“This is the place for it. What kind of protection are we talking about?”
I wondered how many different things you could defend yourself from, but the length of the display case suggested there were plenty.
“Something she can use if she finds herself in . . . a bind.” His mouth twisted. Vincent was taking the threat of Marty very seriously.
Darryl’s eyes widened. “A bind, huh? I’ve got just the thing. Give me a minute.” He disappeared behind the door he came out of earlier, leaving Vincent and me alone.
“Maybe I should just leave town with you,” I teased as I turned to him, leaning my hip into the display case. “He can’t find me if I’m not here, right?”
Vincent seemed to stiffen at the mention of his trip but quickly reached up to cup my chin in his hand, gently running the pad of his thumb across my jaw line. “You can’t put your life on hold because of this, Kristen.”
“I know,” I sighed, leaning into his touch. “A vacation just sounds nice right now.”
“The trip is going to be anything but vacation.”
“What are you doing in Rio?” I asked as I realized that he hadn’t told me much about the details of his trip.
“We’re throwing a launch party for a new product,” he said, dropping his hand from my face.
“What kind of product?”
“We’re releasing a new surfboard in South America and there’s a big party to publicize it. There’s going to be famous stars, business people, media—the usual.”
Thoughts flooded my head of the women surrounding him at the bar in Cape Town. I’d wondered why he hadn’t told me about the party earlier, but I tried to chalk it up to distraction. After all, I had given him a lot to think about. “Sounds like vacation to me.”
“In this business even parties are work.”
I was just about to ask him for more details about what kind of people would be there, worried that a launch party in Brazil would be as wild as it sounded, when Darryl reemerged. He had a silver revolver in his hand that looked like he reached into a television and pulled it out of a Dirty Harry movie.
“This is a Ruger SP101. It’ll take some getting used to especially with your small hands. I’d take it out to the firing range a few times to get a handle on it and build up some callouses.”
I shot Vincent a doubtful look but he gestured for me to try it. Really?
Darryl placed the gun in my outstretched palm and I had to use my other hand to help support the weight.
“How does it feel?” Vincent asked.
Like I’m holding a bowling ball.
“I’m not sure this is going to work,” I replied.
Darryl wrinkled his brows and scratched his chin. “Okay, I got something better.” He went into the back room again and reappeared. This time he was carrying a large, steel tube with a trigger attached to its bottom.
“This is an M1 rocket launcher,” Darryl said, his voice raising an octave with excitement. “It’ll obliterate any ‘binds’ you might find yourself in. Try it out, see how it feels.”
Darryl thrust the rocket launcher into my hands before I had a chance to protest. I stood, awkwardly bearing the heavy weight, unsure how I was even supposed to hold it. I unwittingly laughed from the overkill.
“I’m not sure I can fit this in my purse,” I joked.
“How about something a little more discreet?” Vincent asked, taking the rocket launcher from my hands and setting it on the display case.
“Well, we’ve got these over here.” Darryl scurried over to the end of the case, beckoning us to follow him with a frantic wave of the hand. He pulled a knife from its shelf and unsheathed it, revealing its thick and serrated edge. “This”—a wide and crooked smile spread across his face—“is an OKC-3S Bayonet. This is a real bang for your buck, multi-purpose, you know, not just for defense. But if that’s what you’re looking for, a defense weapon, this will get them every time.” He thrust the handle of the knife at me, his own fingers digging into the blade.
“Try it,” he insisted.
“I think I’ll just . . . look.”
He shrugged, as if to say suit yourself. “If you’re looking for discreet, this is it.” He stuck the knife back into its sheath and slipped it into the hip pocket of his cargo pants. “Can’t even see it.”
“Don’t you think this is all a little overkill?” I asked to both men. They both looked at me, surprised.
“You can never be too prepared, honey,” Darryl said.
Vincent nodded.
Ugh. Men.
I exhaled heavily, which seemed to make Vincent come to his senses.
“It’s a beautiful knife,” Vincent said, his charming business persona taking over. “But I think we’re more interested in something like this.” He pointed to a row of silver necklaces spread across the top shelf of the case, a different pendant attached to each chain. The quaint pieces of jewelry looked out of place next to the weapons that surrounded them.
“Ah, these are very popular,” Darryl said as he set the knife down next to the rocket launcher, much to my relief.
“A necklace?” I asked, turning to Vincent.
“Not quite.”
“Which one are you interested in?” Darryl asked.
Vincent looked at me contemplatively, as if considering which pendant would suit me best, before turning back to the case. “That one.”
Darryl pulled one of the necklaces from the bunch and held it up, a small heart-shaped locket spinning from the chain. He showed me the bottom of the heart which contained a small hole.
“You can insert a mace cartridge into the back,” Vincent said, taking the necklace from Darryl and laying the heart flat on his palm. He flipped it open to reveal a small canister, its nozzle situated into the hole.
“You just squeeze the heart in the center to shoot the mace.” He draped the necklace around my neck and fastened it.
I looked down at it, afraid to even touch it for fear of setting it off inside. “I don’t know, Vincent. What if someone knocks into me and it goes off?”
“There’s a safety switch,” Darryl cut in. “See the small button on the side? You have to slide it down to be able to use it. If you’re in trouble you won’t have to reach into your purse, these necklaces are one of our best sellers because they’re so convenient.”
“Kristen, if someone attacks you, you’ll be able to defend yourself without inflicting any real damage to them. All I want is to be able to protect you, and this is the only way I know how. I can’t always be there.” He reached out and touched the pendant, his fingers brushing against my exposed clavicle. The gesture was tender and so were his words. If it would make Vincent feel better knowing that I could defend myself then I didn’t see the harm in wearing the necklace. In fact, the idea of having something so accessible already felt like a small comfort to me.