“For we are but of yesterday, and know nothing, because our days upon earth are a shadow.”
~ JOB 8:9
Present Day
“Cache, I know you’re in there. Open up!”
Cache Calder hobbled to his front door, a crutch under his left arm. He was going to kill the son of a bitch on the other side. Why was it so much to ask to be left the hell alone?
He yanked open the door to find his poodle of an editor, Tom Passey. “What do you want?”
Tom pushed his way into the apartment. “If you’d answer your blasted phone, I wouldn’t have had to trek all the way across Manhattan to tell you.” Tom looked around the dim and dirty apartment. “Wow. I’d heard you’d gone into cave-mode, but this...is disturbing.” He kicked an empty pizza box out of his way and continued toward the drape-shrouded windows.
“Get the hell out of here, Tom.” Cache held the door open, using the doorknob to keep himself upright.
Tom flung the curtains wide and turned. Cache averted his head as the sun sliced like fire through his brain.
“Fell off the wagon, huh?” Tom surveyed the sea of Chinese takeout containers rivaling the discarded pizza boxes. He wrinkled his nose and fingered the edge of a Styrofoam box containing leftover petrified chili cheese fries. “What happened to your health nut regime?”
“Can’t find a health food store that delivers,” Cache grumbled. Obviously Tom wasn’t going to leave until he had his say. Cache pushed the door shut. Pain radiated up his leg, and he shook with the effort it took to stay on his feet. He limped to the recliner, sank into the cushions, and tossed the crutch to the floor, feeling every tense and aching muscle in his forty-two year old body sigh with relief.
“Cache, I know that the last few months have been tough, but it’s time you got back to work. World Events needs you.”
Cache glared at Tom standing there without any effort, dressed in a navy Versace pinstriped suit, his dark hair slicked back, the top buttons of his paisley silk shirt left purposely undone. What did this pompous piece of leftover runway model know about how tough the last few months had been? Tom hadn’t been in the Middle East when the insurgent’s bomb had exploded. He hadn’t watched helplessly as his friends had been blown to bits.
He hadn’t been cursed with surviving.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the magazine.” Cache gestured to his leg wrapped in a brace. “I can’t work with this.” His leg was a raw jigsaw puzzle stitched back together. He had more steel pins and screws holding it together than a Frank Lloyd Wright house. He was lucky to still have it. Though there had been times, when the pain was so intense, he’d wished it gone. Guilt drowned him. What right did he have to bitch and moan over a little thing like pain, when Hank and Sarah were dead?
“I have the perfect assignment for you. One that will give you time to recuperate and help you rediscover your ‘edge’.” Tom’s face lit as the passion for the sell stole over him. The man would have made a killer used car salesman. As it was, he was making a fine name for himself as an editor for World Events.
“What possible assignment would allow me time to heal?” He was a photojournalist. His job required that he be ready at any moment to chase down the story. Capture the soul of his subject that portrayed a story with a single snapshot. How was he going to accomplish that with a bum leg? Besides, scary as the thought was, he didn’t think he had it in him anymore. The spark which usually fired his “shutter bug muse” was snuffed out, extinguished with the force of the blast that wiped out the lives of so many people in the Middle East.
“Remember Amelia Bennett? The magazine wants to do an exposé.” Tom held his hands up wide, his fingers simulating quotes. “Twenty years later. ‘Where Is She Now’?” He lowered his arms, his eyes glowing with excitement. “What do you think?”
Amelia Bennett.
His breath caught in his throat. He swiveled in his chair and studied the award-winning photograph, framed and hanging on the wall in the prized spot. His walls were covered—a gallery of his work—with pictures depicting people and places. All told their own story of life, and death, and hope.
But Amelia...
Amelia was special. The image of her he’d captured just following her rescue—after being kidnapped and held for nine months by the cult leader of the Ascension—had jump-started his career.
Made him who he was today.
Tom moved into his line of vision, breaking Cache’s journey into the past. “I knew you would remember.” He shrugged. “I mean, how could you not.” He pointed to the little girl the media had labeled Shattered Innocence. “Don’t you want to know how she’s doing now? The rest of the world does. You’re the one who captured the essence of her broken soul. Aren’t you curious to know what kind of life she’s made for herself?” Tom’s voice picked up speed, moving in for the kill. “You have to be the one who does this story, Cache. I know how much she got to you. Her story affected the world. The world needs to know the little girl we all looked for and hoped would be returned to her grieving family was not only found, but survived—and let’s be optimistic here—triumphed over her ordeal.”
Cache’s gaze returned to Amelia’s picture. Long, white-golden hair framed a too thin face of smooth alabaster skin. She’d been twelve. Just a kid. Her wide blue eyes, as pure in color as forget-me-nots, spoke of the horrors she’d suffered. They filled her face. Drew you in and refused to let you go.
Damn. Why now? Why now, when he was so broken?
Could he let someone else tell Amelia’s story in his place? He studied her photograph again. She was his story. Always had been. What would his camera lens tell him now?
Ah, hell. Cache raked fingers through his uncombed hair and sighed. “Give me the details.”
Tom smiled, rubbed his hands together and shoved aside a stack of unopened mail, taking a seat on the couch. “It turns out Amelia Bennett is part owner of a lodge in Alaska. So—” Tom reached into his breast pocket and produced two airplane tickets “—we’re leaving for a two-week Alaskan adventure.”
“We?”
“I’m going with you.” He reached into his other pocket and whipped out a brochure. “They offer salmon and halibut fishing, hiking, kayaking, whale and bear watching. The list is endless.”
