Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake #5) - Rachel Caine Page 0,39
toward the SUV’s floor, and checks it over. “Loaded,” he says. “One in the chamber. Vera—” His tone is grim and angry. He methodically ejects the cartridge that’s under the hammer, then takes out the magazine.
“What? It’s in case that asshole letter guy comes creepin’ up!” We’re all staring at her, even Lanny. Vee hunches in on herself, and grabs the made-safe gun back from Sam when he offers it. She shoves it into the satchel along with the magazine and loose bullet. “I’m just tryin’ to protect myself is all.” Her rural Tennessee accent has come back thick. “Wouldn’ta shot y’all or nothin’.”
“Accidents happen,” I say. “And you need trigger discipline. We’ll go over all that once we get to the range.” My heart’s still hammering, my hands unsteady, but I take a couple of deep breaths and glance over at Connor before I put the vehicle in gear. “We’re going to get you a gun case.”
She mutters something under her breath, and I doubt it’s complimentary, but I’m focused on my son. He’s staring straight ahead, and I see the hard shine of his eyes. “Connor,” I say gently. “You all right?”
“Sure,” he says, in a voice utterly devoid of emotion. “Fine, Mom.” He isn’t, but I see him taking slow, regular breaths, and he blinks and smiles. It isn’t totally convincing, but it’s better. “I’ll be fine.”
It hurts. I want to wrap him in cotton and tuck him in bed and never, never let anything hurt him again. But that’s my screaming instincts, not my rational brain. My son has overcome a lot in his young life; he copes with what he can’t control far better than I have. I have to trust him, and trust his therapy process. He chose it. I have to respect that, even if it makes me weep inside.
So we go to the gun range.
It isn’t the comfortable, familiar place Javier operates back at Stillhouse Lake; that one is small and extremely well run, even though it’s a backwoods haven. Former military like Javi don’t tolerate sloppiness.
I don’t love this one nearly as much. It’s large, it’s loud, and in my opinion it’s slipshod on safety processes. But it’s close to us, and if the instructors aren’t the best, Sam and I can teach the kids properly ourselves. After we kit Vee out with the right things to have—a transport case, a small quick-access safe for home, a holster—we go back to the car and get all the weapons we’re going to use: my Sig 9mm, Vee’s gun, Sam’s revolver. All packed into cases the way they should be.
We’re just locking the car when Vee says, “Do you know that guy?” There’s something odd about the way she says it, and I turn to glance over my shoulder at her. She’s staring off to the right, and I follow her gaze.
There’s a man in a car parked across the street, but even as I see him, he puts the car in gear and drives away. I don’t get more than a glance at him, but I can see he’s white and is wearing a dark-colored ball cap. That’s the extent of my impression. The car’s a completely anonymous dark-blue sedan, a Toyota, and I see the rental car sticker in the window. It’s too late, and the angle’s too bad, to get a license plate. He turns the corner and is gone.
“Why?” I ask Vee. She’s still staring after the car, but she shifts her attention back to me. I see something odd in her gaze, something I’ve rarely seen in her. Vee’s all steel and smoked-glass strong until she breaks. She rarely shows weakness.
Right now, she looks afraid. And that wakes something deeply primal in me. We’re exposed out here. Far, far too exposed. My mouth goes dry. My pulse speeds up. And I find myself watching the street, waiting for something to happen.
Hypervigilance. It’s dangerous. I back it down, breathe deep. Panic is contagious.
“It’s okay, Vee,” I tell her. “We’re fine. Right?”
“If you say so,” she mutters, and grabs the case that holds her gun from me. “This one’s mine, right?” There’s no mistaking it. She chose a shiny paisley-patterned case in neon colors. Before I can ask her anything else, she’s moving for the gun range door, as if she doesn’t want to spend another moment out in the open.
I desperately, desperately want to be inside, in a windowless concrete room. Safe.