Page 3 of Hunted

She didn’t trust men, and she had good reason for that. But there was something about this one that made her pause. Hemightbe okay. But she wasn’t sticking around to find out.

2

The next day Clint worked in the shop, unpacking a new shipment of Sig Sauers and thinking about that woman from yesterday again. To be honest, he’d been thinking about her since she’d walked out of his store the previous afternoon.

It wasn’t just because she was attractive, though she was. No. It was that haunted, hunted look she’d had that bothered him most. He’d seen that look before on men in combat. Specifically, men who’d been held prisoner by the enemy. But why in the world would such a young woman look so scared? The most likely answer made his gut churn. He’d seen some shit in his days both in the SEALs and before that growing up in the foster system. As a result, he’d learned to take care of himself. He’d also developed a strong protective instinct for those weaker than himself. It was part of what had made him such a great SEAL, that need to keep his men and any noncombatants under his care safe. But it wasn’t always such an asset in civilian life. For all that Clint tried to keep to himself, he had a tendency to stick his nose in where it didn’t belong.

He sighed and closed the display case he’d been arranging, trying to push the woman out of his thoughts. Hell, chances were he’d never see her and her kid again anyway, not with the way she’d torn out of here like her butt was on fire the day before.

Stupid, Clint. So stupid.

He’d just had to go and ask about her situation. It was none of his business. Legally, anyone could own a firearm, as long as they met the necessary requirements. Still, she’d seemed so nervous, he’d felt compelled to ask if she was in trouble. So he had—and he’d frightened her off in the process. Putting a gun in her hands that she didn’t know how to use would have only made her situation more dangerous, but he still didn’t like the idea of her out there with no protection at all.

With a shake of his head, he went in his office to put the box holding the additional inventory in the gun safe. When the bells over the front entrance rang, he called out, “Welcome to Ask Questions Later Firearms and Training. How may I help you today?”

“It’s me, again. If I get the training, from you, will you sell me a gun?” a now-familiar female voice said.

Clint’s heart stumbled like a drunken sailor as he returned to the shop floor and faced the woman from the day before. She was back, that cute kid of hers once again in her arms. Today, the boy was decked out in a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt bearing the logo of the Las Vegas Raiders. Good taste in sports. The kid stretched out a hand toward Clint and grinned. At first, Clint panicked, thinking maybe the little guy mistook him for his father, but then he realized the boy was staring past him at the colorful poster of the Nevada desert behind him on the wall.

Clint couldn’t help grinning back at the little boy. He really was adorable, all big dark eyes and curly dark hair, just like his momma. Before he could stop himself, Clint leaned forward on his elbows on the counter and started talking to the kid. “You like that picture, huh? Lots of pretty colors, right? I like them too. Reminds me of the deserts back in Kandahar.”

The woman cleared her throat and gave him a pointed stare. “Will you train me or not?”

He straightened and blinked at her a second. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and she kept tapping one foot on the carpeted floor as if she were in a hurry. Given her nervousness the day before and the way she continued to periodically check over her shoulder, he knew something wasn’t right. Normally, the gun range was open to everyone during normal business hours, no appointment necessary. First come, first served. But she didn’t know that, and Clint wasn’t inclined to tell her either. Not yet, anyway. Not until he found out exactly what she was so scared of.

He gestured for her to follow him into his office. It was a particularly slow day, and he could monitor the front door through the camera feeds on the computer in his office. If anyone came in, he’d help them.

Once inside the small room, he closed the door behind them and took a seat behind his desk while she sat in one of the chairs in front of it. He’d not really changed anything in here since taking over from the previous owner. The walls were still the same plain beige and the carpet the same basic brown as in the store. The one addition he’d made was a large picture of his team, taken on the last day of their final mission together in Qatar. They were on a white sandy beach near Doha, all smiles after completinganother successful assignment. He missed them all every day, but having their picture in his office helped a bit.

The kid seemed enraptured by the photo. Clint pointed to himself in the image.

“That’s me, and those are my buddies,” he explained for Thomas’s benefit.

“Jeep!” the kid yelled and clapped his hands.

“Yeah, that’s a Jeep,” Clint said. The boy seemed as bright and cheerful as his mother was nervous. Cline looked at her. She was watching him with an odd expression—a mix of shock, suspicion, and softness. It was the softness that did him in. A strange tug pulled at his heart. Clint coughed to clear the weird constriction from his throat before seating himself behind his desk and pulling out a blank registration form. “Okay. Let’s get started then, shall we? Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “This form is required by the state of Nevada prior to the sale of a firearm.” She sat with Thomas on her lap. “Since your hands are full, I’ll ask you the questions and write down your answers.”

“Thanks,” she said. “That would be easier.”

“First and last name?” he asked.

“Leila Ortiz.”

Clint jotted it down. “Age?”

“Twenty-five.” She adjusted the kid on her lap. He was squirming to get down. “Will I be able to take the gun home today?”

“You have to pass the background check and complete the requisite ten hours of training on the gun range first. As soon as you do that, the weapon’s yours.” He exhaled slow and narrowed his gaze on her. “Reason for purchase of firearm?”

She hesitated, so slightly that he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been watching her so closely. “Safety.”

“Right.” Clint nodded and frowned down at the form. It was none of his business, but he was going to say it anyway. “Look, there are lots of ways to secure your home without bullets.”

“It’s not my home I’m worried about,” she said, under her breath. She gave up struggling to keep her son on her lap and put him on his feet in front of her. “Why do you care?”

“No reason,” he said, shrugging while he looked up again, making eye contact. “Just curious.”

Her chin jutted out. She looked about as tough as a woman could who had a toddler dancing around in front of her. “I can take care of myself.”

---