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The last thing I would ever want on the job is for a child to become a causality in the pursuit of a rescue.
Once my magazine is emptied, I check the chamber to ensure it’s empty as well as to ensure there was no malfunction and completely disarm it. The instant I’m finished, I place the pieces down on the counter, step back, and motion my hand forward that it’s his turn.
“Yeah, I guess I should probably fire the thing to make this whole thing look real.”
“Affirmative.”
Seventeen nods, ditches his suit jacket, mimics the actions I took, and prepares to fire.
Surprise over the fact he can even properly hold the rifle pales in comparison to the shock that shoots through my system every time he successfully hits a target. It, of course, takes him longer to complete the same cycle I did; however, he still finishes.
And there are still an unpredicted number of holes close to mine.
He empties and disarms his weapon with a smug smirk prior to stepping back to be beside me. “Not too bad, huh?”
No.
But not too good, either.
And he’s lucky nothing was actually at stake here like someone’s life.
Or a seafood dinner.
Some of my retired frogmen contacts have had to pay for many of those for me.
I swallow the bitterness clogging my throat and force myself to state, “Better than I was expectin’.”
“Contrary to your belief, I know my way around a rifle, Wahl.” The folding of his arms across his chest is attached to a glare. “I grew up hunting geese and grouse with my father and grandfather in Vermont.”
Why am I not surprised?
“I wonder if Arley’s ever been hunting.”
My mouth twitches to reveal the answer when I realize I don’t honestly know.
Hm.
Not loving the increase in information I don’t know about the one person I thought I knew best in the world.
He searches my stare for a split second before grunting a laugh, “You don’t know, do you?”
Rather than reply, I step forward to reload my gun.
“Maybe when all this is over, I’ll fly the two of us up to my family’s lake cabin on a private jet to rekindle our romance.”
I tap the new mag into place.
“Do a little hunting.”
Tug it to check the chamber.
“Maybe some skinny dipping.”
Lift it to fire at the furthest target possible.
“Lick maple syrup out of her belly button again.”
Pulling the trigger silences him, yet not the voices in my head.
