“What then?”
“As I said, let me worry about that.”
“Elliot is a coward,” she says. “But he’s not a fool.”
“Trust, remember?”
At last, she falls quiet.
“Jacket,” I remind her.
She takes a denim jacket from the back of a chair.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Not yet.”
“Good.”
Taking her hand, I lead her to the car.
A short drive later, I park at the indoor shooting range.
She gives me a speculative look as I help her from the car. “Why did you bring me here?”
“You’ll see,” I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
I shelter her against my body until we’re inside. The owner, Terry, waits for us in the reception area. He knows me well. After the introductions are over, Terry leads me and an apprehensive Violet to the range.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, handing us two pairs of earmuffs.
“Leon,” she says, shooting a glance at the target in the distance.
“Do you trust me?” I cup her face. “Just a little?”
Her body trembles in my hold. “I don’t like guns.”
“I know, darling. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, straining to escape my hold.
I consider my answer. “Because of the life I lead.”
She stills. “Is your life often in danger?”
“It used to be, but now I have you.” My gaze drills into hers. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She shakes her head.
“My old life is over,” I say. “Yet we always have to be vigilant.”
She swallows.
I let her go and hold out my palm. “Give me your hand.”
A bewildered look comes over her. “Leon, please.”
“Trust me. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Lifting her hand slowly, she places it in mine.
My chest swells with a warm feeling. “Good girl.” Reaching for the Glock in my waistband, I take it out slowly. “I’m going to place this on your hand. It’s not loaded. You don’t risk anything. We’ll do this at your pace, only what you’re comfortable with. If you tell me to stop, I will. Understand?”
She gives a small nod.
“Ready?”
Biting her lip, she gives another nod.
“It’s on the heavy side,” I warn. “Your hands are small. It may look overwhelming at first, but just get a feel for it, all right?”
Carefully, I place the firearm on her palm. She stares at it with pale cheeks, her eyes wide.
“Close your fingers around the shaft,” I say.
She does so reluctantly.
“How does it feel?” I ask, placing a hand on her hip.
“Cold,” she says, wetting her lips with her tongue. “Heavy.”
“You control the gun. Always. Never the other way around. Now turn the barrel toward the target. You can aim through the front sight if you like.”
A sheen of perspiration covers her brow as she lifts the gun and aims it at the paper target.
“When you fire, the momentum will pull up your arm up a fraction. You can compensate for that by aiming slightly lower.”
“Have you been doing this for long?”
“Shooting guns? Since I was fifteen.”