Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction (61 page)

Prologue

Cristina

There would never be enough distance on earth to separate me from my past. It was my constant companion and my burden to bear.. It was also my wound to conceal and my secret to keep—if I wanted to live.

For five harrowing years, I had been running, forced into a life of nomadic isolation, never staying in one place long enough to relax, to breathe, to simply be. My spirit craved a more fulfilling existence, and my mind had nearly caved to its demands countless times. But on those occasions, a physiological response of the most Darwinian kind drove me to continue my journey of flight versus fight. Fighting would never be an option for me.

Mateo had made certain of that.

I eventually learned to coexist with the fact that my life would always be an unending game of hide and seek until one of two things occurred: Mateo was arrested, or I was dead. It was just that simple. There was no other option, no door number three. He had already taken everything there was to take from me, except my life, and it seemed nobody was capable of stopping him—he appeared to be above the law.

Deep down, I had always felt my death was imminent, never a question of if, but when. Being held hostage by him was something I could not endure again; if necessary, I would force his hand to ensure I would never have to. And his volatile nature would make accomplishing this task all too easy, a fact that I would use to my advantage.

Touching down in Anchorage, Alaska—the least likely place I could have fled to—I decided this would be the last city I would ever run to. The last place I would ever live. I was tired of running, and even more tired of being chased. This would be the site of my final stand against the demon that had tormented me for so long.

And deep down I knew it was only a matter of time until he found me, even here.

At twenty-eight years old, I was prepared to meet my maker.

Robbie

Time was once again my enemy. With our delivery date looming and a low crab count staring me down, I knew I was fucked. I had only been captain of the
Lost at Sea
for a single season, and I feared I was about to establish myself as a no-hit wonder. I knew I couldn’t afford to take a step back in my career—especially not now. Professionally, I was at a make-it-or-break-it point.

While I navigated the moderate seas before me, I struggled to open a bottle of ibuprofen with my right hand. My left arm was broken and acting up again, the metal rod within it shifting ever so slightly when I used the limb against doctor’s orders while it was still healing.

It wasn’t really my fault
, I consoled myself,
I didn’t have a choice
. When I got the offer to take over the wheelhouse, I had known I needed to take the job, injured or not. That kind of promotion could make a career, consequences be damned.

And damned I was, floating through the Bering Sea in search of crab that clearly didn’t want to be found. Their elusive nature was going to get me fired from my position as captain, and, with a buggered arm, I’d be useless on the deck of any other vessel for months, leaving me unemployable. Failure now was not an option, but neither was forcing the crab to show themselves so that I could usher them into a cage, leading them to their ultimate demise. I needed a solution in the worst way.

I laughed to myself, thinking of all the crazy situations I had escaped in my years as a crab fisherman. It was morbidly comical that I had survived them but might not make it through my first season as captain—a job I had been groomed to assume for the better part of my adult life.

My future looked bleak. If I could not make my quota, my stint as captain was dead in the water. I might as well not return home; there would be no warm welcome for me when I arrived.

And time was running out.

CHAPTER 1

Cristina

“Can you take care of the CT scan in the other room, Cris? I’ve got my hands full in here at the moment, and I don’t want him to wait any longer,” Pam explained as she maneuvered her patient into the proper position for an MRI of the low back. “He’s kinda cute, too. . . . We haven’t had any eye candy in here for a while.”

“I’m sure your husband would love hearing you say that,” I playfully chided.

“He’s not the jealous type, and, besides . . . nobody said you couldn’t look. It’s the touching part that’s off limits.”

“Well, that would make it hard to get a good shot of whatever he’s in to get images of, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t be so literal, Cris. You know what I’m saying,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “Just try not to fondle him while you’re administering the scan, though even that could be a challenge. Like I said, he’s definite eye candy.”

“Good-bye, Pam,” I sighed, turning to leave the room. The woman was a walking mid-life crisis with the hormones of a thirteen-year-old boy. It made her virtually intolerable at times. I didn’t give a shit about eye candy. I was there to do a job, not ogle the patients.

When I entered the room, though, I instantly saw why Pam had described him as she had. A tall, blue-eyed man, in his late twenties or early thirties, sat on the table, awaiting his procedure. He looked forlorn when I first entered the room, but once he looked up at me a wide, radiating smile overtook his face. My breath caught in my throat for a fraction of a second.

“Hi,” he said, greeting me with his smile still intact.

“My name is Cristina,” I said flatly, fighting to keep my professional expression from slipping. “I’ll be doing your CT scan today. It looks like we’re doing a follow-up image of your left arm, is that correct?”

“Yep. That damn thing just isn’t healing right. The doc wants to see if I need another surgery to fix it,” he explained. He had a playful glimmer in his eyes as he spoke. “Just between you and me,” he continued, leaning toward me in a conspiratorial fashion, “I think this whole thing is a waste of time. I’m not getting another surgery, even if he says I need one.”

“Dr. Adaire is an expert in orthopedics. It would be in your best interest to at least consider his recommendations after he see the images of your arm.”

“You give me way too much credit,
Cristina
. I rarely, if ever, do what’s best for me. I oddly enjoy throwing caution to the wind.”

I pressed my lips together tightly in disapproval.