Cache narrowed his eyes. “We?” he repeated.
Tom gestured at Cache’s injuries. “Come on. You can’t very well go alone. Think of me as your companion or coworker...no, no forget that. Boss? Yeah, I like that. Think of me as your boss.”
“Think again.”
“Okay, then...what about buddy?”
Cache stared at him for a minute. “What’s really going on here?”
Tom sighed and crossed his legs, his leather wingtips shining in the late afternoon light pouring through the windows. “The starched shirts are worried about you. They know you’ve been to hell and back and want me to make sure nothing more happens to you.”
“In other words, they’re sending you to make sure I don’t fuck it up.”
“Well—” he shrugged “—basically. Come on, Cache, it’s Alaska, and we get to go with the magazine footing the bill.”
Cache reached for the brochure. Massive mountain ranges. Glaciers. Steel-blue Pacific Ocean. Not a forgiving place. How would he navigate this kind of territory in his present condition?
“Turn the page to see pictures of the lodge. I know it looks imposing, but I’ve been assured that they’ve taken handicapped patrons before.”
Cache narrowed his gaze.
“N-not that you’re handicapped in the sense of wheelchair bound. Be comfortable in knowing that you’ll be able to navigate the lodge. Plus, they offer sauna and hot tub facilities and have a masseuse on staff.”
Cache reviewed the pictures of the lodge. Rustic sophistication described the nest of three large log structures connected by a mammoth deck across the front and supported on pilings. Cobalt waters licked at a black sand beach. Wildflowers bloomed in a r
iot of rainbow colors surrounded by dense forests and rocky cliffs. A sapphire sky topped it off.
The Garden of Eden, sourdough style.
“Think of it as a paid vacation where you can recuperate, and in the process see some great stuff. Besides, we don’t leave until the end of the week, which will give you time to get this place—” he gave the apartment a disgusted look “—fumigated or something.” Tom lifted his shaped eyebrows. “What do you say?”
There wasn’t anything to say. The subject was Amelia Bennett.
Of course he was going.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There is a small village to thank for bringing this book to fruition.
First my agent, Christine Witthohn of Book Cents Literary Agency. She’s been with me from the beginning and was bound and determined to get me published. Thank you so much for your undying belief in me and your amazing work ethic.
To my mother, Barb Blanc—for moving us to Alaska and giving me the chance to grow up in a place not heavy on civilized constraints. And you were worried.
Thank you to my fellow Musketeers—Porthos and Aramis, aka best selling authors Kerrigan Byrne and Cindy Stark. You are the best of swordswomen.
To the Writers of Imminent Death—Natalie Ainge, Mikki Kells, Heather Wallace, and Heidi Turner for the bleeding ink and killer laughs.
To Kerri LeRoy—for the friendship and mad editing skills.
To all my Barnes & Noble peeps—for being so supportive and a blast to work with.
To cover artist, Kelli Ann Morgan, of Inspire Creative Services thank you for putting up with me and rocking my covers.
To law enforcement supervisor Chris Johnson of the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge. Thank you for patiently answering all my questions regarding the duties and challenges of being an Alaska Wildlife Refuge Officer. Any mistakes in the book are mine and mine alone.
Finally to my husband and children—thank you for being understanding and putting up with the many nights of take out, semi-forced self-sufficiency, and taking it in stride when I argue with myself.
You all rock!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by: Kelli Ann Morgan
Tiffinie Helmer is an award-winning author who is always up for a gripping adventure. Raised in Alaska, she was dragged “Outside” by her husband, but escapes the lower forty-eight to spend her summers commercial fishing on the Bering Sea.
A wife and mother of four, Tiffinie divides her time between enjoying her family, throwing her acclaimed pottery, and writing of flawed characters in unique and severe situations.
To learn more about Tiffinie and her books, please visit
www.TiffinieHelmer.com
FUN FACTS
about the author
- Tiffinie spends most of her summers working as a commercial salmon fisherman (er, woman), in Bristol Bay on the Bering Sea of Alaska.
- She has a Green Tea Frappuccino addiction. And no, she does not require a 12 step program because she is perfectly happy with her addiction.
- Goes weak in the knees for “muscle cars.” Mustangs, Camaros, and Chargers are right at the top of her list to own, race, or just sit in.
- She is an accomplished potter with her own studio. When she’s not writing, fishing or traveling, you can usually find her throwing clay on her wheel.
- Is a gypsy at heart, with a wandering spirit and restless feet.
- Has a secret crush on Daniel Craig, which her husband quietly tolerates.
- Enjoys flying in airplanes or being on the ocean, yet she suffers from motion sickness. When deep sea fishing, she’s always the first one to chum the waters. That’s usually when the fishing really gets started. Coincidence? I think not.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, please direct your correspondence to:
The Story Vault
c/o Marketing Department
P.O. Box 11826
Charleston, WV 25339-1826
IMPACT
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2012 by Tiffinie Helmer
MOOSED UP
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2012 by Tiffinie Helmer
DREAMWEAVER
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2012 by Tiffinie Helmer
BEARING ALL
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2012 by Tiffinie Helmer
This collection copyright © 2012 by Tiffinie Helmer
ISBN-13: 978-0615736112
ISBN-10: 0615736114
http://www.tiffiniehelmer.com
Cover by Kelli Ann Morgan
http://www.inspirecreativeservices.com
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Table of Contents
Wild Men Of Alaska
Impact
Moosed-Up
Dreamweaver
Bearing All
Edge Preview
Wild Men of Alaska Collection Page 35
