“Go ahead, touch it.”
Tentatively, she stroked the cold metal. “Will you teach me to use it?”
“Of course.”
“Then what? I take some test, so I can be licensed to carry?”
“You have to complete the course.” He smiled. “Luckily for you, I’m certified to teach it.”
Her shock must have shown in her expression. He hadn’t mentioned this the last time they’d discussed her getting a license.
“I took the instructor course,” he told her. “It helped that I was a crack shot.”
“Once I get licensed, I can carry it with me all the time, right?”
“Yes. You’ll need to keep your concealed weapon permit with you, too.”
Only in Texas. For the first time, her smile felt real, instead of as if her face were cracking. “I’ll need to carry my own bullets. I won’t use them to practice, but I need to keep them with me.”
“Your own—?” Whatever he’d been about to say, he cut off. “Not the silver-bullet thing again.”
At her nod, he sighed. “I’ve never seen them, not at any gun store here or in Dallas. And finding them in the right caliber? You have to make sure they’ll fit.”
“I know.” She smiled glumly. “Luckily, I kept a box or two of .45 caliber bullets. That’s what I retrieved from my glove box. They appear to have survived the wreck. Those will work, right?”
“Right. But what happens when you run out?”
“I won’t. I only need to use them in special situations.” She prayed he wouldn’t ask.
Evidently, he’d learned his lesson. “But when you need more, what will you do? They won’t be easy to find.”
“They never are. The Internet can be helpful. I can have them custom made.” She shrugged, avoiding meeting his gaze.
“And people make them for you, without question?”
She nodded. “The ones that do know what they’re for.”
Crossing his arms, he studied her. Now he did ask. “And that would be?”
“They’re for special hunting.” Something must have flashed in her eyes, a darkness that turned his expression hard. Still, she couldn’t help that. Even if she could explain, he’d never understand.
“You know, a horrible thought just occurred to me. These silver bullets you have, you didn’t get those from your husband’s arsenal did you? They weren’t cop killers, were they?”
“Cop killers?” She frowned, not familiar with the term. “Yes and no, though I’m not sure what you mean. I got these from his stash, but I’m not familiar with the termcop killer.”
“Body armor–piercing bullets.”
When she shook her head again, he sighed. “What are you not telling me?”
Even to herself, her laugh sounded forced. Hollow. “Please. No more questions.”
“For now, I’ll let it go.” He took a step closer, but didn’t touch her. “You should know I’ll keep searching and digging, until I have answers.”
She stared. “Why?”
Now his smile matched her earlier laugh. Completely and utterly false. That smile hurt worse than any blow.
“Why? Because.” He shrugged. “Reporters are like that. I’m a reporter. Nothing personal. I just can’t help myself.”