“It says in your file that you’ve been working against medical advice.” He grinned at me, clearly pleased with the record of his recklessness. He offered no explanation or defense for his choice. “Okay then,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “Let’s get this started, shall we?”

“Whatever you say, Cris. You’re the boss.”

“You’ll need to remain still through the procedure,” I explained as I began to arrange his arm gently on the table. Once the correct position was achieved, I stepped back to give it a final look. Satisfied, I turned to face him, giving him his final instructions. “If you need anything, just call. We’ll hear you in the other room.”

“Will do,” he quipped, flashing another smile my way.

I left the room in a hurry, not wanting to wait for whatever flippant response he might throw my way. But, to my surprise, one never came. Not even as the door shut behind me or when I went back to the control panel. He didn’t make a sound. He laid there patiently, still as could be. I started wondering if perhaps I had misjudged him. And then, with five minutes left in his scan, he broke the silence.

“So, tell me something, Cris. What does one do to have fun in Anchorage?”

“Nothing. Don’t talk unless it’s pertinent, please. Motion will complete ruin the quality of the images.”

“I’m not talking with my shoulder,” he retorted.

“No, but if you were to laugh or become stressed, that would cause minor movements.”

“I don’t seem to be in jeopardy of laughing anytime soon,” he mocked. “And I’m a low stress kinda guy, so . . . ”

“You work on a crab boat. There are few jobs more stressful than that,” I replied, unable to walk away from such in incongruous statement.

“True, but I like it. The danger doesn’t weigh on me.”

How nice for you . . .

The bitterness I felt at his declaration was hard to stifle. It took everything in my power to not make a snide remark over the intercom. By God’s grace, I managed.

When silence fell, I could practically see him thinking of what to say next. His displeasure with the sudden silence was plain. When he finally found something to ask me, his choice of topic took me by complete surprise.

“So, Cristina. Since you won’t tell me what there is to do in Anchorage, why don’t you show me? Tonight. We can start with dinner and go from there.”

It took me a second to process his request. It was not as if I hadn’t been hit on at work before, but, even though he had the cocky, I-know-I-look-amazing swagger, he didn’t seem to be an asshole. It was oddly refreshing, but hardly enough to make me consider his offer.

It seemed I didn’t need to, though.

“Sounds great. She’ll go,” Pam blurted out over the intercom on my behalf. When I leaned toward the microphone to reverse her commitment and tell him no, she swatted me away and continued. “She’ll meet you for dinner at eight at
The Crab Shack
. You seem like a resourceful guy. You should be able to find it easily.”

“Excellent,” he purred in response. “And thank your assistant for me, Cris. She has great taste.”

I completely lost my mind, pulling Pam away from the intercom button so I could chew her out without an audience.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I growled. “What in the hell was that?”

“That was me securing you a date with a hot guy. What did it sound like?”

“Why would you do that?”

“It’s a date, Cris, not an elopement. I didn’t agree to sell you into the sex trade. I agreed, on your behalf, to dinner. Nothing more, nothing less—though I hope it turns into a little more,” she said, turning her gaze toward the room he was in. “That’s one fine piece of ass . . . . ”

“Pam!”

“What? I’m married, not dead,” she protested. “Besides, you need to get out more. All you do is work and hole up in your apartment. It’s not healthy. You need to get out, be young. Do stupid things like sleep with really attractive fishermen who will be heading back out to sea.”

“You need to tell him I’m not going,” I told her, pinning my nastiest glare on her.

“Tell him yourself,” she said with a sigh, sliding the mic toward me. “But you’re making a huge mistake.” Her expression became one of regret and sadness for a moment before returning to her original resigned detachment. She then continued on, “You have to live life while you have it, Cris. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.”

As if I needed to be reminded of that.

Pam quickly exited the panel room and disappeared for the rest of my shift.

“
Ay dios mio . . . ,” I muttered under my breath just as the beeping sound in the other room alerted me to the completion of his CT scan. “The table is going to move. When it finishes, you can sit up,” I instructed from the security of my booth. I did not want to go in there to face him, but I had no choice. Professional responsibility called.

When I stepped the exam room, I found him sitting on the edge of the table, smiling again.

“So . . . eight o’clock?”

His words were less of a question and more of a peace offering, the tone in his voice indicating he knew I was less than pleased with Pam’s ambush. It seemed that he was giving me an opportunity to withdraw from the arrangement, which, ironically, gave me pause. I didn’t want to go out with him, or anyone else for that matter, but his no bullshit approach was strangely refreshing. That, combined with Pam’s warning, made me question if, for once, I should take a risk. Live a little. Be young and potentially dumb.

Then Mateo’s face flashed in my memory, reminding me of everything that could happen when you were young, naive, and in love.

“Yeah . . . about that,” I started, looking away from him as I busied myself with his chart.

“You can say no. It’s fine,” he said nonchalantly, surprising me even further. “Your friend really threw you under the bus in there. I’d probably slap her in the staff lounge if I were you.”

His words jarred me from the file, and I looked up to see him smiling devilishly. His eyes twinkled with mischief. Before I could stop myself, a chuckle escaped me. Something about the image of me smacking Pam around next to her locker was so ridiculous, yet oddly satisfying, that I just couldn’t help myself.