Her eyes light up. “Yes. You know your stuff.”
“I do,” I admit. “I study this shit religiously.” I wink at her. “But I still make time for movies. Can’t have all work, no play.”
“You’re a cop?” she asks.
“I’m seventeen,” I answer. “Almost eighteen, so no.” I don’t know why I felt the need to add “almost eighteen.” I guess because now would be a really good time to seem a little more manly than I actually am. “You?”
“Eighteen”—she smirks—“almost nineteen. Okay, show me what you’ve got. Can you clear this room in under eight seconds?” Fiona taps the G-Shock watch on her wrist. “I’ll count you in.”
“What are my marks?”
“You enter from right where you are. Take out the three targets in the back, all in a row. Head shots. They all need to fall as close together as possible. Then you have a backup man on your left who is firing.” She points to the opposite side of the barn. “You dodge, shoot, then fall. Then, you have one more unexpected man at the door.” She points to one more target board right behind me. “You have to take that shot from the ground on your back.” She hands me the gun. “Let’s see what you got, hotshot.”
“Are you loaded?” I ask as I take the gun from her.
“You should have enough for five shots,” she mutters as she tinkers with her watch.
“Watch the ricochet,” I warn. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Yeah, yeah. Eight seconds.” She taps her watch. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
I grip the handle and check the sight line. This is not a hard maneuver with a semi-automatic. I’m certain the issue is her grip. I stretch my neck side to side, then exhale.
“Ready.”
The first three quick pops are child’s play. I take two large strides forward, and fire again at the side target before falling to the ground. I can barely feel the cold concrete against my back before I fire off the last shot, eyes fixed on the black target board just to the right of Fiona.
She stops the clock and practically jogs past me to the target boards in the back. She crosses to the other side of the barn to check the far-left target. Finally, she paces to the target board by the barn doors as I pick myself back up. I walk to her side.
“Who the fuck are you?” she asks in a whisper, backing away from me like she’s scared.
“I told you…Levi,” I answer, unsure of her change in demeanor.
She holds up her watch. “Five seconds and all kill shots, right in the center of the forehead… You’re not a hostage…you’re an assassin. You didn’t come with Linc. You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?” Her eyes widen. “I’m so stupid,” she mutters, “I put the fucking gun in your hand.”
“Fiona,” I say, stepping closer. Her back hits the wall, and she has nowhere left to retreat. I hold up the gun. She clamps her eyes shut tightly and braces herself. “Fiona,” I say again.
She opens her eyes to see me holding her gun out, handle first.
“You’re misfiring because you’re clutching your handle like you’re afraid your gun is going to run away from you. Let the gun rest into the back of your palm. Lock your wrists—”
“Bad advice,” she says. “With one hand, the recoil would break my wrists.”
“Wrong. Your wrists are strong. Actually, your hands are surprisingly big for a woman of your size.” I smile when she scowls at me. “What I’m saying is trust your wrists. Brace them and let the recoil absorb up your arm. It’s your shoulders you need to relax. But loose wrists equal shitty aim. Here, give it a try.” I step aside and point to the furthest target across the room. “See if you can match my shot. Tight wrists, okay. Trust your strength.”
She widens her legs slightly as she positions her weapon.
“Don’t overthink it. Just shoot and trust,” I bark.
She exhales and yanks the trigger.
I cross the barn to examine her work. After ripping the paper off the steel board, I walk it back to her. “Look at that,” I say proudly, holding it up in her face. “Really, really close.”
Fiona’s mark is barely a millimeter off my shot. All the other holes in the target sheet were below the neck.
A look of awe painted across her face. She grabs the sheet from me as if she needs the proof in her hands. She opens her mouth to say something, but she’s interrupted by the barn doors ripping open once again.
Linc is standing there looking really pissed off. “Thought you ran,” he growls at me.