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“I’ve done everything that I can to stay hidden. Making a living from photography is the one small shred of freedom that I really have.”
He hums and glances at me. “Investigative photography is off the table, then?”
I shrug and look out the window at the trees starting to line the road. “It kind of has to be. There’s no real way to pursue a career without being able to disclose your name. And then they print that name under those pictures. Even if they don’t, your name is on file in their systems.”
Salvatore turns off the back road and onto a dirt one, heading for an open field at the end of it. “So, you really don’t exist right now, do you?”
“Nothing but a ghost just trying to get through life without being seen by anyone.” I give him a wry smile. “I can’t even try to get proof that I was born without being worried that someone will hunt me down.”
“I’m sure that Brennan has had all of your documents forged.”
I nod, my chest constricting. “He has, but it still isn’t the same thing as having your real birth certificate and knowing that you are someone in this world.”
“You know, sometimes I can’t help but think that we are too alike for our own good.” Salvatore parks the truck in the middle of an empty field. “This is it. Training begins now.”
He hops out of the truck without elaborating. I follow him, watching as he pulls a couple handguns out of a locked case. Salvatore hands me one before pointing to a target in the field.
“I want you to shoot that. Empty the magazine into the target and then we are going to see how many you were actually able to hit.”
“You say that like you don’t think I can hit any,” I say, checking over the gun and the magazine before flicking off the safety.
“I’m sure that you can shoot in some capacity. Brennan wouldn’t have left you defenseless, but I doubt that you practice. And if you don’t practice, that means that you might be able to defend yourself before the attacker gets to you, but I doubt that too.”
I grit my teeth and stand with my feet slightly spread apart, holding the gun with both hands and aiming at the target. I fire shot after shot, concentrating as I try to strike the target with as many bullets as possible.
When the magazine is empty, Salvatore goes down to the target and brings it back up. He sighs as he looks at the paper. Most of the shots struck, though very few of them were fatal.
“It’s good to see that we’re only going to have to work on your aim,” Salvatore says as he pulls a fresh target out of the bed of his truck. “You should have been able to land most of those between the eyes or in the chest from this distance. The fact that you can’t is concerning. We’re going to have to practice more.”
“Does that mean that you’re going to start letting me go out on my own without you?”
“I already told you, sneak out if you want to go out on your own.”
“You told me that you didn’t mean that last time.” I grab another magazine from the truck and swap it out for the empty one.
Salvatore walks down the range and hangs up the target before coming back. He stands back as I aim at the target, slightly changing my position with every shot. I want to do better than the last time. More specifically, I want him to say that I’m doing better than the last round.
I want his approval, and it bothers me.
When the magazine is empty, he goes to get the target again, taking a new one with him to swap out. As soon as he joins me, he starts shooting at the new target. He empties his magazine faster and puts in a second one, still firing on the same target.
It’s only once that one is empty that he goes and grabs his own target to compare to mine.
“You’re doing better,” he says as he points to several of the places I’ve hit on the target. “But you could still use more work. We’re going to have to be out here working on your target practice at least once a week.”
I look at his own target to see that most of his shots are gathered together in a cluster. There is a larger hole in the head where several rounds of bullets landing in the same spot tore away all the paper.
“Why are you going to the trouble of doing all this?” I ask as he takes back the guns and locks them away. “I thought your job was just to babysit me.”
“Look, Brennan means well, but I think that he’s underestimating what you’re capable of because he’s been taking care of you for so long. There’s a part of him that still thinks you’re a runaway teenager who needs protecting.”
“And what do you think?” I ask, watching him as my heart pounds against my chest.
Salvatore approaches me, stopping so close his body is nearly pressed against mine. I can feel the heat radiating between us as he looks down at me. My tongue darts out to lick my lower lip and his gaze drops with it.
“I think that you’re a grown woman who will be able to take care of herself once she’s worked on her training.”
He grabs my wrist and spins me around. His arm closes around my neck, applying enough pressure to be uncomfortable as his torso presses against my back. His other arm pins my arms to the sides.
