ou teach me how to shoot a gun?”
I’ve been putting off asking Ethan this question for a week. It’s now or never. We’re in his truck, headed to the farm, and there is a practice range there that Ethan and his dad use to sight in their guns before hunting season. If he agrees, I won’t have time to back out before the turnoff.
Surprise flashes across his face. “Are you sure?”
“I’m ready,” I answer, hoping it’s the truth.
I can tell he doesn’t believe me, and I don’t blame him.
“I’m not sure I’m ready,” he says in a teasing voice.
It wasn’t that long ago that I blacked out when I saw him shoot a hog that was attacking his dog. That shot brought back memories so horrible that I had repressed them for months. But I remembered everything now, and I was determined not to cower behind a couch the next time I came face-to-face with a killer. Not if there was anything I could do about it.
“What brought this on?” he asks.
I shrug, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t like being scared of anything.” And that much is true. I’m terrified of guns, but I’m more scared of returning to the life I led just a few short weeks ago. “I’m ready and we’re here. Perfect timing.”
My family has only been out of the Witness Protection Program a month and I’ll do anything to avoid going back. Our short time in the program nearly destroyed my family.
He reaches for something near my feet and I automatically snatch my purse from the truck floor. The last thing I want is for him to see what I’m hiding inside. He grabs the remote control that works the gate to the farm, which must have fallen out of its usual spot in the cup holder, and gives me a strange look.
Probably because I’m acting like he’s a mugger.
“You’re jumpy. You hiding another boyfriend in that bag?”
I return his smile with a weak one of my own. Have I been glancing over my shoulder way more than what’s normal? Yes. Have I nearly jumped right out of my skin at every little noise? Yes. Do I want to tell him why? No.
Ethan turns serious. “Anna, you’ve been different ever since the Mardi Gras dance. You know you can tell me if something’s wrong, don’t you?”
“No! I mean yes, I know. Nothing is wrong. It’s all good. Sorry for being weird.”
I hate thinking about the Mardi Gras dance.
Hate it.
It was supposed to be the perfect night. I was back to using my real name—no more fake identities—and I had convinced myself it was all over. I no longer dreaded the suits showing up and pulling me away from everyone I’d grown to love, like they’d done so many times before. I no longer worried every time I said good-bye to Ethan that it might be the last time I saw him.
And itwasperfect—at first. I felt like the belle of the ball dancing in Ethan’s arms, and the night was getting even better when the party moved to Will’s house.
But that’s when everything fell apart. That’s when the man I thought of as Agent Thomas re-entered my life.
“I’ve just been a little stressed lately,” I add nervously. And that’s the truth.
“And you think now is a good time to shoot a gun?”
“Yes, I do.” I drop my purse back down on the floorboard.
“Okay, then. If you really think you’re ready, we can try,” Ethan says.
I may be good at hiding things from my dad and my little sister, Teeny, but I can’t hide anything from Ethan. He knows something isn’t right. Gripping my bag, feeling for the hard corners of the journal tucked inside, I think about how much to tell him.
I’m not mentioning the bizarre return of my missing journal…or the single daisy that was left in the pages. I’m not telling him about the note that Thomas, fake agent and would-be assassin, left in the pocket of my coat—the note that I tore to pieces, then taped back together hours later. I’ve re-read that note a hundred times looking for some clue or hidden meaning, but there’s…nothing. It still freaks me out that Thomas managed to get within a few feet of me and I never knew it. I’m not telling Ethan there may still be someone out there watching me.
Ethan clicks the button on the remote and the electric gate starts to open. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“For a while.”
Ethan glances from me to the farm road, back and forth, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Given that the majority of the time we’ve known each other I was lying to him about who I was, I don’t blame him for being skeptical.
