Page 4 of Hunted

“I believe you.” Clint felt a smile forming on his lips but suppressed it. He did admire a strong woman, though he didn’t think she’d appreciate him voicing that opinion at the moment. “I’m not trying to be nosy. It’s just that my knowing what your goals are for owning a firearm will help me ensure that you receive the proper training to use it. Someone who wants to shoot recreationally has different needs than someone who’s, say, trying to fend off a stalker.” He took a stab at a likely scenario. “In the case of the second, you’d probably want to also get a permit to carry concealed.”

It was a shot in the dark, but one he hoped might get her to open up a bit more.

“No stalker. Just safety,” she said before looking down at her son with a sigh. Clint let a moment of silence fall, waiting. With another sigh, she added, “the permit might not be a bad idea, though. Are there any more questions on that form I need to answer, or can we get to the next step?”

They went through her social security number, address, and phone number, then Clint faxed the form off for her background check while they filled out her concealed-carry permit information then went back out into the showroom to pick out a firearm.

“You never did answer me yesterday,” she said, perusing the selections in one of the cases while holding onto Thomas’s hand. “Which one is best for someone my size? My hands are smaller, so I’d need to take that into consideration, right?”

“Sure.” He moved around her in the small shop, careful not to brush against her, though he did catch her scent—fresh and floral with a hint of soap. Awareness prickled his skin before he shoved it aside and pulled out a gun from the display. “You mentioned Glocks, which are good, but honestly, for you I’d recommend the Luger LC9. It’s 9mm, has a seven-round, single stack magazine, and is well-suited for smaller framed shooters and those wishing to carry their weapon concealed.” He placed it atop the glass display case along with a fresh magazine of bullets. “Should we go try it out on the range?” He checked his watch. “Probably another half hour or so before the background check’s complete.”

She stared down at the firearm like it might explode in her face and then looked at her son. She swallowed as though gathering her courage. “I want to try shooting it, but I’m not sure what to do with him.”

Clint had suggested yesterday that she come without her son, but maybe that wasn’t an option for her. She didn’t wear a wedding ring, so she might be a single mom. His need to help her just kept growing.

“Hmm. Hang on a minute.” Clint walked to the front door and looked over at the small souvenir shop down the way. The Native American woman who owned it had been in the area for longer than the gun range had been in business. Suzie was in her sixties and a grandmother. Her place looked as empty as the gun range right now. Maybe she would watch the kid for a bit. One short phone call and a few minutes later, an older woman with glasses and a long black ponytail walked in. “Hey, Suzie.” Clint waved her toward the back of the store where he and Leila were waiting. “Let me introduce you to my customer, Leila Ortiz. And this is Thomas.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind watching him?” Leila asked. She’d been reluctant to accept the help when he’d called Suzie, but seeing the other woman seemed to have put her at ease.

“Not at all,” Suzie said, grinning and presenting Thomas with a handmade buffalo toy from her shop. “I’ve got two granddaughters about his age who I don’t see nearly enough. I’m happy to do it. Is he two?”

“Eighteen months,” Leila said, passing the little boy off to her. He snatched the buffalo and squealed in delight, giggling as he made the toy dance.

“Well, that’s just fine.” Suzie laughed. “We’ll hang out in here while you two go and take care of business. Don’t worry about a thing. He’s safe with me.”

Leila still seemed to waver a bit, but Clint did his best to reassure her. “She’s trustworthy, I promise. And we won’t be gone long. Just need to show you how to load the gun and fire it and make sure it’s comfortable for you to use. C’mon.”

Reluctantly, Leila handed over a bag with snacks and toys, then followed Clint into the soundproofed gun range. Their footsteps echoed off the long concrete room and the lingering scent of gunpowder hung in the air. Clint talked her through the mechanics of the gun and explained how to chamber a round and change the magazine. Then he showed her the safety and how to turn it on and off. Then he unloaded the gun and had her go through all the steps herself. He had her repeat it all back to him. Finally, they were ready to shoot.

“Okay. Rules to remember. One, always treat every firearm as if it’s loaded at all times. Two, always keep the firearm pointed in a safe direction, a direction where an accidental discharge would cause minimal property damage and zero physical injury. Three, always keep your finger off the trigger and outside the trigger guard until you’ve made the conscious decision to shoot. And four, always be sure of your target, backstop and beyond. That means you should always know what’s in your line of fire, even beyond the thing you’re aiming at. Understand?”

Leila nodded, seeming to take it all in.

“Good.” Clint moved in beside her, his own Sig Sauer in his hand to demonstrate. “You want to hold the gun high on the back of the grip with your dominant hand. This will give you more leverage against the weapon and help you control the recoil when you fire.” She tried to do as he asked, and he moved in closer to shift her hand position. “Great. Okay. Next, place your support hand—the non-dominant one—firmly around the exposed part of the grip. All four fingers of your support handshould be below the trigger guard with your index finger pressed hard underneath it.” He adjusted her hand accordingly, doing his best to concentrate on the task at hand and not the warm curves pressed against him. Now wasn’t the time, or the place, or the person. He couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward her, but it would be totally inappropriate to hit on a customer. “Like with your gun hand,” he lectured, struggling to stay professional, “you want your support hand as high up as possible with the thumb pointing forward, roughly where the slide meets the frame. Your two hands should fit together, like a puzzle.”

“Wow. This is a lot more complicated than I expected,” Leila said, giving a low chuckle that Clint felt clear to his toes. “Way more than point and shoot.”

“Told you.” He grinned over at her, his heart squeezing with warmth at her return smile. It was the first time he’d seen her look happy, and it was like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. He inhaled sharply and forced his mind back to business. “Right. Okay. We’re ready to assume the extended shooting position. You want to stand with your feet and hips shoulder-width apart. This will allow you to fire the weapon with stability and mobility. Then raise your weapon toward your target.”

He pointed toward the paper target at the end of her lane, and she did as Clint had asked.

“You really know a lot about this stuff,” Leila said as he moved behind her to adjust her stance. “Is that from being in the military?”

“Yep. Navy SEAL for around fifteen years.”

“Oh. Impressive.”

“I hear that a lot,” he joked, leaning in to make another small adjustment to her arm position. His front pressed to her back, and she turned slightly, putting their mouths mere inches apart. His gaze dropped to her soft pink lips and time seemed to slow.

If they’d met under different circumstances, he’d let the attraction he was feeling gain momentum. If they knew each other better, he might even have kissed her.

As it was, he stepped back and exhaled slowly, gathering his scattered thoughts together. “All right. Back to business.” He didn’t miss the pink tinge to her cheeks. Seemed he wasn’t the only one feeling this unusual connection between them. “Aiming your gun.” He talked her through the steps, waiting for her nod of understanding each time.

“Now, we get ready to fire.”

“Pull the trigger?” she asked.

“Not yet. And you don’t actually pull it. It’s more of a squeeze or press. Apply constant, increasing pressure on the trigger until the weapon fires.” She glanced back at him over her shoulder, and he nodded, putting on a pair of protective ear muffs and sliding a set onto her as well. He mouthed, “Go for it.”

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