Page 23 of Fast Justice

Oh, she might be surprised to learn that he was willing to do a lot where she was concerned. “I might be. Depends on why you want to learn, though.”

She broke eye contact, looking to the left at a group of FBI agents Brock knew checking in at the counter. “You know why.”

He thought he did, but that wasn’t good enough. “I want to hear it from you,” he added softly.

In the weeks following her rescue he’d become a bit of an expert on Victoria Gomez, reading everything he could find about her. Her investigative columns and articles in various newspapers and magazines. The two books she’d published on Mexican drug cartels, including one on the early days of theVenenos. The events leading up to the attack that had made her their prisoner.

He knew every detail about how she’d been taken, from various reports. Her entire extended family had been gunned down in front of her at the dinner table at her parents’ place in Houston. Ruiz’s men, acting on his orders as punishment for the article she had published and the book she was working on about him. They’d taken her to a hideout at a rural property on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi and subjected her to weeks of degradation and suffering that still twisted his guts to think about.

Now those deep brown eyes shifted back to his and held, the memory of that night an unspoken link passing between them. And the flash of fire he caught in her eyes gave him hope. Hope that she was stronger than what she’d endured. Strong enough to bury the assholes on the witness stand who’d done this to her, and then build a new life for herself. A safe, secure life somewhere new.

“I want to know how to protect myself properly. Because I never want to be a victim again,” she told him.

Damn right, sweetheart.What she’d been through still kept him awake some nights.

Until her, Brock had never been affected like this by a mission. Maybe because for him, it was personal with Victoria.

He’d been the one to carry her out of the woods the night she’d fled her captors. He’d held her wrapped up in a blanket in the back of that van until the ambulance came. She’d been terrified, in shock and in pain. She’d clung to his hand on the ride to the hospital, and he’d stayed at her side until the medical staff had sent him from the room.

And when they’d finished treating her injuries and completed all the tests, he’d kept vigil at her bedside through the night, because she’d asked him to stay. It was possible she didn’t even remember that, because they’d sedated her, but she had. Even though they were almost total strangers, on some level she must have instinctively trusted him to watch over her while she slept, even in a drug-induced haze.

Even if she did remember it, she had no idea how deep she’d gotten under his skin that night. No one did.

He forced his mind back to the present. “Okay. I’ll teach you.”

The fire faded from her eyes, replaced by gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He paused a beat, keeping his eyes on her even though he wanted to catalogue every feature on her face. “You want your first lesson right now?”

“I was hoping for that, yes.”

Spending his precious day off teaching her to shoot so that she could regain some sense of safety and control sounded like the best thing that had happened to him in forever. “What kind of weapon are you thinking?”

“A pistol. Maybe a rifle too, but not until later. I want to see if I can get comfortable with a firearm first.”

A lot of people who’d been victims of gun violence were afraid of them. Seeing your entire family slaughtered in front of you was something else altogether. He admired her courage for wanting to face this, take this step toward conquering her demons. And he loved that he’d been the one she had reached out to. “All right.” He gestured to the registration desk. “After you.”

He knew the clerk at the desk. Filling out the paperwork took only a matter of minutes. After grabbing a Glock, ammo and protective equipment for them, he led her through the door onto the sound-safe viewing area. She stayed close to him, stood to his left as he stopped where she could get a good view of one of the Feds shooting a paper target at the end of the lane.

“You’ll need these,” he said, handing her earplugs, earmuffs and protective glasses.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t miss the nervous way she kept darting glances at the Glock. “It’s not loaded. Ammo doesn’t go in until we’re in position and ready to fire.” He pulled back the slide to show her that the chamber was empty, then released the magazine to show her it was too.

She nodded and relaxed a little. “Okay.”

He held it out to her. “Here.”

She hesitated, glanced up at him a second, then gingerly took it, holding the pistol away from her body as if it was a coiled rattlesnake.

“Like this,” he murmured, and maneuvered her palm and fingers into position around the grip. “Always keep the muzzle pointed downward and away from everything you don’t want to shoot at, even when it’s not loaded.”

She nodded and studied the weapon. He explained all the parts, and what they did. Then he had her watch the fed shoot for a few minutes, pointing out his technique, giving her some tips.

“Ready to give it a whirl?” he asked.

Expression solemn, she nodded. “Ready.”

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