"Give me a chance, that's all I'm asking." I latched onto his sleeve. "I can do this."
Glancing back to the target, he said, "First, you're going to explain this issue you got with being crazy. Comes up a lot, and always at the wrong time."
I crossed my arms. "That's another conversation."
"No, that's
this
conversation."
Again I rummaged for reasons why I'd go to this length for a gun I didn't even want to touch. Besides survival. "Fine. My mom. She had it."
"Had what? Crazy's not a disease."
"If you're related to my family, it is." I scoffed, but Sam looked displeased at my attempt to lighten the atmosphere. "Okay, she just wasn't all there. She... fluctuated. No one ever told me what was wrong with her. So they fought. A lot."
"Your parents."
"Yes, if that's what you call them. One night, Dad took her out for drinks, and he came home alone. He didn't explain why, just acted like nothing happened, like she never existed. I thought he'd killed her. Dad wasn't exactly a teddy bear kind of guy, so I kept my mouth shut. A week later, I overheard him and Aunt Leslie discuss why he'd put her in a facility. That was so much worse."
Sam stood as stiff as a pillar, arms crossed. "End of story?"
"Not exactly." I plopped onto a tree stump. "Then she got out."
"Sounds like a good thing."
"Unfortunately, no. My grandmother got wind of what my father had done and came running, the old coot. Turns out Mom and Dad weren't so happily married. In fact, they weren't married at all. So Grandma asserted her legal rights and took her only daughter home. Against doctor's orders."
I stared at the tree I hadn't been able to shoot. I wanted these words to be enough, to end the story with Sam filling in the blanks to suit his ideals of me. But that was as good as a lie.
Sam sighed. The annoyed kind. "And then…"
"And then." A knot dropped down my throat. "Mom swallowed every pill in the house."
Sam feigned a glance back to the truck, shoving his hand in his pocket. "Thought your parents died in a car crash."
"Always a cover story." I shrugged. "Dad wrapped his car around a lamppost two blocks from the bar he'd spent the night at, crying into his beer. They died within days of each other, so Grandma thought it would look better to tidy up events. She said the truth wouldn't follow me to New York, where she sent me to live with my great aunt till things cooled down. Aunt Leslie eventually adopted me and I never went back. Not even for their funerals."
Sam turned the Glock over, took a moment to think, then slipped the weapon into his waistband. "We're done."
"So I don't get another chance?"
"Nope." He wound between tree stumps back to the truck.
I ran ahead to face him. "But I told you what you wanted to know."
"And you should have told me before I ever handed you a weapon." Sam opened the hatch for Max, who bolted straight toward the trees. "You want to learn to shoot, you get your head in the game, your eyes on the target, your mind clear. That's what it takes."
"That's why I'm here, damn it."
"Bullshit. And if you can't get clear with you, you can't get clear with me. You want to beat the PTSD. I get that. But you're not even clear which demon you're aiming at: yours, your mother's, or your father's."
"Fine, just tell me what you want to hear."
"That you won't put a fucking gun to your head." Sam's jaw locked tight.
My lips parted to speak. Nothing.
The sound of Max whining emerged from the trees.
Sam paced the length of the truck. "I want to know Stone got you wrong."
I dropped my chin, unsure how to convince Sam otherwise without lying.
When he stopped pacing, I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind and dug my forehead between his rigid shoulder blades.
"Look at it this way," I said. "Only one parent was nuts, so I'm half sane. I'll shoot with one arm."
"That's not funny." Shaking his head, he started to move forward, but I pulled against him.
"I want to live, Sam. Every moment I'm with you, I want that more and more."
Sam pulled my arms tighter around him. "Then why are you leaving?"
"Because there's a one hundred percent chance that being together will either drive us both insane or get us both killed. And that's not a risk I'm willing to take."
He stripped my arms from him and turned. "I'll take those odds. If I get to be with you. It's not risk, Jules, if you have nothing to lose. Nothing to fight for."
Slipping his hand to the back of my neck, he pulled me to his mouth. My body instinctively gave way, and the tension in my shoulders dissolved. I crushed against him, slipping my hands under his coat for flesh.
"Ah, Christ," he whispered, and we fell into the back of the truck.
