by Lara Lacombe
Danny scooped the gray stuff off the floor and cupped it in his palm. It had a clay-like consistency, and it reminded him of the stuff his kids used to play with when they were younger. Maybe it was some kind of adhesive to help hold the cover of the box in place. He rolled it around in his hands, shaping it into a ball so he could tuck it back inside the nest of wires. If he was lucky, he could put everything back together without causing any issues, and no one ever needed to know about this little mishap.
Keeping the ball of putty in one hand, he used the other to remove the stepladder from his supply cart. He maneuvered the ladder into the corner behind the toilet and popped it open, then started to climb.
His palm tingled while he moved. The sensation started out innocuously enough, but in a matter of seconds he felt like hot needles were driving into his skin. He shook his hand, hoping to dispel the feeling, but it was no use.
When he reached the top of the ladder he opened the hand holding the putty. The skin underneath the ball was red and angry looking, almost as if he had burned it. My God, he realized. It’s the ball.
What was this thing? Whatever the stuff was, it clearly wasn’t supposed to be touched. He needed to get it back into place and quickly, before it did any lasting damage to his skin.
He reached up to press the putty back into the box, but the ball slipped from his grasp and fell. It landed in the toilet with a plop, and he felt the splash of cold water on the lower legs of his pants.
Danny cursed his luck. The ball sat in the belly of the toilet, taunting him from its berth underneath the water. He could fish it out and place it back in the box, but should he? After all, he had no idea what the thing did, and if it would even work now that it had gotten wet. The box seemed to be functioning just fine without the putty—the lights still blinked green, and he’d heard no intercom announcements about a downed network. Maybe he could just put the cover back on and forget about the gray lump.
Besides, he had no desire to touch the thing again. He glanced at his hand, and the red welts on his palm that throbbed in time with his heart. He shook his head at the sight and let out a sigh. He should have left the damn stuff on the floor and feigned ignorance about the whole incident. But instead he’d tried to fix things, as if he had any business messing with those boxes. He might as well put the cover back on, but he damn sure wasn’t going to reach into the toilet and get his other hand burned for his troubles.
His mind made up, Danny popped the cover back into place and climbed down. He folded the ladder up and put it back on his cart. Then he flushed the toilet, sending that little gray ball of pain into the septic tanks of the ship, where it couldn’t hurt anyone else.
He flipped on the tap and ran his hand under the cool water, sighing in relief as some of the stinging ache eased. Might as well use the soap, too—perhaps the gray stuff had been coated in a chemical of some kind, and that had resulted in the burn.
The paper towel felt rough against his sensitive skin, so he gingerly patted his palm dry. He stared at the red marks, shiny under the overhead lights of the bathroom. Should he go to sick bay? The ship’s doctor could probably put some kind of ointment on the welts, and maybe give him something for the pain. But if he went to the clinic he’d have to disclose how he’d gotten the marks in the first place, and he’d rather not tell anyone about the box or the gray putty. Sure, the box seemed to be working okay now, but what if he’d just flushed away a key component that kept things running? Maybe it was only a matter of time before the network went down, and if he was on record as saying he’d broken this box, he’d get fired for sure.
It was a risk he simply couldn’t take. George was in his senior year of college, and Luke was about to graduate high school. He couldn’t lose his job now, not when there were still so many bills to pay.
He grabbed a clean rag from his cart and wrapped it around his hand, covering up the welts on his palm and providing a little bit of cushion so the raw skin didn’t get further irritated by the wooden mop handle. Then he began wiping down the walls again, gritting his teeth as a fresh jolt of pain traveled up his arm.
The door swung open and Danny jumped, his stomach twisting into knots. It had to be someone from security—they knew what he’d done. Maybe the box had sent some kind of distress signal when he’d knocked the cover off, and now all his efforts were for nothing because they were here to fire him for tampering with the thing.
A split second later his friend Abel rounded the corner. “Hey, Danny, you got any more of the green stuff? I’m almost out and I don’t want to have to walk all the way back to the supply room.”
“Sure thing.” The adrenaline left his system in a rush of breath, and Danny felt a little light-headed in the aftermath. He reached for the spray bottle of cleanser and handed it to his friend, his hand shaking slightly.
“You okay?” Abel frowned and nodded at the rag wrapped around Danny’s hand. “You cut yourself or something?”
“No, nothing like that. Just a little blister on my palm. I’m fine.”
“Maybe you should get it checked out,” Abel pressed. “I’m sure the doctor can give you something better than a rag to protect it.”
“You’re probably right,” Danny said, wanting to appease his friend and end the conversation. “I’ll go after my shift ends.”
Abel nodded, apparently satisfied by this answer. He glanced around the room. “You done in here? It looks good.”
Danny popped the mop into place on his cart and started for the door. “Thanks.”
Abel stopped him as he walked past. “You sure you’re okay, man? You look a little pale.”
“Just tired,” Danny said. “Not enough coffee this morning. I’m fine.”
