Fatal Intimacies (Romantic Suspense) by Isabelle Ali Page B

holster and firearm and a slogan that said, “Second Amendment: Use it or Lose it.”
    She scanned the racks of firearms. Some of them didn’t look like they could be legal. Large, black and gray weapons made for war. Passing these by, she went to the counter and looked at the handguns.
    “I need something for self defense,” she told the salesman.
    The m an, older with the scent of alcohol on him, recommended a 9mm Smith & Wesson. She picked up the gun and held it in her hand. Running her fingers along the barrel, she felt the smoothness of the metal and the ridges of the grip.
    “I’ll take it. You have a firing range in the basement, right?”
    After purchasing the weapon, she got her eyeglasses. Living in Texas, everyone had a gun. She had never seen the need for one, living in the neighborhood she did, but most of her co-workers carried them in holsters at work. Some sort of badge of honor among the partners. She was comfortable around guns and didn’t feel apprehensive holding the weapon.
    As she was about to enter the firing range, a man came up from behind her.
    Garcia stood there. He looked down to the weapon in her right hand and the box of ammunition in her left.
    “You followed me?” she asked, not really surprised.
    “I had to. Have you ever owned one of those?”
    “No.”
    “If you’re going to use it, you need to use it correctly.”
    The eye glasses were in barrels outside of the firing range. Garcia grabbed a pair of each for himself and held the door open for her. She walked in and down the flight of stairs to the actual range. Nobody else was down there.
    She picked a lane, the middle one, and Garcia came behind her.
    “Never pull out your weapon unless you intend to use it. And if you intend to use it, the chest and head are your targets. If you’ve pulled it out, that means you have to use deadly force. You fire two to the chest, two the head, two the chest until you run out of ammo, or he’s downed. Do you understand?”
    She nodded.
    “You wanna be in the Weaver stance. Let me show you.”
    He came from behind her and bent her knees with his. She could feel his hot breath on her neck as his hands reached up to her arms and slid along them to the wris ts. He straightened one arm and then loosened the other one, bringing her firing arm up to eye level. He placed both hands on her hips and a small jolt went through her. She tried not to show it, to not have any reaction, and she wondered if he’d noticed.
    “You stay loose,” he said in her ear, “but rigid at the same time. You don’t want the kickback to throw you off balance.”
    He loaded a paper target and sent it flying back against the wall with an automated pulley.
    Garcia ran his hands up from her hips to her shoulders and then down her arms again, making sure they were taut.
    “Now fire,” he said. “Two shots at a time. Chest and head, chest and head.”
    She pulled the trigger.
    The gun went off and the kickback jerked her wrist s up. But she didn’t lose her grip. She fired another round, and then waited a moment before firing two more. The whole while, she could intensely feel Garcia’s hands on her hips. His touch was firm, but soft enough that it wasn’t uncomfortable. He was so close to her she could feel the tips of his hair on the back of her neck and it gave her goosebumps.
    “Good,” he said. “Reload and keep going.”
    The shots were muffled, but still loud. The spent cartridges tinked against the cement floor or the wall and she came to enjoy the sound.
    Halfway through the ammo, she looked back to him. Their eyes met, and she knew instantly that neither of them could pull away if they wanted to. Their lips were close, no more than the width of a wine glass. She could see the long, black lashes that curled from his eyes and the smooth, olive skin of his lean face. He swallowed and looked down before taking a step back. It was only then that she realized she hadn’t breathed.
    “That’s good,” he