***
"That was interesting," he said, jumping off the back of the truck bed and latching his jeans. "Come on, woman. Let's get back to practice."
I sat up fast, my coat falling to my waist, exposing my breasts to the weather. "You're giving me another chance?"
"This goes against my better judgment, so decide fast." His eyes raked over my body. "And put some clothes on before I lose my mind again."
With Max safe in the truck, Sam and I tromped back through the clearing to our tree stump. He turned, set the warm grip of the Glock in my palm so I didn't burn my hand on the barrel, which was still hot from being fired repeatedly. Feet hip-width apart, I settled into my stance, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I rolled my head till I relaxed and aimed.
I am not a federal agent, but I've survived two bombings, war zones, a crazy mother, and traveling with Sam. I can shoot one stationary tree.
"Remember," he said, "keep firing till the sound doesn't surprise you. Don't fight your responses, move through them." He shifted in the moss behind me. "You're clear. Fire at will."
Boom
. My shoulders rammed up to my ears. I shook my muscles loose again. Another branch high in the trees met its fate.
Keep your stance steady
.
Boom
.
Damn it, push left
.
Boom
. Sam's instructions were a maze I couldn't traverse quickly enough.
"Stop." Sam came to my side.
"Just feeling a little raw." Though relieved I'd confessed my lineage of unsettled nerves, I felt ashamed the stories even existed in my life. Worse, I hadn't told him the crowning point, a story that would ruin our remaining time together.
"You gotta accept your reflexes, Jules, not fight them. Go ahead, flinch at the sound. Listen to your body. Then don't fire despite the flinch, fire because of it."
Nodding, I found my center and let the chaos of ugly experiences flood toward me.
Fire
. Daniels dropped to the floor, blood spray and brains marring the wall.
Fire
. My apartment door thrust me into the cove.
Fire, fire
. The Audi bounced, burst into flames and acrid smoke filled my lungs. Luke was on fire. Children were crying, mothers screaming. Marines yelled for backup into radios between blasts.
Fire!
Troy threw me against the building. My throat burned with rage, his nasty breath filling my nostrils.
Take this, bastard
..
Repeat gunfire pounded the air.
All my torment I channeled into the exploding trees. The more I wanted to scream, the harder I pushed the Glock. The gun bucked to break lose, but I pumped the barrel toward the target. The voices fell behind me as my mind focused on the single pine, stripping the bark. I could feel the bounding motion of recoil coming into my control with small, controlled flexes of my muscles. I was overwriting the memories on my own.
Out of ammunition, I stopped, my arms fatigued with the strain of a heavy weapon.
Sam came to my side, hands on his hips.
"I didn't hit the target, did I?"
"Nope, but you scared the hell out of the squirrels."
Max barked from inside the Land Cruiser. Through the trees red and white lights flashed.
"Sam."
"I see him." We scattered toward the truck.
"Get in the front." Sam took the Glock from me, pushed me toward the driver's side, pressed keys into my hand. "Stay down. Don't move. Anything happens, don't flinch." He pointed to the glove compartment.
Another
gun?
Sam stepped to the rear of the truck within range of my side mirror.
Max barked his head off as tires crunched the road, but I didn't correct him or he'd come to my side and give away my position. Turning the key halfway in the ignition allowed me to lower my window an inch and listen to any orders Sam might give.
As the SUV turned the bend, I made out a blurry sheriff's logo. The truck stopped twenty feet back at a slant, blocking the narrow road. Sam's silhouette shifted as the officer targeted a searchlight on him. He raised a hand for hello, but no friendly words were exchanged.
I could hardly hear the car door open over the sound of officer's engine still running. But through the swirling cop lights, I recognized Deputy Burke from the restaurant, staring at our license plate while he spoke into his radio handset.
CHAPTER 36
"Got a call about gunfire," said Deputy Burke, leaning right, then left to check our truck from a distance. "Don't suppose a nice fella like you would know anything about that."
"Just target practice. I'm registered." Sam stood his ground as Burke stepped out from behind his car door.
"Target practice. In the dark. Not hunting then."
"No, sir. Only during season. And with a license."