He pushed out the door and into the hall, headed for the next bathroom he was due to clean. As he walked, he flexed his fingers experimentally, pleased to find the movement helped ease the ache in his palm.
“It’s all good now,” he murmured, happy to be leaving the box and the mysterious gray putty in his wake.
* * *
Everest pushed open the door to the clinic with his shoulder, being careful to keep the cups he held in one hand steady so as not to spill them. The reception area was empty—that was a good sign. Hopefully the cases Mallory had seen this morning were isolated and not the start of a shipwide outbreak.
One of the nurses walked in, drawing up short when she saw him standing there. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m here to see Dr. Watkins,” he said. “Is she available?” He hadn’t warned Mallory he was coming, but hopefully she could take a quick break and eat lunch with him.
“Let me check. Wait here, please,” the woman said. She disappeared into the main body of the clinic and returned a few seconds later. “She’s in her office. Do you need any help?” She nodded at the sack of food he held tucked under his arm and the drinks he held in each hand.
“No, thanks. I can manage.” He’d made it all the way from the dining hall—he could carry the food a few more feet.
He walked through the body of the clinic and paused at the doorway to Mallory’s office. It was a small space, not unlike his own office. She had a porthole for a window, just like he did. But where his desk was neat and tidy, a holdover from his time in the army, Mallory’s desk was strewn with papers and pens, with a few coffee mugs among the chaos. And was that—? He tilted his head to the side to get a better look. Yes, it was a box of needles sitting next to a handful of wrapped syringes. An interesting choice for a paperweight, but maybe it came in handy at times?
He cleared his throat, and she swiveled in her chair to face the door. She smiled when she saw him, and her undisguised pleasure at seeing him set off a warm tingle in his chest.
“Hello.” She stood and gestured for him to come inside, then leaned over and grabbed her white coat off the seat of the sp
are chair in the corner. “What brings you to my corner of the world?”
“I heard through the grapevine there might be noro on board,” he said, using the shorthand term for the common cruise ship illness. “I figured you’d be too busy to meet me for lunch, so I decided to come to you.”
She winced. “I’m sorry. I meant to page you, but I got distracted.” She gestured to her computer screen and the mess on her desk.
“It’s no problem,” he said. “Do you have a minute now, or should I just drop off the food and leave you to your work?”
“No, please stay.” She grabbed papers and began stacking them, clearing a small corner of her desk. “You can set the bag and drinks here. This is so thoughtful of you.”
“I don’t mind,” he assured her. “I know what it’s like to be so busy you can’t stop to eat. Makes for long, miserable days.”
“Yes, it does.” She watched him while he opened the brown paper bag and retrieved their sandwiches. He offered her one, and she placed it in her lap while he continued to divide up the bags of chips and napkins.
He sat down again and began to unwrap his sandwich. Mallory followed suit, her movements just a few seconds behind his own. But while he took his first bite, she studied the food in her lap, staring at it as if she’d never seen a sandwich before.
Everest chewed and swallowed, wondering if he’d made a mistake. He’d guessed when it came to the lunch order—maybe she didn’t like turkey. His heart rate spiked as another possibility occurred to him—was she a vegetarian? But no, he’d watched her eat a piece of bacon at breakfast. Why wasn’t she eating? Was she not hungry?
“Everything okay?” he asked. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I told them to put everything on it. I figured you could pick off the stuff you didn’t want.”
She smiled absently, and he got the impression she wasn’t really listening. “No, it’s fine. I appreciate it.”
“If you’re not hungry now, I can come back later.” He started to refold the wrapper, ignoring the protests of his stomach. He couldn’t very well sit in Mallory’s office chowing down on lunch while she sat there quietly. A gentleman never ate in front of a lady when she herself wasn’t eating. It was one of those old-fashioned Southern manners his grand-mère had instilled in him from a young age. If she saw him now, speaking through a mouthful of food while a woman sat without taking a bite, she would tan his hide.
“No, I’m good. I am hungry. I just needed a minute.”
He paused, studying Mallory’s expression for any sign of what she was thinking. She picked up her sandwich, took a deep breath and bit into the end.
Interesting. It was almost as if she’d had to gather her courage before she could take a bite. What was that about?
Everest searched for something to say, a neutral topic of conversation that wouldn’t make her uncomfortable. He got the sense she wouldn’t want to discuss anything too personal, and he didn’t blame her. A small office in the middle of the clinic was no place for a heart-to-heart.
“Have you had any additional patients since this morning?”
Mallory shook her head. “No. Well, I did see one man who’d fallen in the shower, and a pretty bad case of sunburn. But no more GI issues, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s good, right?” he asked, taking another bite. “Maybe it won’t turn into a problem for this voyage.”
“I hope so,” Mallory replied. “I asked for a deep-clean of the ship this morning, and we have some surveillance set up to check on the passengers. Things look good so far. It’s possible we may have dodged a bullet here.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
“What about you?” she asked. “Are things quiet from a security perspective?”
