“Nice. This is probably your first shot.” He pointed to the one hole left of center on the target. All the other shots were clustered at the head, torso, and slightly lower. He shifted in sympathy for his paper friend.
“Yeah. No matter how often I shoot, I always screw up the first one.”
He replaced the paper target with a new one and sent it back down the lane.
Addison locked and loaded the M4 rifle and adjusted her stance before glancing down and flicking a cartridge away with the toe of her shoe.
“Do you want a different pair of shoes?”
She shook her head. “I’m good.”
She was shooting in heels and a camisole and looked like a sexy badass served up on a spent brass platter. Karma was determined to make him her bitch.
At his nod, she flipped the selector to semi and fired off three rounds. He pulled in the target to see where they’d landed.
“Three up, two left,” he said, indicating how she should fix her sights, then sent the target back while she made the adjustment.
They repeated the process twice more, but after each adjustment, her shots were still slightly off.
“I’m not sure what the problem is,” he said. “You’re making the proper adjustments, and I can’t see anything wrong with your stance or your breathing.”
“Ugh. I know what the issue is. Send it back.” She switched her grip and settled the butt of the rifle against her left shoulder.
“Are you ambidextrous?” he asked.
She looked over the stock. “No. I’m left-eye dominant.”
“Why not just shoot left-handed from the beginning then?”
“I’m always hopeful I’ll be able to sight on my right hand. I’m more accurate with my left but I’m not as fast.”
Sure enough, the next three shots were dead center of mass. Sending a clean target down the lane, he couldn’t hold his concern in any longer.
“Addison, I’m going to cross a line again.”
She lowered the muzzle of the rifle slightly and gave him her attention.
He held her gaze for several moments, debating whether it was worth it. He knew what her answer was, but he couldn’t hold back. “I don’t think you should go on this mission. It’snotbecause I don’t think you’re capable,” he said before she could respond. “It’s because I think you’re too close to this, and too much emotion, the wrong kind of emotion, can lead to mistakes.”
If her gaze could have set him on fire, he’d be a pile of ash at her feet. Maybe rightly so, but he wouldn’t be any kind of team leader if he didn’t voice his concerns. He didn’t want to see her get hurt—and not just physically. They had no idea in what kind of shape Braedon would be. If she flinched at the wrong time, it could affect them all.
“I haven’t spent the last forty-eight days trying to get someone to believe that Braedon is alive only to sit on the sidelines and wring my hands like a poor little lady, waiting on word that he’s all right. Someone took him and is hurting him, and I will do whatever I have to do to help get him back.”
She settled the rifle against her shoulder, flipped the selector to auto, and tore a hole in the target.
