Hero By Night (Independence Falls 3)

“Who?” Georgia asked.

“Commence firing!” the blond-­haired officer called.

“Him,” Chad said as a series of gunshots rang out. Through the window, he watched Lena hold her arms steady as she fired once, twice, three times at the target. After five shots, she lowered her weapon, removed the empty chamber, and set both pieces on the table. He caught the small smile on her face. But one glance at the range officer and Chad knew he wasn’t the only one looking.

“Cease firing!” the man called. The gunshots came to an abrupt halt, and he added, “Clear the line!”

“The guy calling out the instructions out there,” Chad added. “The one looking at Lena.”

“Oh, that’s Noah. He lives a few towns over. His family owns Big Buck’s, the nightclub near the university. I’ve never been, but Katie can tell you all about it. She took Liam there. Wild place.”

“He runs a bar and works here?” Chad asked, tracking Noah’s movements as the shooters stepped away from the line, and Noah headed over to the newcomer—­Lena.

“He volunteers here. The members take turns working as the range safety officer. He’s a marine, I think.”

“Home on leave?” Chad asked.

“No, he’s out,” Georgia said as Noah stopped beside Lena, pointing out at the targets. “But once a marine, always a marine.”

His brow furrowed. “Did she do something wrong?”

“Lena? I have a feeling she hit the target five times and probably left one hole. He’s probably complimenting her.”

Lena smiled up at broad-­shouldered Noah. And shit, the man stepped closer. Hero, who’d patiently been waiting at Chad’s side, put his front paws up on the windowsill and barked. Hell, Chad felt like barking too.

“He needs to move back,” Chad said. “He’s too close to her.”

Georgia cocked her head to one side. “Chad Summers, are you jealous?”

“She doesn’t like ­people getting too close,” he said. “You know that. It’s one of her triggers.”

“I’ll let Hero out.” Georgia moved to the door, the anxious golden retriever following her. “If she starts to panic, he’ll be there for her.”

“Georgia, wait up,” he said. “What are the rules here? Can you approach her?”

“We can go to her until the range safety officer calls shooters back to the yellow ready line,” she said. “Why? Are you planning to warn Noah to stay away from Lena?”

“No.” He scanned the room, spotted the clipboard hung on the wall, and headed over. “I want you to take Lena a note.”

And remind Lena that she was his.

Georgia laughed. “Still using the same moves you used in high school?”

“I only wish I knew half the moves I know now, back when I was a teenager.” He picked up the pen tied to the wall by the sign-­in sheet. Rifling through his wallet, he found an old gas station receipt. He turned it over and started writing.

LENA GLANCED AT her gun resting beside the empty chamber. She wanted to reload and fire again, but she needed to wait for instructions. Down the line, the other shooters were removing their protective gear, congratulating one another on their performance. She didn’t need anyone to tell her she’d hit the target. When it came to shooting, she didn’t miss. Her pride swelled, and she knew it wasn’t only linked to the five bullets she’d unloaded in the target.

Earlier, she’d stared failure in the face, and she’d walked away the winner. She’d ridden that high straight to the gun range. She felt at home here. She understood the rules. Holding her revolver, her gaze focused on the target, in that moment the anxiety receded. Maybe it was a lucky guess on Chad’s part, but he’d picked the perfect place to celebrate.

“Hey there, new girl.”

Her body shifted from calm and collected to alert in an instant. Looking away from her weapon, she spotted the tall, muscular man who’d called out the commands on the range. The words “Semper Fi” ran down his arm tattooed in red ink. A marine. Telling herself to relax, she smiled up at the man.

“Hi, I’m here with Georgia Trulane.” She clasped her hands in front of her where he could see them. “If there’s a problem—­”

“No problem, sweetheart,” he said with a smile that looked as if he’d been studying Chad’s signature panty-­melting grin. “Just wanted to welcome you to the Willamette Valley Gun Club. Either you’re a natural or someone taught you how to take out a target.”

“My dad,” she said. “And after that West Point.”