Her dark brown eyes were big and beautiful, reminding him of a doe. He could stare into them for hours, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate that. “Just the usual stuff. A passenger got drunk last night and tried to get into the wrong room. He didn’t exactly appreciate our help, but we got him back in the correct cabin for the night. He’s probably not feeling too great today, though,” he said with a shrug.
“Maybe I’ll see him later,” Mallory said with a smile.
“Maybe so.”
“How long have you been doing this?” She bit into a chip with a crunch, and Everest hid a smile behind his cup. Maybe she wasn’t as skittish as he’d originally thought...
“A few years.” He debated a second on how much to reveal, then decided to tell her most of the truth. “I started working for the company after I got out of the army.”
She nodded, as if he had just confirmed a private suspicion. “Do your friends know you turned into a sailor?” There was a sly note in her voice he’d never heard before, and he realized being teased by a beautiful woman was sexy as hell.
He swallowed and assumed a serious expression. “They’ve forgiven me,” he said soberly. “Mostly.” In fact, they still ribbed him pretty hard about his career choice, but that was to be expected. The official language of their friendship was sarcasm, and thanks to their time in the service, they were all fluent in creative insults.
The thought of his buddies made him smile. Mallory’s jibe made it clear she’d fit right in with his fellow vets—she had the wits to spar with them, although she seemed to lack their impressive command of profanity.
“So I take it you joined the company because you wanted to keep seeing the world?”
Everest huffed out a laugh. “Something like that. But trust me, these accommodations are much nicer than anything I experienced in the service.”
“I imagine so. Were you ever stationed overseas?”
Now they were getting a bit too personal for his liking. He didn’t want to talk about the explosion, or his leg. Not until he had a better idea of how Mallory would react to the news. She didn’t seem like the type of woman to be turned off by his prosthesis, but he wasn’t crazy about the thought of discussing his injury in her tiny office with the door open.
He shifted a bit in the chair, taking a sip of his drink to stall. She deserved an answer, and he wasn’t going to lie. But he didn’t have to tell the whole truth...
“I was stationed in Iraq,” he said finally.
Mallory was quiet for a moment, digesting this news. Her brown eyes were full of kindness when she met his gaze. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like. Thank you for your service.”
Everest cleared his throat, a little uncomfortable with her expression of gratitude. He appreciated the sentiment, but he didn’t feel like he was deserving of it. He’d simply been doing his job, nothing more. And he wasn’t the one who had lost everything in the desert. The men who had died that day deserved the accolades and praise, not him.
But he didn’t want to correct her. Mallory’s words were sincere, and he didn’t want to make her feel bad by rejecting her support.
So he simply said, “Thanks.”
He gave her a minute to finish chewing, then asked, “What about you? How did you land the glamorous job of cruise ship doctor?”
Her laugh was a bright, lilting sound that bounced off the walls of the small room. “I don’t know that I’d call it glamorous,” she said.
“Oh, come on,” he teased. “You travel to exotic locations, sailing the high seas. Your biggest worry is seasickness, right?”
She nodded with an enthusiasm that was obviously forced. “Absolutely. Just like all you have to worry about is people losing their room keys.”
They both laughed, and Everest shook his head. “Seriously, though, what drew you to this line of work?” He was genuinely interested—cruise ship security hadn’t been his first career choice, but he didn’t regret it. Was it something Mallory had always wanted to do, or had she fallen into the job the way he had?
“To
be honest, I hadn’t really known this was an option until my final year of medical school.” She lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “I mean, I knew on some level that cruise ships need doctors, but it hadn’t occurred to me I could actually be that person. I ran into one of my instructors at a coffee shop one day, and she mentioned it offhand—it was something she’d done for a few years before settling down and going into private practice. It sounded appealing, so I decided to look into it.”
“Did you have to do a residency, or did you start fresh out of medical school?”
“Oh, no, I put in my time in residency. Can’t really skip that step, no matter how much you might want to. But after I was done, I applied at the company and got the job. I’ve been doing this for three years now, and it’s been good for me.”
Interesting, he mused. She’d said it had been good for her, not that she liked the job or enjoyed the work. It was a small thing, but it renewed his curiosity about her past. Was she running from something? Or was he merely reading too much into the actions of the one woman who’d managed to catch his eye in recent memory?
“How much longer do you think you’ll do this?” It was a personal question, but he figured they were beyond superficial conversational niceties now.
She tilted her head to the side, considering the question. Everest caught himself leaning forward a bit, his breath trapped in his chest as he waited for her response. He forced himself to exhale. He was acting like something important hinged on her response, when really, her plans had no bearing on the rest of his life.
Pity, that.
The thought sent him running in the opposite direction, and he was so caught up in denial he almost missed her reply.
“Maybe a few more years. After that, I’d like to stay on land. Buy a house, put down some roots. Traveling all the time is nice, but it has its drawbacks, too, you know?”
He nodded automatically, still a little spooked by the tangent his traitorous brain had tried to explore.
