Sitko.
He had lost Sitko.
Zane jolted awake from his living nightmare. This time, he’d envisioned what had really happened, but usually, his imagination filled in gory details. Once he’d dreamed of Sitko, a bloody gash across his stomach, screaming for Zane as terrorists dragged him by the arms up that dirty street. Another time, he’d seen Sitko, his white-blond hair bloody, his pale face blue and purple with beatings, opening a cavernous, toothless mouth before terrorists cut off his head.
He could tell himself a million times that there was no way he could’ve stopped them. He’d had no line of sight after that explosion.
But it didn’t matter. Sitko’s blood would always be on his hands.
8
As Friday afternoon rolled around, Molly slipped into one of the elegant Greenbrier bathrooms to change, hoping she’d brought the right clothing for Zane’s outdoor expedition. Katie had let her borrow a lined, cargo-style jacket, which was probably two sizes too big and certainly did nothing for her figure. Nevertheless, it was supposed to get cold tonight, and they would likely be outside the entire time. Zane had mentioned something about cooking food on a grill. Even if he made hot dogs, which she didn’t really care for, she’d gladly eat them just to spend a little more time with him.
Pushing the white wooden bathroom stall door open, she stepped into the sitting area, where she had more room to pull on the wool socks and sturdy knee-high boots her mom had loaned her. They were far too dated to be stylish, and she cringed as a couple of well-dressed guests eyeballed her unusual garb.
She wished she’d had time to buy new boots, but this was such a last-minute plan. Grabbing her tote, she shoved her work clothing and heels inside, then pulled out her makeup bag. If nothing else, her face would look nice.
She chose her favorite lipstick, Blushing Ginger. It was the perfect peachy-nude shade that brought out the gold in her eyes. She re-applied mascara and eyeshadow, tousled her hair so the curls lay better, and determined to rock her adventure-girl look.
As she walked out into the shop-lined hallway, a woman who was sitting nearby glanced away quickly, almost as if she’d been watching the bathroom door. It was hardly standing room only inside, so her expectant interest didn’t make sense. Molly paid more attention to the woman, who was now trying hard to ignore her. A sweeping curtain of black hair. Medium-tan skin with gold bracelets jingling at her slim wrists. Her fitted pants and tailored shirt spoke of wealth. Molly couldn’t get a good look at her side-turned face, but her profile was striking, almost like that famous bust of Nefertiti. Probably just a bored guest, embarrassed to be caught gaping at nothing.
But as Molly walked toward the door, her heavy lug soles squeaking, she could feel the woman’s gaze burning into her back.
She stepped into a courtyard that was edged with boxwoods and smaller magnolias and immediately caught sight of Zane, who had somehow managed to make a turtleneck sweater, jeans, and boots look upscale. With his beard and slicked-back hair, he could pass for a hipster, but his personality was quite the opposite.
He stood and waved, giving her a thorough once-over as she drew closer.
She smiled. “I know—not my normal attire.”
He returned her smile. “It is…different. Not really you, somehow. But it’s appropriate for tonight.” He pointed toward the side parking lot. “I’m over there.”
She hoped her visit to his cabin would convince him that this outfit wasn’t so far off from who she was…or at least who she could be. She strode to the passenger door of his oversized truck, opened it, and launched herself up onto the leather seat as if she rode in trucks every day.
What she didn’t count on was that whoever previously sat in the seat must have had really short legs. Her knees bashed into the dashboard with a loud thud, and she had to pinch her lips together to stifle a squeal. She waited until Zane shut her door to try to massage the pain away.
He walked around and climbed into the driver’s seat. Before he turned the key, he gave her a long look. “You brought gloves? A hat? They’re saying it could snow some.”
Wishing those concerned, luminous eyes had lit on her for a more poignant reason, she gave a light reply. “Sure did, thanks.”
As they wound around the familiar mountain curves, she felt some of the tension of her strange week release. “Your stitches healing well?”
