Fleeting Moments (2 page)

I listen as best I can, already dressed for the game, excitement set in.

“It’s my anniversary, Tom. My wife and I are going to a baseball game. I can’t believe you’d do this.”

He listens, fist clenched.

“I’ll be in soon.”

He hangs up and turns to me, and disappointment floods my chest but I try not to let it show. “I’ve got a client who’s just been arrested for murder.”

A big deal. Dammit.

“You have to go in?” I say, my voice showing my disappointment.

“Sorry, baby, I do. It’s what I get paid for.”

And me? What about me?

I push that thought out of my mind the second it enters. It’s his job. I nod, staring at my feet.

“You want me to call a friend to go with you to the game?”

I shrug. “I don’t think any of them would be interested.”

Besides, I don’t really have any good friends that would come with me. I spend all my time working and with Gerard.

His face falls and he looks absolutely devastated, and I know it’s upsetting him. “I don’t want you to miss out, I know how excited you are.”

I still really want to go, that’s true. “I can go,” I suggest. “I mean, it’s not as if I’m exerting myself.”

He frowns. “It’s a big crowd; you could be pushed around.”

“I’ll be okay,” I assure him. “I really want to go.”

He studies me, then sighs. “I’ll make it for dinner, I promise. Why don’t you ask my sister? She might be able to come?”

I snort. “Heather hates me; that’ll never work.”

“She doesn’t hate you . . .”

“She so does.” I smile, reaching out and touching his arm. “I’ll be okay. I really want to go. I’d be so much happier if you were there, but I understand you can’t be.”

“I’ll make it for dinner—nothing will keep me from that.”

I nod, tucking myself into his arms. He holds me for a long, long moment.

“All right.” He sighs, stepping back. “No time like the present. Call me if you run into any problems, okay?”

I nod.

“I love you, Lucy.”

“And I love you.”

Little did I know that was the last time he’d ever speak those words again.

E
xcited anticipation rushes through me as I pass through security, opening my purse for the officers to quickly examine. They check my ticket and I’m given directions to my seat. The stadium is a good size, nothing like the big leagues, but I don’t care. The excitement about seeing a game in the flesh is almost more than I can handle.

I bounce happily as I find my seat right up the back near a big brick building that’s positioned in the middle. It doesn’t block my view, so I don’t care. Besides, I think there’s a toilet in there, which no doubt I’ll need later.

People move into their seats and music pours out from the speakers set up in the grandstands. Happy chatter fills my ears and I squirm on my chair, thrilled that I’m about to see a game up close and personal. A man comes down the aisle and stops at the seat to my left. The one to my right is reserved for Gerard so it’s going to remain empty. I look up at him and my eyes widen. My breath is taken away, seizing in my chest and refusing to move as I take in the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

He looks down at me with eyes that are the lightest kind of silver. Set amongst light olive skin, they seem to shine. Dark hair falls over a masculine forehead that travels down into a chiseled jaw complemented with full lips. He’s a big man, easily more than six-foot tall, with muscles that ripple out of his tight black tee. He’s wearing a pair of faded denim jeans and heavy black boots. I wonder if he has tattoos under that shirt? He seems like the tattoo type.

When I realize I’m staring, I look away quickly, focusing back on the field. I’ve never noticed a man outside my marriage; I’ve certainly never stared. This one is just so incredibly breathtaking. My cheeks flush with shame.

He takes his seat beside me, saying nothing, just waving his hand to the young man holding a cart of beer. The drink vendor hands him one, and I keep my eyes on the field, suddenly aware of myself. Am I trembling? Can he tell his presence makes me nervous? Am I sitting too stiffly? I adjust my shirt without thought, and the second I realize what I’m doing, I snap my hands down to my lap.

I sit, staring at the field until the game begins. Thank god. Now, my attention is focused on the young men playing. My heart pounds with excitement as the loud
ping
of the baseball being hit fills the air. The crowd cheers, and a huge smile spreads across my face.
Exhilarating.

The man beside me doesn’t move much—nor does he pay a great deal of attention to the game. His eyes scan the crowd, and he seems to be looking for something, or someone. He is sitting deep into his chair, as if he’s trying to remain inconspicuous. Weird.

