Lies(17)

“Of course you are, honey,” says Henry. It’s good to have someone on my side. Especially someone who makes Thom stop and listen.

“Neither of you can promise me safety. Not really. Things happen.” I look Thom right in the eyes, face set. “If the last day and a half has taught me anything, it’s that none of us are in complete control of this situation. There’s a chance you may not be able to stop what’s coming. Give me a fighting chance.”

Thom’s gaze is flat and unhappy.

“Oh, dear,” whispers Henry. “He wanted to be your hero in shining armor and you’ve just gone and burst his bubble.”

Both Thom and I frown.

“Of course, if they get past our boy here, we’re probably all screwed.” Henry gives me a warm smile. I think Thom’s father figure just became mine as well.

“They don’t know about you or this place,” says Thom. “Why do you think I brought her here?”

“He doesn’t have any connections to the zoo?” I ask.

“None.”

“The zoo?” Henry laughs. “I love it. She’s adorable. You should definitely marry her. But teach her how to kill first.”

Turns out Henry is right about the physical tells. Thom has micro-expressions. A hint of furrowed brow, or a certain tightening of the eyes, like right now. Then there’s my personal favorite, the ever-so-slight upward curl of one side of his lips. This is how he frowns, expresses anger, or smiles. In small ways. No wonder I thought him an emotionless automaton. Not only was he hiding everything from me, but I definitely wasn’t reading him right. Until recently, that is.

Guess it isn’t until you know someone’s a liar that you know to really look. As he said, don’t trust your eyes. They can deceive you far too easily.

Spies and so on in the movies are always rough and rugged or debonair and dashing. But Thom just sort of blends in. Slouches just enough that his height doesn’t stand out. Medium build. Must be useful for his job. Of course, I thought him attractive. Or maybe what sealed the deal was his initial interest in me. The fact that someone wanted me. Everyone needs validation now and then.

Never again will I fall for that shit. I am woman, hear me roar. I do not need a man or a relationship or whatever it was I thought was so lacking from my life. I will stand on my own two feet and learn how to defend myself. Even if the thought of being violent sort of makes me want to hurl again.

“You all right?” asks Thom.

I raise my chin high. “I’m fine.”

He just looks at me.

“I am.”

“If you say so.” His gaze seems to take in everything. He’s not a classically handsome man, but there’s something enticing about his angular features. The hard line of his jaw and fine lips, his clear blue eyes and high forehead. Then there’s the nose that’s been broken a time or two. He told me he’d broken it skateboarding as a child. Another lie, no doubt.

“C’mon.” He tips his chin. As if that explains anything.

“Where are we going?”

“You wanted to learn how to handle a gun,” he says, selecting one off the wall. “This is a single-stack nine millimeter.”

“What’s single stack mean?”

“Instead of two alternating lines of ammunition in the magazine, you’ve just got the one. So the grip is smaller and the gun is lighter. But you’ve got fewer rounds, okay?”

“Okay.”

“It’s a compact. Women usually like them.”

“Ooh, does it come in pink?”

“Are you taking this seriously, Betty, or shall we not bother?” He gives me a look from under his brows. “I could happily do without you accidentally shooting yourself in the foot. Or me.”

“If I shoot you it will not be an accident.”

He just waits.

“Sorry,” I say, chastened. “I am taking this seriously. Please proceed.”

His hand moves over the piece. “If you’re not using the gun, keep it pointed away toward the ground. If you’re not prepared to fire it, don’t draw it in the first place. Brandishing a weapon is pretty much guaranteed to escalate tension every time. Sometimes trying to talk your way out of a situation first is best. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He nods toward the hallway. “Let’s head into the shooting range.”

We go inside the long room with the weird thick gray padding hanging on the walls and matching foam attached to the ceiling. At one end is a small desk with a couple of pairs of earmuffs. Far down the other end of the room is the traditional paper target with the outline of a body. Other people would use this space for a home theater or bowling lane. Not Henry.

Thom shows me the magazine with a neat stack of ammunition before slapping it back into the grip or butt or handle or whatever it’s called. Then he runs his fingers over the top of the gun, indicating each piece. “Front sight, ejection port, slide, and rear sight.”

I nod.

“And this here is your trigger,” he says, passing the weapon to me. “Put your ear protection on.”

With nerves beginning to kick in, I do as he says.

“Give it a go. See how it feels.” He closes the door and puts on his own earmuffs. It makes our voices sound like they’re underwater or something. Muted, but not completely silenced.