Once Lost. Блейк Пирс

with maybe a four-inch barrel,” she said. “Something that absorbs the recoil better.”

      The man nodded again.

      “Right. Well, I think maybe I’ve got just the thing.”

      He reached into the case and took out another larger pistol. He handed it to Riley, who examined it with approval.

      “Oh, yeah,” she said. “A Smith and Wesson 686.”

      Then she smiled at Blaine and handed him the gun.

      “What do you think?” Riley said.

      This longer weapon felt even stranger in his hand than the smaller weapon had. All he could do was smile at Riley sheepishly. She smiled back. He could see by her expression that she’d finally registered how awkward he was feeling.

      She turned to the owner and said, “I think we’ll take it. How much does it cost?”

      Blaine was stunned by the price of the weapon, but was sure that Riley knew best whether he was getting a fair deal.

      He was also rather stunned by how easy it was to make the purchase. The man asked him for two proofs of identity, and Blaine offered him his driver’s license and his voter registration card. Then Blaine filled out a short, simple form consenting to a background check. The computerized check took only a couple of minutes, and Blaine was cleared to buy his weapon.

      “What kind of ammo do you want?” the man asked as he started to ring up the sale.

      Riley said, “Give us a box of Federal Premium Low Recoil.”

      Just moments later, Blaine was a somewhat baffled gun owner.

      He stood looking down at the daunting weapon, which lay on the counter in an open plastic case, nestled in protective foam. Blaine thanked the man, shut the case, and turned to leave.

      “Wait a minute,” the man said cheerfully. “Don’t you want to try her out?”

      The man led Riley and Blaine through a door in the back of the store that opened into a startlingly large indoor shooting range. Then he left Riley and Blaine to themselves. Blaine was just as glad that nobody else was there at the moment.

      Riley pointed out the list of rules on the wall, and Blaine read them carefully. Then he shook his head uneasily.

      “Riley, I don’t mind telling you …”

      Riley chuckled a little.

      “I know. You’re a little overwhelmed. I’ll talk you through it.”

      She led him over to one of the empty booths, where he put on ear and eye protection gear. He opened the case with the pistol, careful to keep it pointed downrange before he even picked it up.

      “Do I load it?” he asked Riley.

      “Not yet. We’ll do some dry fire practice first.”

      He took the pistol into his hands, and Riley helped him find the proper position – both hands on the gun handle but with fingers clear of the cylinder, elbows and knees slightly bent, leaning slightly forward. In a few moments, Blaine found himself aiming his pistol at a vaguely human shape on a paper target about twenty-five yards downrange.

      “We’re going to practice double action first,” Riley said. “That’s when you don’t pull back the hammer with every shot, you do all the work with the trigger. That will give you a good sense of how the trigger feels. Pull the trigger back smoothly, then let it go just as smoothly.”

      Blaine practiced with the empty gun a few times. Then Riley showed him how to open the cylinder and fill it with shells.

      Blaine took up the same stance as before. He braced himself, knowing that the gun would kick a good bit, and carefully aimed at the target.

      He pulled the trigger and fired.

      The sudden backward force startled him, and the gun leaped in his hand. He lowered the gun and looked toward the target. He couldn’t see any holes in it. He fleetingly wondered how on earth anyone could hope to aim a weapon that jumped so sharply.

      “Let’s work on your breathing,” Riley said. “Breathe in slowly while you aim, then breathe out slowly, drawing back the trigger so that you fire exactly when you’ve fully exhaled. That’s when your body is most still.”

      Blaine fired again. He was surprised at how much more control he felt.

      He looked downrange and saw that he had at least hit the paper target this time.

      But as he prepared to take another shot, a memory flashed through his mind – a memory of the most terrifying moment of his life. One day when he’d still been living next door to Riley, he’d heard a terrible racket next door. He’d rushed over to Riley’s townhouse and found the front door partially open.

      A man had thrown Riley’s daughter on the floor and was attacking her.

      Blaine had rushed toward them and pulled the man off April. But the man was too strong for Blaine to subdue, and Blaine was badly beaten before he finally lost consciousness.

      It was a bitter memory, and for a moment it brought back a feeling of heart-sickening helplessness.

      But that feeling suddenly evaporated as he felt the weight of the gun in his hands.

      He breathed and fired, breathed and fired, four more times until the cylinder was empty.

      Riley pushed a button that brought the paper target up to the booth.

      “Not bad for your first time,” Riley said.

      Indeed, Blaine could see that those last four shots had at least landed within the human shape.

      But he realized that his heart was pounding, and that he was overcome with a strange blend of feelings.

      One of those feelings was fear.

      But fear of what?

      Power, Blaine realized.

      The feeling of power in his hands was staggering, like nothing he’d ever felt before.

      He felt so good that it positively scared him.

      Riley showed him how to open the cylinder and pop out the empty shells.

      “Is that enough for today?” she asked.

      “Not on your life,” Blaine said breathlessly. “I want you to teach me everything there is to know about this thing.”

      Riley stood smiling at him as he reloaded.

      He could still feel her smile as he aimed at a fresh target.

      But then he heard Riley’s cell phone ring.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      When Riley’s cell phone started ringing, Blaine’s last shots were still ringing in her ears. Reluctantly, she pulled out her phone. She had hoped to have an uninterrupted morning with Blaine. When she looked at the phone she knew she was about to be disappointed. The call was from Brent Meredith.

      She’d been surprised at how much she was enjoying teaching Blaine to shoot his new pistol. Whatever Meredith wanted, Riley felt sure it was going to interrupt the best day she’d had in a long while.

      But she had no choice but to take the call.

      As usual, Meredith was brusque and to the point.

      “We’ve got a new case. We need you on it. How fast can you get to Quantico?”

      Riley suppressed a sigh. With Bill on leave, Riley had hoped to have some time off until the pain of Lucy’s death eased a little.

      No such luck, she thought.

      No doubt she would be leaving town shortly. Did she have enough time to run home and see everybody and change clothes?

      “How about an hour?” Riley asked.

      “Make it shorter. Meet me in my office. And bring your go bag.”

      Meredith ended the call without waiting for a reply.

      Blaine