Witness in the Dark (Love Under Fire #1)(29)

He waited outside as she secured the building. She set the rifle against the wall in order to close the hatch.

Big mistake.





Chapter Nineteen


When Sam turned to pick up her gun, it was gone.

Garrett stood at the door, pointing it right at her heart.

She squeaked in surprise. Then fear rushed through her. “What are—”

“Rule number one,” he said calmly. “Leave your gun unattended, and it isn’t your gun anymore.”

Her heart pounded. Oh, God. She’d been wrong about him. He really was going to kill her. But why would he go to the trouble of buying her clothing and ice cream if he’d planned to lure her to the woods and shoot her?

Then he winked.

She almost collapsed with relief. “Do you have to keep pointing guns at me?” she grumbled as he handed the rifle back to her.

“Don’t let me, and I won’t.”

She closed the door a bit harder than strictly necessary.

“What is the code for the hatch?” he asked.

“Zero, three, one, three,” she ground out, even while telling herself she was being childish. He was trying to help her. Imparting valuable lessons.

“Good. Lead the way back.” He gestured that she should go first into the woods.

“Me?” Her voice cracked, her mind spinning.

“I’m not the one who needs to know.”

“Right.”

She scratched her head to stall while looking back at the bunker. When she’d first seen the shack, it was from the right front corner. She headed in the direction that would have given her that vantage point.

After a slight rise, she could see the big tree he’d given as a landmark. She smiled, pleased with herself, and headed straight for it. At the tree she made a ninety-degree turn to the left…and then things got foggy.

She surveyed her surroundings for something that looked familiar. Nothing did. Just trees and dead leaves and pine needles and branches.

She took a few steps uphill, because she remembered coming downhill before arriving at the big tree. Halfway up the slope, she saw the tree that had fallen. They’d turned before reaching it. So, she turned about ten feet before getting there. Then she tried to go in a straight line. Through briars and over another downed tree that she was sure they hadn’t crossed the first time.

She knew she wasn’t going the right way.

But Garrett offered no correction. He followed silently behind her, even when she backtracked twice. Eventually, they came out on the trail that led to the cabin, but when she peered behind her, the tree didn’t have the marking.

“Crap. I really messed up.” She put her palm to her forehead. He’d told her to listen. He’d said it was important. He’d said it could be life or death.

Surprisingly, he didn’t look perturbed at all. “Not necessarily. Can you get us back from here?”

She let out a deep breath. “I think so.”

She turned right on the trail and started walking, and just about the time she thought sure she was lost again, she heard the hum of the generator. She led them down the steep incline to the deck in triumph.

“I did it,” she said happily.

“That took entirely too long and you sounded like twelve preschoolers stomping through the woods. Next time do it quicker and quieter.”

“Still, I did it,” she muttered as he led them across the deck and down the stairs.

Instead of going into the cabin, he crossed the parking area and headed down another steep bank. She held onto vegetation and roots to keep from sliding down and taking them both out. At the bottom of the hill there was a large open area about twice the size of the parking lot. At one end there was a low wooden fence with paper stapled to it, and at the other end was a lawn chair and a table made out of an old pallet.

A shooting range?

“Have you ever shot a gun before?” he asked.

She nibbled her lip. “Does a BB gun count?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes. I shot a BB gun about a million years ago in summer camp.”

“Were you any good?”

“They gave me a paper that said I was a marksman, but they probably handed them out to all the kids. It was one of those self-esteem kinds of camps.”

“We’re about to find out. Have a seat, and see if you can hit the target.”

She glanced at him. “Sitting down?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t I need to know about the gun first?” she asked.

He stepped closer and pointed to the end of the barrel. “The bullet comes out here, so point that toward the target.” He stepped back, saying nothing more.

She sighed, but refrained from calling him a smartass. She was starting to catch on to his method. He was training her to think for herself. To defend herself. She was grateful, regardless of how frustrating it was.

Thank God for TV. At least she knew how to hold the rifle. The butt went against her shoulder, her other hand around the barrel. Somewhere there would be a safety button. She fumbled around until she found it and switched it off. She looked through the scope twice before she figured out how to adjust it so she could actually see the target.

The paper target on the fence was weathered, but otherwise unmarked. She put the intersecting lines at the center of the circle, held her breath, and pulled the trigger.