The team I’m rooting for lands a home run and I launch into the air, clapping loudly. I jump a few times on the spot and then quickly sit down as realization about what I’m doing hits. I flick my glance to the man to my left and he’s watching me, expressionless. Great. He’s probably embarrassed to sit by me. Not that he can talk. He doesn’t even look as if he’s enjoying himself. I lean forward, gripping the chair in front of me and watching intently.

The first moment that will redirect the course of my life comes out of nowhere.

The game is in full swing, the crowds are cheering, hot dogs are being eaten, and beers thrown down. I don’t even notice the group of men dressed in all white stand—not until the loud gunshot rings through the air. Panic grips my chest as I turn to see at least ten men pulling guns from their pants. My heart feels as though it skitters to a stop as I stare at the faceless gunmen. They’re all wearing masks. Covered entirely in white.

The entire stadium goes dead silent. The only sounds that can be heard are the frustrated cries of children as they try to gain the attention of their terrified parents.

I don’t understand what’s happening.

Security members rush from different parts of the stadium, but quickly stop when one of them is shot in the leg carelessly by a gunman. With a pained roar, he drops to his hands and knees, rolling around in agony. Somebody in the crowd screams.

This isn’t a prank. No. This is real and it’s happening right now. Right here. Vomit rises in my throat and panic unlike anything I’ve ever felt grips my body. My skin prickles, and my mind starts going numb, buzzing as I try to make sense of the situation.

I can’t think or hear over the nervous chatter, crying, and whispers around me.

“Nobody move,” a dark, terrifying voice comes over the loud speaker. “Anyone who moves will be killed.”

That’s all they say.

No explanation.

Nothing.

Somebody screams, a gun is pointed in that person’s direction, and the screaming stops. Tears break free and roll down my cheeks. Is this an attack? A protest? Is there a political person here they’re trying to make a point to? Why a baseball stadium? Is it because it’ll make a scene? Is it because of the families here? Why would anyone be so cold? It makes no sense. It doesn’t even feel real, but it is. I can see it with my own eyes, hear it with my own ears, yet part of me still wants to believe it’s just a prank.

I look to the man beside me, and he’s got a phone low in his lap. He doesn’t seem to be scared; in fact, he’s solely focused on whatever it is he’s typing into the screen. His thumbs move frantically over the keys before he tucks it into his pocket, barely moving.

There are two gunmen about four rows down, pacing the aisles, guns ready to fire. People are no longer screaming but the desperate sobs and whimpers can be heard through the eerie silence.

I hiccup softly, trying to force back a sob and the man finally looks to me, his eyes studying my face. He reaches over, taking hold of my hand. His skin is warm, but rough. His entire hand engulfs mine, it’s so big. “It’ll be okay.”

His voice is deep, dark, and so incredibly comforting. I squeeze his hand and he lets me, not moving it away, letting me hold onto him. I don’t know him, but right now he’s the only chance I have of being protected. He looks like he can hold his own. That’s enough for me to hang on and not let go.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his eyes on the gunmen walking across the field and shoving their guns at the players to make them stand in a group.

“L-L-Lucy,” I whisper.

“Lucy, my name is . . . Hunter. I won’t hurt you, but I do want you to trust me, okay? I’m not going to let you get hurt, but you have to do as I say.”

A woman on the other side of the stands launches up, screaming and throwing herself over the front railing, running towards the silent players standing in the middle of the field. A gunshot sounds out and she just falls mid-stride, dropping to the ground, her face in the dirt. A pained cry is ripped from my throat. Hunter squeezes my hand.

“Lucy,” he says, his voice so calm. “Look to me.”

I look over at him, my eyes wide, tears running down my cheeks. “Do you trust me?”

I nod.

“Good. Sit quiet and don’t say a word, okay? We’re going to get out of here, I promise you that, but it could be a while. You need to stay strong until then.”

I nod again, forcing back my sobs but unable to control the tears.

A dull pain stabs low in my belly. My hand slides down and presses against it and a cold fear rushes to my heart.
My baby. Not my baby.

