LITMIR.BIZ

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his advice, but she was too aware of his body pressing against hers from her shoulders to her bottom. If he hadn’t shown her so very clearly that he wasn’t going to go for the sex, she’d be moving back, shifting ever so slightly, just enough to get a rise out of him. Instead, she concentrated on the lesson, not the man. She just wished he smelled bad, and that his voice would stop swirling in her head.

      “The only thing you should be moving is your trigger finger,” he said. “Use the tip of your finger, the most sensitive spot, so you feel what you’re doing. I want you to dry-fire as often as you can, get used to the feel of the weapon, make the action comfortable and easy. I want you to be so used to pulling that trigger that you don’t even have to think about it.”

      “And just how long will that take?”

      “Not long. We’ll be back here tomorrow, and the next day, if we need to be.”

      “You said dry-fire.”

      “That’s pulling the trigger,” he said, his breath shifting just a bit so it hit her neck in a new way, “without a live round in the chamber.”

      “Ah. Kind of like foreplay.”

      He shifted back, but she moved with him. Immediately embarrassed, she pushed her hips forward, only this time, his body followed. She decided that it wasn’t sexual; he was just helping her with her aim.

      He cleared his throat and his grip tightened on her wrists. “Go ahead, take another shot. No headgear this time. I want you to hear the noise. Make it part of the experience.”

      Christie smiled. “Uh, Boone?”

      Again, he cleared his throat. She didn’t think it was that dry in here. “Yeah?”

      “It would probably work better if the target was back in place.”

      His forehead hit the back of her head, a light tap, but he didn’t say anything. He just let her go, went over to the side and pressed the button. The silhouette man shivered as he traveled, but once he was in place he stilled, and she wondered how she was going to convince the bastard to stand perfectly still while she remembered to breathe and squeeze her perfect shot.

      Boone didn’t resume his position, preferring instead to stand with his arms crossed, leaning against the partition. He watched her though, so intently the crease above his nose seemed like a dark stain.

      She tried to forget about him, to incorporate all the things he’d told her about firing the gun, but it was like trying to ignore an elephant in the room. She could still feel the tickle of his breath, hear his solemn words in his dark monotone. She decided not to fight it. To let him guide her, even though he wasn’t actually holding her arms.

      The stance, the grip, the sight, the breath, the squeeze, and then the crack, so unlike the sounds of guns on TV, and the recoil, jolting her hands back and high.

      She waited impatiently for the target to come close, and her heart did a little flip when she saw that she’d actually hit the target. Not close to the head, in fact, not even on the body itself, but there was a hole in the paper, and that seemed like an enormous victory.

      “Well done,” Boone said. “Good job.”

      She kept her cool, even though she wanted to do a little happy dance. Boone was being all business, or what she imagined all business would be for an army guy. His nod was accompanied by a frown, which she figured was Delta Force for “You go, girl.”

      “Let’s do one more.”

      She nodded, wanting to keep going until she hit the body. More than the workout this afternoon, hitting the target gave her a sense of power she hadn’t felt since the bastard first called. She might not be able to beat him up, but a bullet would definitely stop him.

      The target took its sweet time getting back to square one, and she let Boone take her through the process as he once again watched from the sidelines.

      This time, the recoil didn’t seem so hard. The pull of the trigger was sweeter. But she still hadn’t gotten the bullet closer to the body.

      Boone took his goggles off and put them on the counter along with his headgear. He walked to her, the frown still in place, only he didn’t stop a polite distance away, but got right into her face. He took the weapon from her hand, released the magazine and checked it twice to make sure it was empty, then he gave it back to her. Once she had the proper grip, he put his hand over hers and pulled the gun toward him, so the end of the barrel was right against his stomach.

      “Listen up,” he said, his warm breath now fanning her lips. “If he comes and it’s just you and him, forget everything you just learned. You don’t aim, you don’t go for balance, you don’t breathe deep and hold it. You push the gun into his body.” He pulled her hand, forcing the barrel deeper into his stomach. “You make contact, it doesn’t matter where. Just push the gun into his body and then you pull the trigger. No finesse, no tricks. You bring him down. You don’t think about it. You do it fast, you do it hard. You got that?”

      She swallowed, her chest tight and hurting with the reality of what he was telling her. She might have to face a living human being and shoot him in the gut. It was something she’d never considered, not once in her life. That she would have that kind of power. That she could take that final step. But looking into Boone’s steady gaze, his pupils large and dark, she knew there was no room to squirm, no room at all. If it was her versus the bastard, she had to shoot, and shoot fast.

      “You got that?” he repeated.

      “I got it.”

      He stepped back. “Let’s go home.”

      THE RIDE HOME WAS MOSTLY silent. Boone kept a watch on the mirrors, making sure no one was tailing them, but he also kept checking with Christie. He’d done what he’d intended, hit her hard with the facts.

      He’d been in the military since he joined up at twenty-four, and in the ROTC before that. His father had been a career soldier, as had his grandfather. Boone had grown up with guns, with the idea of using weapons, and he could still remember the first time he understood that he would, at some point, have to kill someone. It had hit him hard, just like it had hit Christie. Only for her, the threat was imminent.

      He thought about sending her away to somewhere safer, but if she left, the geek would know and he wouldn’t come out. She still wouldn’t have her life back. It would mean she would be on the run for who knows how long, and he knew from experience that that kind of life sucked. Stalkers were notorious for never giving up, and this stalker, with his first-class gadgets, was no fool. The only real solution was to get him to show himself, and for Boone to take care of him once and for all.

      All Boone had to do was make sure it was the geek that lost, not Christie.

      Funny, though, that she’d never asked him about leaving.

      “What?” she asked.

      “Huh?”

      “You grunted,” she said. “At least I thought it was a grunt. If you burped, then I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

      He looked at her, at her haunted eyes. Good for her that she could keep her sense of humor. “Why haven’t you asked me to help you disappear?”

      She blinked a couple of times, her pretty lips parting just a bit. “Because you’re going to catch him. Aren’t you?”

      “Yeah, I am,” he said, his gaze back on the road in front of him. “We’re going to.”

      “Don’t count on me, Kemo Sabe. Despite the excellence of your tutoring, don’t forget that I passed out. I’m an interior decorator. We’re not known for our guerilla tactics and fighting acumen.”

      “You’re stronger than you think. Knowing what to do is going to help. A lot.”

      “You catching the bastard is going to help more.”

      “Fair enough.” He made a couple of turns he didn’t need

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