Page 7 of Terminal Voyage

"When are you planning on being in the Keys?” I asked, changing the subject.

"A couple of weeks. Is that a yes? Are you coming?”

"I don't know. I'll have to check my schedule."

"Oh, please. Stop. You're going. What's there to debate?”

"I have responsibilities here.”

"No, you don't. You work in a bar. If you lose your job, you can get another one."

"I like my job."

"You’ll like this cruise better. I promise." She muttered aside, "How hot is your boss? I mean, you seem pretty loyal."

"Hot. But that's not the issue.”

"I'm not taking no for an answer. Tell Mr. Hotty Pants you're taking a few weeks off. Maybe a month.”

"I can't go for a month.”

"Yes, you can.”

"What am I going to do for a month on a yacht?”

"Did you really just ask me that question? Honey, there is so much to do. And there's a whole lot of nothing to do. Which is just perfect.”

It did sound pretty enticing. Maybe exactly what I needed.

"Look, if at any time you want to get back to your regular life, you can get off at one of the ports and catch a flight back,” Vanessa said. “But I promise you, after a month on Declan's boat, you’re not going to want to go back to your regular life. Who knows? You might have an entirely new one.”

5

Tyson stood close behind me, adjusting my form. With him near, it was hard to focus on the target.

“Remember, slow is smooth. Smooth is fast,” he said in a voice that tingled my spine. In a good way.

I lined the paper figure up in my sights. At 27’ it wasn’t that far, but seemed like a mile.

The echo of gunfire bounced off cinderblock walls in the enclosed gun range. The ever present smell of gunpowder lingered.

We’d been through the basics when he’d taken me to the range before. But it had been a long time, and I may have been a little rusty. Before anything, he went over the rules again. Consider all guns loaded. Never point a weapon at anything you don’t want to destroy. Finger off the trigger until the sights are on target. Know your target and what’s behind it.

Before we began, he made me field strip the weapon and put it back together. He taught me a proper stance and grip, and went through dry fire reps. He kept an eye out for muzzle dip and corrected me when necessary.

Finally, it was time for live fire rounds.

I took a deep breath, held it, and pulled the trigger.

Pop.

The pistol hammered my palm.

Muzzle flash flickered from the barrel, and gun smoke wafted.

I squeezed off four more rounds.

My eyes narrowed as I looked at the target downrange.