Burke jerked his head toward Max. "That dog secured?"
Sam pressed down on the hatch, bouncing the truck, to show it was locked.
"I suppose you're alone out here."
Sam gave a swift nod.
The deputy straightened a bit taller, but he looked ghostly pale under his red-and-white lights. "Neighbors don't like unlawful shooting out here. Gives us a reputation. This is a tourist town. Tourists don't like guns. Hunters go up north out of respect for local businesses."
"Understood, sir. Just practicing somewhere remote. Didn't want to bother anyone."
"Practicing in the dark. That's what you said. I'll need to see your weapon, son, and your registration. Is the weapon on your person?"
"Yes, sir." Sam spread his arms wide, when he should've been flashing his federal ID or telling cop jokes.
"I don't see a holster."
"No, sir. In my waistband under my coat."
"I suppose you have a conceal carry permit."
"Of course, sir."
"You have a lot of polite answers, son. Just hold still. Any quick moves and I might get nervous." Burke set his hand on his sidearm, crunched the gravel till he reached Sam's side, a couple of arm's lengths separating them. The deputy circled as Sam obliged. "Real slow, son, I want you to lock your fingers behind your head and spread your feet."
Sam assumed the position.
Burke lifted the pistol from Sam's waistband, held it to the moonlight. "G-17. Popular law enforcement sidearm. Not many folks target shoot with a police-issue pistol. In the dark."
"No, sir."
He felt down Sam's side, found the holstered Glock inside Sam's coat. "G-19. Interesting combo you've got here. What's your name, son?"
Sam was silent, turned his head slightly toward the truck. My prayer rattled my brain, I repeated the words so fast.
"Your name, son. That shouldn't be too hard to remember." After the continued silence, Burke stepped back, pulled his weapon and aimed at Sam's back. "Real slow, son, I want you to get on your knees."
Shit
. The hush between them was killing me. I inched toward the glove compartment so I didn't rock the truck. I could grab a weapon if things went too far, threaten Burke to let Sam go.
"On your knees."
Sam lowered out of view. Max barked aggressively now that the deputy leaned over Sam. I clutched the steering wheel, ready to jump out and tell Burke everything. But if I moved he might shoot Sam.
"Any other weapons, guns, knives I'm gonna find on you? Or needles? Anything to make me unhappy?"
"Twenty two, left ankle. Pocket knife, left pocket."
"Spread those knees nice and wide." Gravel sprayed against the truck, and I imagined the deputy kicking Sam's legs open and removing Sam's backup weapon. Then the familiar click of cuffs. "You got ID on you?"
"Inner left pocket," said Sam.
Burke leaned out of view, so I lifted my head to watch. James had given us fake IDs, which I believed were still in Sam's duffel.
"I'll be damned. Get up, son. Makes me feel like an ass to have you rolling around in the dirt." The deputy rubbed the back of his head. "You sure got my blood pressure up. Especially since we got word there's a cop killer on the loose from down south."
"Under normal circumstances, I would have announced," said Sam. He turned his back to the deputy to get the handcuffs removed. "Haven't worn these since Quantico, but that's another story."
Burke unlatched the cuffs and tucked them into his belt. "Feds usually give us a heads-up when they come digging around our territory."
Brushing his knees, Sam said, "That's a matter of security clearance. No one's stepping on toes here. Just passing through."
"A bit unsettling, you holding back like that." Burke returned the weapons and Sam nodded.
"Understood, but you were asking me to break cover. Probably make a good story back at the station. But unfortunately—"
"Son, I don't need protocols security explained to me. Served four tours in 'Nam, Special Forces. I know when to keep my mouth shut. Now those younger deputies, they'd sell their own mother if they thought it would get them some tail. Me, I'm old school. Anything you need help with up here, you can rely on professional discretion."
"Nothing I can discuss, obviously," said Sam. "Certainly don't need those plates run by civilian staff."
"You got it." Deputy Burke reached inside his SUV for his handset. "Cancel that, Suzy. False alarm. Do me a favor and delete the search, lest I feel like a fool twice in one day." The deputy smiled at Sam. "I was just heading home sick when I caught the disturbance call. Guess I better lay off that fried steak they serve in town."