Yikes.
I started to turn to tell her to back off but it wasn’t Indy.
It was Vance.
Before I could react, he reached low, grabbed my wrist with one hand and twisted the gun out of my grip with his other.
Oh crap.
I stared at Vance’s angry face for a beat then my eyes slid to the side.
Indy was sitting on a stool behind me. For the last twenty minutes we’d been taking turns with my gun, her father had taught her how to shoot and she wasn’t a bad shot.
Now she was sitting frozen and throwing me an “eek” look.
Vance’s hand was still at my wrist and he dragged me right by Indy without sparing her a glance and toward the soundproof door.
I tried to pull free. This didn’t work.
We went through the door into the antechamber and he closed it behind us.
I tore off my ear protectors and goggles and tossed them on the shelf on the wall.
“What the f**k?” I snapped.
He shoved my gun in the back waistband of his jeans, ripped off his protective gear and tossed it on a shelf next to mine.
“What the f**k?” I repeated, thinking he hadn’t heard me with his ear protectors on.
Then he looked at me.
Wow.
I didn’t have to know him very well to know he was seriously pissed.
“You hung up on me,” he said, voice smooth and quiet.
“Vance.”
“Don’t ever hang up on me.”
Most girls would probably hear the way he said those six words and nod meekly.
I wasn’t like most girls.
“You put a tracking device on my car,” I said in my defense.
“So?” he responded.
“And in my purse,” I went on.
“This is a problem because…?” he asked.
“This is a problem because…” I couldn’t think why it was a problem with his angry eyes on me. Then it came to me. “It’s intrusive,” I finished.
“It’s intrusive,” he repeated.
“Yes,” I clipped.