“They are.” He gave a short laugh. “Poor Lola. She didn’t like seeing her daddy hurt. Good thing I’m not on active duty anymore.”
“Well, it must seem like you are—I mean you did just survive a knife attack in your own home,” Molly said, examining his face.
His gaze stayed on the road ahead, and she knew she’d sent him deep into his own thoughts. Sunlight flickered over his honey-colored hair and eyelashes. She followed the line of his Roman nose that tapered to slightly flared nostrils. His angled jaw was tightly clenched.
His focus was so extraordinary, in fact, she wondered if he’d forgotten she was sitting next to him.
She turned to look at the rolling valley stretching below them. They had climbed at least halfway up a mountain.
Zane’s thoughtful voice broke the silence. “I’m not convinced my attack was just a bungled robbery attempt, but my psychologist and my wife—sorry, ex-wife—would claim I was being paranoid if I made a big deal of it. So I haven’t mentioned my theory to the cops.”
“I’m listening.” She tried to cross her legs but they were folded tight under the dashboard. She really needed to figure out how to adjust the seat, but didn’t want to distract him.
“I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been put on a watch list—kind of like a terrorist watch list, only in reverse. The terrorists might be looking for me.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
“I was a sniper in the Marines.”
“I know, but what does that have to do with it?”
“I was a very good sniper.”
She chilled as she realized what he was saying. “You took out someone big.”
“More than one.”
Zane fell silent. He wasn’t going to elaborate, that was for sure. While she appreciated the humility that was at the core of his personality, she wondered if that humility had made him downplay the danger he could be in. If he’d been placed on a hit list, how long would it take the terrorists to get to him here in the United States? Was this a common occurrence, terrorists bumping off ex-snipers?
He glanced in his rearview mirror before quickly pulling off onto an unmarked dirt road. The rutted lane meandered downward. Molly remained quiet, following Zane’s lead.
The forest they drove through finally opened up to a clearing, where a large pond sparkled in the sunlight. Behind the pond, a cedar-shingled cabin was tucked into the trees at the foot of a small mountain. Two rough-built storage shacks sat on a slight incline to the right of the cabin.
He nodded toward the storage buildings. “My boat’s in that one. Just a little square johnboat, but sturdy for fishing. I cleaned the other building recently to make an extra sleeping space, in case, by some fluke, my family ever plans a getaway here.”
“Oh, that’s right. You have an older brother, don’t you? I never knew him in school.”
“That’s because he’s ten years older than us. Kind of a whole different generation, really.”
“Married? Kids?”
“Just married. He didn’t want to have kids and she agreed, I guess.”
“Too bad. You’d make a great uncle.”
He flashed a brilliant smile and she returned it. Their gazes lingered a moment before he opened his door, then came around to open hers.
“I’ll give you a tour.” He offered his arm with a flourish. She jumped down to take it, and he led her toward the cabin. She relished the feel of his taut muscles, clinging to his forearm as they made their way across the bumpy grass terrain.
He stopped and gestured toward the woods at the edge of the pond. “My shootin
g range is near a tire bunker I built over there. I thought we could get some shots in while it’s light, then eat before I have to get you home. I’ll have to take my guns out of the safe first, though. It’s too late in the day to fish, but if you wanted to take a spin in my boat, we could do that, too.”
She smiled in the face of his uninhibited eagerness. It was nice to see him so enthusiastic about something, even if she couldn’t share his excitement. Although she couldn’t hide from Zane’s date plan forever, maybe she could stall him a little.
“So tell me about Lola,” she said, slowing her walk.
“Well, now.” He gave her a thoughtful glance. “She’s obsessed with ballerinas and mermaids and possibly T-Rexes, although I think deep down they terrify her. Her hair shines like silk after it’s been washed. She has a knack for reading people, like she can see into their souls.”
She wished he would keep talking, but they had reached the green cabin door. She released her grip on his arm so he could put the key in the lock.
