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“You’re looking for a Gen 4 threaded barrel?” He cocked his head and studied her. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“I heard that it’s a reliable weapon.” Juliet responded defensively.
“Yeah? And where did you hear that?”
“You Tube.”
“You have got to be shitting me.” P.J. raised an eyebrow and grinned widely.
She opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again, because honestly, she could very well imagine what P.J. might be thinking. Her research on the internet notwithstanding, Juliet really had no idea what kind of gun she needed, could afford, or even could handle. The whole idea of purchasing one today had been spur of the moment, just because of that dumb sign in front of the store. It had taken the whole first year of Juliet’s stay at the sanitorium, under pretty heavy medication, constant surveillance and round the clock therapy to try and convince her that she was safe. But the truth was that Juliet still didn’t feel safe, and probably never would. Maybe having a weapon would help with that sense of security that she so desperately craved. But she had certainly handled this ask all wrong.
“What do you need a gun for, Juliet?” P.J.’s tone had gentled, but his eyes were trained hard on her.
“I just do.” She replied firmly. “Women need guns.”
“And why do you think women need guns?’
“For... protection.” She bit down on her lip and began to tug on her hair again.
“Women have men for that.” His voice was a soft persuasion.
P.J. knew that was a bullshit answer, his own mother carried a small gun in her purse. But he had started the conversation with Juliet because he had been curious; he had hoped to get some information out of her. And the fact that she felt she needed protection told him all he needed to know. But now, he realized that he meant exactly what he said. He wanted to protect her. From whatever it was that was hunting her, haunting her. Ever since that first crazy meeting when that junk food wrapper fell out of the pocket of her sweatshirt, P.J. had wanted to help Juliet.
Juliet let out a long breath. “I wish the world was that simple, P.J.” Then Juliet continued on in a somber, reasonable tone. Her eyes were sad when she said. “You sell guns, I need a gun. Can we just make it as easy as that?”
P.J. leaned forward on the counter until he was just inches from her. Then, his keen, brown eyes gave Juliet a long, searching look. To her credit, Juliet held that gaze for longer than he thought she would. When she made the move to grab the bag off the counter and walk out the door, he spoke.
“Okay then.” P.J.’s tone was all business. “You have your license on you? I’ll take some information, run a background check, then we’ll go from there.”
“A background check?”
“Standard practice, sweetheart.”
Juliet chewed on her lip. She was afraid that her new personal information would not hold up under scrutiny. But then again, Special Agent Maddox had assured her that the pieces of identification that the bureau had provided would pass any test. And really what better place was there to check the validity of his statement than in a small town in the Northeast? Especially with a guy who’d definitely seen or maybe even had created his share of false identification cards.
So, with steady hands Juliet reached into her purse, pulled out her license, and laid it on the counter.
“Cool…let me just…” P.J. paused mid-sentence. He looked at the license then back at Juliet.
“Wanna try again?” He placed a long, scarred finger on the edge of the laminated card and pushed it towards her.
“Something wrong?”
“That ain’t you.”
Juliet looked at P.J. in honest confusion. There was no way possible that he could have determined the falsehood of the license that fast. And besides, Juliet reminded herself, it really wasn’t a fake identification at all. It was a real license, and it was her. Just not the new her. Juliet stood firm. “Of course, it’s me.”
“That ain’t you.” P.J. repeated, took a step back from the counter, crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her steadfastly.
“Well, I’ve lost a few pounds…” Juliet mumbled.
“Pounds of what? Gray matter? ‘Cause if you think the picture on this license is ever gonna pass for you, then you have lost your mind. Name’s not even right.”
Name’s not even right.
At P.J.’s words, Juliet felt a cold dread start up from her toes and course through her body. She snatched up the license from the counter as if it were a serpent about to strike. Quickly, she shoved the card back in her purse and grabbed the grocery bag from the counter. Then without another word, Juliet Jones ran out of the market.
By the time she had reached her car, Juliet’s mouth had turned dust dry, and her heart was hammering inside her chest. With shaking hands, she rummaged through her purse until she found the keys to the car. Then Juliet searched frantically through the glove compartment until her hand landed on the vial of pills. She stuck two of the small white tablets under her tongue and took a long gulp of the warm, bottled water that sat on the seat next to her.
