Page 89 of My Fallen Saint

They’re both wearing protective eyewear and headphones, and neither notices us, but I pay attention as they both retrieve their targets, the paper outlines of a male head and torso moving toward them on the automated line.

Dead-on target, for each of them. A cluster in the head. A cluster in the chest.

I glance over at Lamar, and he’s been looking, too. Now, a small frown tugs at his mouth. “How was your weekend in Vegas?”

“Terrific,” I say. “Tons of research, and I’m almost done with my article.” I can’t tell him the truth about Devlin, and I don’t want to get into it about what’s personal between me and Devlin. Especially since we’ve shifted to the friend zone. And since I know that Lamar isn’t exactly Devlin’s number one fan.

He studies me long enough that I wonder if he’s going to press for details, but instead, he nods at the ledge where he put the clips and weapons.

“Ladies first.”

He brought his Glock, which I know is his service weapon, as well as a smaller Ruger he carries when he’s off-duty. I go with the Glock. That particular gun’s been on my mind since I saw it in Devlin’s drawer, and thinking of that night once again reminds me of Bell’s assassination. Without meaning to, I find my gaze drifting toward Ronan’s alley. And, yeah, I’m impressed.

Not that whoever took out Bell needed to be a good shot. They got in close and personal. But they would have to be someone who could fade into the crowd. And Ronan is anything but ordinary. Neither is Devlin, but hell, at least in a ball cap and jacket he could blend. Ronan is practically neon by comparison.

“Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?”

“Sorry. Sorry.” I clip a fresh target to our station, then press the button to slide it back to the furthest position. Then I adjust my goggles, slap in the magazine, chamber the round, and get ready to fire.

Nice and easy, princess. My father’s words ring in my ear. Advice from years of practice that saw me through the Academy, giving me the highest marksmanship scores of my class. Lamar knows it, too, of course. And I’m certain that right now he’s wondering if I’ve lost my edge.

It’s possible. I rarely go to the range in New York.

But I’m a competitive creature, and I’m perfectly prepared to be fully on my game.

I sight, gently pull the trigger, and mentally take a bow when I see that I’ve nailed it.

I empty the rest of the clip, only one bullet missing its mark, and that was my own damn fault. My attention had been on my target and my weapon, but some part of me knew that Devlin was walking behind me. And that part flinched just a little.

Instead of the torso, I got my bad guy in the shoulder.

As far as I’m concerned, that means Devlin owes me a drink.

Lamar takes his turn, with equally impressive results. So much so that we call it a tie, then drop the competition to simply get in a few more rounds of practice until we’ve finished off two boxes of ammo.

“You haven’t lost your edge,” Lamar says as we leave the range and step blinking into the parking lot. I have my arm around his waist, and we’re laughing about our first day at the Academy, but I pull up short when I see Devlin leaning on Shelby’s hood.

“Can I hitch a ride?” he asks, then nods at Lamar. “Detective Gage.”

“Mr. Saint.”

I force myself not to roll my eyes, then turn to Lamar. “You’ve got a shift now, right? I’ll be by later to see the Chief. He’s pulling a few more files for me.”

“Catch you later, then. Saint,” he adds in dismissal, then continues on to his car.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Devlin says.

“Try being something other than an iceberg.”

He ignores that. “Have you had lunch?”

“That depends. I really do have an appointment with the Chief this afternoon. But so long as we’re not jetting off to Aruba, I can probably squeeze you in.”

“If we were, would you change your plans?”

I flash a winsome smile. “I guess you’ll never know.”

He laughs and heads to the driver’s side. I hesitate, decide what the hell, and toss him my keys. “Don’t get used to it.”