“Sounds like an interesting little girl. Do you think she likes redheads?”
Zane chuckled. “I don’t know how anyone couldn’t like you, Molly McClure.”
It seemed he circled around compliments but never gave her one directly. Did he find her attractive or not? Did he have any interest in dating her beyond this or did everything hinge on her gun savvy this evening?
When he pushed the door open, a waft of stale air escaped. He strode inside, opening windows. He motioned to a well-worn leather couch. “Please, have a seat. This might take a few minutes.”
As he busied himself removing guns and ammo from the safe, she observed his skilled movements. There were a couple of longer guns and then some kind of handgun—maybe a revolver?
One thing was clear: Zane Boone knew how to handle a firearm.
She glanced around the one-room cabin, impressed with its worn-in style. Red plaid curtains hung on the windows, and the plaid theme was repeated on the throw pillows and kitchen towels. A cozy wood stove occupied one corner of the sitting area, with a good-sized stockpile of wood sitting in a large tote nearby. Maybe he would eventually light a fire to ward off the evening’s chill, which seemed to be deepening.
Worn books lined a wooden ledge that seemed to have been built for that purpose. She stood, skimming over classic titles like War and Peace and The Jungle Book.
She glanced into the bathroom, which had a shower and sink. The galley kitchen not only had a sink, but an oven, too.
“Do you have electricity out here?” she asked.
He looked up from the zip-up carrier bag he’d placed the guns in. “I have a generator, so I use that for the water pump, lights, and stove. But there’s no hot water.”
“Gotcha.” She strode to his side. “Can I help?”
“No, but thanks. I have it all loaded up. We’ll just drive the truck to the range to save time, since the sun will be setting in the next hour or so.”
It seemed to take no time at all until they were standing in front of Zane’s targets. He had one that looked like a mannequin torso on a pole, as well as several metal gong-style targets.
“Let’s start out with something you’re probably more familiar with, since your dad was an FBI agent,” he said, pulling his light brown handgun from his belt holster. “This is a Colt 1911—a close quarters battle pistol. It’s already loaded, so be careful.”
He turned the gun around and extended it to her, the barrel pointing toward the ground.
Her fingers trembled, and she couldn’t bring herself to take it. “It looks bigger than my dad’s pistol.”
“Not sure what he had, but you’re right, this is a larger-sized handgun. Would you rather start with a rifle? I have a nice .50 caliber I built myself.”
Was that even safe? Besides, rifles were probably more complicated. “Do you have anything smaller?”
“Hm. I have a revolver, but it’s a .45. Still, it might be a little easier to hold than my Colt. Your fingers are long, so I don’t think you’d have any problems.”
Wishing for a natural catastrophe to divert Zane’s attention, she feigned confidence. “No problem, I’ll start with this 1911 and then work my way up to that .45.”
He gave a short laugh. “Actually, the 1911 is a .45, too.”
What genius had come up with ten different ways to say the name of the same type of gun? She shrugged, trying to give nothing away. “I thought so.”
He pushed the gun closer and she realized she still hadn’t accepted it yet. Wrapping her hands around the barrel, she pulled it closer, still aiming at the ground.
He shot her a quizzical look. “You’ll want to put your shooting hand on the grip.”
She nodded. The grip? Must be the textured section. She turned toward the targets, propping the gun on the palm of her left hand as she loosely held onto what she hoped was the grip.
“Okay.” She looked at him, hoping her desperation wasn’t evident.
“Okay,” he slowly repeated, his gaze trailing from her hands to her face. “Molly.” He looked like he was wrestling with what to say. “It must’ve been a while since you went shooting with your dad, right? Why don’t I give you a little refresher demonstration first?”
She turned toward him, startling as he dodged close to her side. She realized too late she had pointed the gun right at him. He wrapped his fingers over hers, then retrieved his Colt.
“Let’s just begin at the beginning.” His breath tickled her ear.
