Quadruple Duty

“So why didn’t he just go after you?” I asked.

“He tried. Several times.”

“He wants you dead?”

“Dead would be one option,” Briggs nodded. “Not the best though. Dead would bring attention. Especially because he’d need to make sure he got Kyle, Dakota, and Ryan too.”

My blood ran cold. He saw my expression and quickly put a hand over mine.

“None of that’s going to happen, Sammara. Trust me.”

I let out a long breath. His touch was still electric, and still reassuring.

“So if not dead… then…”

“First he tried to buy my silence. When that didn’t work, he tried intimidation. Next came blackmail. He dug up a little dirt — mostly in the distant past — but none of it would ever stick.”

Slowly I was getting it.

“So now he’s moved on to kidnapping?”

Briggs smirked wryly. He raised his mug. “Attempted kidnapping. He figured if he took something of value to us, we’d eventually shut up.”

I shivered. “Jesus.”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

The kitchen went silent as we studied each other, and suddenly I was very self-aware. I was wearing loose-fitting sweat-clothes. My hair probably looked like I just got done fighting a dragon. He on the other hand, looked fresh and magnificent. Showered, shaven, dressed. Ready to take on anything.

“So…”

I didn’t know what else to say. He was practically a stranger. This was our first actual conversation, and it wasn’t even about us.

But last night…

At the same time though, the connection was still there. The sexual energy, mixed in with the intensity of our bond. It hung there cloyingly between us. Like a heavy static charge in the air, right before a thunderstorm.

“So what do we do now?”

Briggs stood up and pulled something from his belt. He laid it on the table before me with a loud clatter, and I stared it at in alarm.

“W—What’s that?”

“That,” Briggs said with pride, “is the Sig Sauer XM17 MHS sidearm.”

He pushed it across the table in my direction. I stared down at it, a little intimidated by the beige-handled gun.

“It’s a little more compact than my Glock. But this is easier to shoot, with less trigger resistance.”

Apparently Briggs was expecting me to say something, or at least pick up the pistol. I did neither.

“If you have a preference,” he shrugged. “I could get you a—”

“I’ve never shot a gun before.”

The words were so foreign to him, it was like I was speaking a different language. His face registered confusion. Almost even insult.

“What the hell do you mean you’ve never shot a gun?”