside her exploded. It felt like pure fear, and it made her shake herself hard enough to loosen the big man's hold, like a fish caught on a hook. Her last-ditch struggle ended way too soon when a hard-toed boot cut her off mid-scream. It knocked the air and the fight from her body, leaving her gasping on the cold metal floor.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I'm sorry to leave you hanging like this, but I'm going to try to update every day, so you won't have long to wait! I hope you guys are enjoying this more suspenseful story!!!! (And don't forget to vote if you're enjoying! Thanks, lovelies!!!)