She exhaled a silent breath, but hurried to disguise her relief. “You certainly are a thorough instructor, aren’t you?”
9
It had been obvious Molly didn’t know how to shoot, from the moment she took his Colt. But the fact that she’d tried to hide it—that she’d led him to believe she knew exactly what she was doing—somehow made her charade all the more endearing.
Once he’d gone over basic gun safety with her, demonstrated shooting techniques, and let her dry fire, she’d grown more comfortable handling his Colt. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it, since the gun fit her hand nicely.
He watched as she squeezed the trigger. Once again, she shut her eyes just as the shot discharged.
“Eject your magazine and dry fire a bit more,” he said. “Then reload and shoot in rapid succession. That’s what some shooters do to minimize their tendency to blink.”
She looked dubious, her hazel eyes tinged with the same gold of the sunset.
“Believe it or not, even seasoned shooters sometimes blink,” he continued.
“Do you?”
He had to be honest. “No, but I’ve been shooting all my life. It’s my job. Well—it was.”
She did as he’d asked and began to dry fire, but she was leaning backward. He moved closer to adjust her stance, placing his hand on her back and pushing gently. “Lean forward from the waist and don’t forget to bend your knees a bit.”
The moment his hand touched her, she turned and caught his gaze. And she held it a moment too long.
He couldn’t look away. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Molly’s soul was full of hopefulness and some kind of dauntless charisma.
It was an irresistible blend.
Drawn to her warmth like a heat-seeking missile, he leaned in, catching her lips with his own. Slipping a hand beneath her bulky jacket, he pressed her closer. But instead of reciprocating the kiss, she abruptly pulled her head back.
“Um…I still have your gun.”
She had wisely pointed it at the ground, but it was loaded. What foolishness had possessed him to ignore basic gun safety, to throw his cautions to the wind? He had sworn he would never get involved with a woman again. He had given Krista all he had to give, and it hadn’t been enough.
He took the Colt and unloaded it. Darkness was falling fast. “I guess that’s it.”
She looked like he’d smacked her. “That’s it?”
“I need to get these weapons packed up, then cook you up some supper.”
He noticed her shiver. “Also, the weather’s changing fast. Smells like snow, don’t you think?”
Molly wasn’t so easily distracted. As he tucked his rifles into the bag, she touched his forearm. “Zane, we had a moment there. I didn’t mean to ruin it, but I also didn’t want to shoot your foot off.”
“I know. No problem.”
“But I wanted you to keep kissing me.”
“I know.” He set the bag in the back of the truck and opened her door.
Still, she persisted. “You didn’t. Why?”
Molly was like a dog with a bone, and he knew she wouldn’t give up until he gave her some reason, conflicted as his thoughts were.
“I’m probably not the best person for you to get involved with right now, given my recent near-deadly encounter.”
She stared at him expectantly, as if she knew he wasn’t telling her everything. But how could he explain that he still struggled with the nightmares that had turned him into a reclusive husband and inattentive father?
He finally gave in and added, “To be honest, I’m not in the best place right now.”
Molly’s eyes took on a sheen, but she simply nodded. He appreciated that about her—she was never at a loss for words, but she knew when he needed silence.
“That said, I really enjoyed that kiss,” he added. “You’re quite a handful, Molly McClure, but I like that about you.”
Molly smiled, but he saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. He wished he hadn’t been so brusque, but he had done it out of respect for Molly. She was an all-or-nothing woman, just like he was an all-or-nothing man.
Zane rolled up the truck windows when he noticed Molly pulling her jacket tighter. She gazed out the window, seemingly captivated by the lemony yellow sunset that faded into a deep lavender. Snowflakes had started falling and were building up on his windshield. If he was going to use the grill, he needed to move quickly.
Molly helped him unload the truck, then he stashed the guns in the safe before heading out to the deck to fire up the grill. When it was hot, he arranged the marinated chicken, potatoes, and asparagus on the grill racks. Snowflakes hit the briquettes and sizzled.
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