Hunter’s eyes follow the path of my hand. “What’s wrong?” 

“I . . . I . . . I’m pregnant.”

His jaw tics. “Why are you holding on like that?”

“I have a pain,” I whisper.

He meets my eyes again. “It’s probably just fear. I want you to try and calm yourself down. Take a few deep breaths for me.”

I try to take a few deep breaths but the yells from a man in another row followed by more gunshots has my breathing turning into frantic sobs. Why is this happening? I don’t understand. I just want to go home.

“Lucy, close your eyes,” Hunter says, putting an arm around my shoulder and bringing me close to him, tucking me into his body that’s so big it makes me feel as if I’m in a safe cocoon where nobody can hurt me. He’s so warm. “Now breathe for me.”

I close my eyes and I breathe.

The pain doesn’t subside and panic sets in.

“It’s not working,” I whimper into his chest.

“The more you panic, the worse the pain will get. Keep breathing and I’m going to distract you.”

“H-h-h-how?”

“I put my phone back in my left pocket, but they’re looking our way right now so I can’t just pull it out. I want you to move in like you’re hugging me and pull it out. Can you do that for me, Lucy?”

I nod.

“All right, honey.”

This man—I don’t know him but he’s so calm, like a still rock amongst an intense storm. I press my face to his chest and twist my body, putting my arm around his stomach as if I’m hugging him. I reach into his pocket and curl my fingers around his phone, pulling it out and sliding my hand over the screen, tucking it between my chest and his.

“Now, I want you to unlock it using the code seven-oh-seven-three.”

I shift my body just slightly so I can see the phone, and I press the middle button to light up the screen. I punch in the code and then nod softly.

“Find the messages and read me what’s being said. Can you do that?”

I nod.

“Good girl.”

I go to the messages and pull up the one that’s unread. It’s from a private source and makes zero sense to me, but I relay it to him anyway.

“I-I-I-it says ‘Control in place. Wait for further command.’”

“Okay, Lucy, can you keep that with you? We’ll be needing it again.”

“Are you a cop?” I whisper.

“No.”

Then who the hell is he?

And can he really get us out of here alive?

~*~*~*~

I
t’s been easily five hours. It’s late afternoon, and the cold has set in as night prepares to fall. My pains have gone from mild to intense, and my entire body hurts from lack of movement. I’m still tucked into Hunter’s side, and he’s bringing me comfort in my desperate time of need. He has me relaying messages through his phone, messages that don’t make sense to me but obviously mean something to him.

He isn’t a cop, or so he tells me, but he’s obviously working with some very powerful people. Either way, he’s keeping me afloat right now, and I honestly don’t know if that would be happening if he wasn’t here. The shrill sounds of sirens outside have been invading the silence for the last few hours. Nobody has come in. Nobody has even tried. I don’t know why that is.

I don’t even know what these men want. Why would you pick a baseball stadium? Is it numbers? Fear because they could do so much damage? I don’t understand.

People have stopped trying to escape. Whoever these men are, they’re not messing around and they’ve made that clear. They’ve been making communication through phones but aside from that have not spoken another word to the crowd except to demand cell phones are turned off. They’ve got guns, that’s all we need to know—so we did what they said. Whatever it is they want, they’re holding a lot of hostages to get it.

I shift uncomfortably and whimper as another sharp pain stabs into my stomach. I groan softly and rub my hand against the still flat area, trying to ease the hurt. Terror washes through me when a gush of warmth travels out from between my legs. I shift and look down. What I’ve feared quickly becomes a reality. I’m having a miscarriage. I choke back a sob as devastation unlike any I’ve ever felt bursts through my body.

My baby.

Not my baby.

Please.

“Lucy,” Hunter says, his voice low. “You’re bleeding.”

“I . . . I think I’m losing my baby,” I sob.

He makes a sound deep in his throat and looks around, eyes falling on the gunmen still pacing. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

I shift slightly and clutch my stomach with my free hand, sobbing as my jeans soak with blood. My sobs quickly turn hysterical and commotion can be heard beside me. “Lucy, I know it hurts, but you have to stop crying like that. If you trust me, you have to stop.”