Page 189 of Captive Ruin

Twelve minutes later, he peels off the main road, heading into Hopewell Junction. “Not the city, then?”

“Nope.”

He drives us through the town, and a minute later pulls down a tree-lined lane. I catch the sign as we drive in.

“A gun club?” I scowl at him. “I did not lack finesse, you stole my bullets.”

“And you didn’t notice. It was a valid clue.” He glances across. “Do you like shooting?”

“I like shooting you.”

“How would you know? You haven’t yet.”

“Give me a gun with bullets and say that.”

Five minutes later, it looks like he’s going to. In the shop, he rents a pistol that’s presumably for me, again without asking. It’s a lot bigger than the one Lucy chose.

The proprietor pulls a gun case from beneath the counter. “Just came in yesterday, Mr. Van Wyk,” he says, handing it over along with two boxes of rounds. He gives me a smile. “And this must be the little lady.”

Van Wyk tenses, his voice dropping to the familiar growl. “She’s not little and she doesn’t like being spoken to as if she’s five.”

The man takes a pace back, hands coming up in placation, his eyes flicking from Van Wyk to me and back again, his face paling. “I’m… sorry. So sorry. To both of you.” He sounds like he’s about to piss himself… all over a pretty mild rebuke from my husband.

They must’ve met before.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” I say quickly.

Van Wyk steers me toward the range with a hand at the small of my back.

“Thank you!” I call back to the man as we leave his shop, and as soon as we’re through the door I give Van Wyk a look. “Do you have to be a dick to everyone?”

“I didn’t like the way he spoke to you,” he grumbles.

He has a knife, a large body count and he’s offended by a mildly condescending shop owner.

“You scared him.”

“Good. Now he’ll be more polite to you.”

“You call me ‘Little Stray,’” I point out.

“That’s different; you’re mine. You’re not his.”

I bristle. “I’m not yours.”

He smiles, a mix of possession and amusement. “The ring on your finger says differently, Little Stray.”

I roll my eyes and push past him.

The range is empty; we’re the only ones here. Lucy showed me how to work lanes like these, and I set my paper target at roughly seven yards. “About there. The distance from the door of my apartment to where you were standing.”

He looks amused. “That’s a good place to start.”

I reach for the large pistol, but he intercepts me, handing me the case instead. “Actually, this one’s for you.”

It’s heavy with a new-leather sheen to it, and the clasps are shiny. “For me? As in, to keep?”

“Yes. A souvenir of our first date, if you like.” There’s pride in his voice, and his boyish enthusiasm is back. He’s so damn cheery it’s irritating, clashing with my perfectly justified sulk. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s a completely different man from the one I met at that gala, and I can’t help wondering how much of it is down to me.