Guns: The Spencer Book (Rook and Ronin Spinoff 4)

I don’t know what to say. Seriously. What does a person say when she’s asked if she’ll protect a man who might be trying to kill someone?

“Do you trust me?” he asks when my silence continues.

That’s an easy one, so I just answer. “No. Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you. You blow into town with money and buildings and offers. And I’m supposed to what, just jump at the chance to play cops and robbers with you? I mean, please. Give me a little credit.”

He smiles big at that, and his smile, good God. It’s quite nice. He’s a dark guy—Italian, he said. He looks Italian. His hair is thick and just shy of jet black. The shadow on his chin is just short of panty-dropping, that’s how sexy it is. And his eyes are bright with excitement.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask suddenly. I need something from him. Something personal to ground me. Help me form an opinion.

“No, I don’t have time for girlfriends.”

“What do you do then? I need some details, Bobby. Give me something.”

“I’d like you to go for a drive with me, Veronica. It’s an hour east of here, in an empty field. You and I will be alone. But”—he stands and walks over to a case on a buffet table along the wall, opens it, pulls out a FN Five-SeveN and holds it out to me—“you can have your gun now.”

I just stare at him. Is he serious?

“You gonna take it? Or just look at it? You know what this is, Veronica?”

“I know what it is.” I’m huffy about it, but f**k him. “Don’t talk to me about guns like I’m a girl.”

He shakes the gun a little, a signal for me to get up and take it from him. I push my chair back slowly, then rise and walk calmly across the room and accept the gun. I pop the magazine out—fully loaded with all twenty rounds—then check the chamber—empty. “It’s nice.”

He laughs. “Nice, yeah. It’s nice. So, would you like to accept my offer to test for me?”

“You want me to shoot for you? Right now? In the dark?”

His smile fades quickly. “The job’s happening tomorrow. I need to know if you’re on board tonight, otherwise I need to plan to go solo.”

“I need more information.”

“Come with me now and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

“Not everything, just what I need to know. Not good enough.”

“I’m paid to complete missions, but I’m also paid to keep secrets. I’ll tell you all the details you need to do your job, just as I was told all the details I need to do mine.”

I look down at the gun. It’s more than nice. Much more than nice. Expensive, both to buy and to shoot, because the ammo is unique. A cone-shaped projectile that acts more like a rifle cartridge than a bullet. My heart thumps a little at the offer. I feel like I’m in a movie. My life is morphing into something interesting and dangerous before my eyes. It’s far better than sitting around pining for Spencer.

I look back at Bobby Mansi and nod. “OK, I’ll go. But I’m not making any promises until I hear the details.”

Sixty minutes later we are still driving. It’s eleven thirty at night, it’s dark as hell, and I’m truly in the middle of nowhere. I have lived no fewer than ten rape/kill scenarios in my head. But that’s ridiculous. I’ve got a gun. A very powerful gun.

I’m sure Bobby has one too. Somewhere on him. But it’s not in his hand with his trigger finger resting alongside the barrel, like mine is. I flicked that safety off and loaded a round into the chamber as soon as I got in the car. Bobby was walking around to get in his side after holding the door for me—those rich-boy manners again—so he didn’t see me do it. But I’m sure he knows I’m ready to shoot his ass, should the need arise.

I’ve never shot a person but I’ve shot a hundred thousand rounds, at least. Spencer and I used to go shooting once or twice a week back when we first met. We’d spend the entire day at the gun club. I took a lot of shooting classes. I’m a better shot than Spencer is.

I still have a gun club membership, paid in full every year thanks to my ghost of a boyfriend. In fact, I’m still on his account. We just never go together. I’m not sure he even goes there at all—he has his own range on his farm. It’s just the back side of a dirt hill, but that’s all you need.

Bobby and I sit in silence the whole ride. I guess he’s not a music guy because he never turns it on. And when I steal some glances over at him every few minutes, his expression is distant and serious. Like he’s thinking very hard about things.

My grip on the gun tightens. God, I hope to hell I’m not setting myself up to be killed.

The car slows and we turn off on a dirt road. We bounce around on it for about a mile, then he stops and cuts the engine and we both get out. “We’re here.”

I look out at the total darkness. “How the hell are we gonna shoot targets in the dark?”

“You’re on the clock now, Veronica. Be quiet, watch, and then do as you’re told.”

My brows go up into my forehead. Jesus. Blunt much?

He opens his trunk and rummages around inside a duffel bag, then produces a contraption that looks like a bunch of laser pointers taped together. He sets it down on a table—table? I guess we’re actually somewhere legitimate. And then turns it on. Ten laser beams shoot off into the distance and rest on some sort of vertical platform. The points of light create a line of red targets.