Serve ‘N’ Protect by Tee O’Fallon
Chapter Eighteen
“The first rule of gun safety,” Markus said as he picked up the evil-looking black handgun from the small folding table he’d erected on the edge of the woods, “is to assume every gun is loaded. The second rule is to always keep the muzzle pointed downrange.” With one long finger, he indicated to the bullseye target tacked to a tree, behind which was a large wall with black padding and sand bags piled higher than she was tall.
Markus’s deep rumble was still sexy as all get-out but she was having a difficult time concentrating.
For the Morgan family, Christmas Day was a big deal, especially for Cassidy. Last year, she’d spent it in the hospital with her mother, father, sisters, and brothers at her bedside. This was a day she and her family would forever be thankful for, because she was alive and able to share it with them. Why she was so disappointed that Markus wouldn’t be accompanying her shouldn’t matter, considering he’d been in her life such a short time and would soon be leaving it.
But it does matter.
Maybe she was expecting too much from him and stupidly thought the toe-curling kiss they’d shared meant more than it did. Regardless, it would have been good for him to experience a loving family in action. All he really needed were people to show him the love he’d missed out on.
He handed her the gun which was, surprisingly, not as heavy as she’d expected.
“It’s lightweight,” he said, as if reading her mind, “because it’s made partially of plastic. Most people don’t know that.” Nope, she hadn’t. “When someone hands you a gun, the first thing you do is verify that it is or isn’t loaded.” He pointed to the open space at the top of the gun, through which she could see the grass at their feet. “Look into the chamber and verify there’s no bullet.”
She did as he directed and nodded.
“Good, now rack the slide.” He made a pulling motion with his hand, mimicking the movement he’d taught her only minutes ago.
Ten feet to their left, Ghost sat patiently, his ears protected by a set of black earmuffs specially designed for K-9s and similar to the ones she and Markus wore.
As instructed, she racked the slide, and the space at the top of the gun disappeared when the slide rammed forward.
“If there’d been a magazine in the gun, racking the slide would have chambered a round and the gun would be charged and ready to fire. Are you ready to load the weapon?”
Was Markus worried that if he went with her, her family would misinterpret their relationship and think they were dating?
“Cassidy? Are you ready?” Markus repeated, drawing her focus back to where it should be. On the evil-looking instrument of death in her hand.
“Honestly, I don’t know.” She might have grown up in a rural part of the state, but she didn’t have much—try any—exposure to guns, not even for hunting, which to all accounts was the national pastime in this part of the state. Even though John had offered to teach her how to shoot, she’d always declined. Since then, her neighbor courteously only used his backwoods range when she wasn’t at home. “I know you’re only teaching me to shoot for protection, but I’m not sure I could ever actually shoot someone. Even if I owned a gun, which I don’t, I don’t think I have it in me.”
“Even if someone was trying to kill you?” Markus’s tone was patient yet contained a decidedly deadly tone, sending an equally decided chill through her bones.
“I’m not sure.” Taking a life was a serious matter to say the least, and not something she ever saw herself doing. “Besides, I don’t own a gun.”
“Humor me.” When he picked up a magazine from the table, the brass bullets stacked inside glinted in the afternoon sun. “You might even enjoy it. Target practice can be fun.”
“What if I don’t want to kill any targets?”
“Cute.” As he handed her the magazine, a quick flash of her winning that giant polar bear at the county fair came to mind. But that had been a water gun. “There are fifteen rounds in this magazine. Insert it into the bottom of the gun like I showed you.” She shoved the magazine into the butt of the gun, clicking it upward and into place with her palm. “Now rack the slide again.” Cassidy pulled the slide back and released it. “The gun is locked, loaded, and ready to fire.”
Markus went behind her, his chest pressing against her back. Clothed though they were, she felt every inch of his hard, muscular body against hers. The light breeze that whipped up brought with it his citrusy pine scent, doing exactly nada to help focus her concentration.
Here she was with a loaded gun in her hands, and all she could think about was how good he always smelled and how his body against hers hardened her nipples. Thank goodness she was wearing a jacket this time.
He wrapped his arms around her, resting his hands beneath her forearms and lifting her arms so that the gun extended straight out from her body. “Grip it the way I showed you, with two hands. Line up the rear sights with the front one on the center of the target, then put the tip of your finger on the trigger.”
With steady hands, she did as he instructed.
“It’s all in the trigger pull, so don’t jerk it. Squeeeze it, gradually.”
Way to throw off a girl’s concentration. Since she already knew how his hands felt on her body, the way he’d drawn out the word squeeze had her thinking about all kinds of other things those big hands of his could do.
Refocusing, she began squeezing the trigger, keeping the sights aligned on the target not fifteen feet away. Trigger pull, trigger pull, trigger pull. The gun blasted, startling her as it jumped in her hands from the recoil.
“Again,” Markus said, still standing close enough that she could feel the soft caress of his warm breath against the top of her head.
In slow succession, she squeezed the trigger again and again until the slide locked to the rear of the gun. Empty.
“Not bad for a beginner.” Markus pointed to the target. “Not bad at all. You’re a natural.”
The red and white target’s concentric circles were peppered with holes, most of them centered near the smallest red circle in the middle.
Still keeping the gun pointed at the target, she twisted her neck to find Markus grinning down at her.
“Do you have more bullets?” she asked, a burst of excitement shooting through her. He’d been right. Target practice was fun.
He reached into his pocket, but instead of pulling out more bullets or another magazine, he tugged out his phone. Markus whipped off his ear protection, setting it on the table while he took the call. “Kade, whatya got?”
In the span of three seconds, Markus’s expression went from grinning to deadly. Picking up on some unspoken signal, Ghost stalked over, ears erect and with his eyes pinned on Markus.
Cassidy knew dogs inherently sensed emotions in their owners, but Ghost’s intuition blew that meter clear out the window. Like her, he knew that whatever Markus was hearing was bad news.
From the way his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched, she had a feeling target practice was over. While she waited, Cassidy took off her ear protection and set it on the table, then did the same with Ghost’s earmuffs.
“I’ll meet you outside the location tomorrow at six,” Markus said, then punched off the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He remained completely motionless, staring off into the distance, and a shadow of fear gripped her to the very depths of her soul. He still didn’t speak, but she knew. Whatever was happening would signify the end of his time with her.
“What is it?” she asked softly. “Markus?” When he didn’t answer, she touched a hand to his biceps. “You’re scaring me.”
“The embassy said Mansfield was out of the country and won’t be back until late tonight, so Kade went to the other guy’s apartment. Neighbors said he’s usually traveling for work. Kade ran a border crossing check on both men. He verified Mansfield is returning from Saudi Arabia tonight.” Markus ground his teeth so hard the muscles in his jaw flexed repeatedly. “Turns out the other guy, Mohammed Al-Amri, is a Saudi national and wasn’t even in the U.S. on the day of the party.”
Cassidy’s mouth fell open. “Then he couldn’t have been the other man in the car.”
“Begging the questions, who was in the car with Mansfield and why did they both lie about it?” He continued staring off into the distance as if he were a million miles away.
Beneath her hand, his muscles tightened. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
When he looked at her, his face and voice were as hard as stone. “Six months ago, the crown prince of Saudi Arabia sent a diplomatic pouch to Mansfield through JFK Airport. Normally, a diplomatic pouch can’t be opened by the federal government, even on importation into the United States. But a bomb dog hit on it, so the Port Authority made the tactical decision to break protocol and open it anyway. Inside was a twelve-inch-long, gold-plated, jewel-encrusted knife.”
“So you think he’s the one who attacked you and killed Jack Barnes,” she said, stating the obvious. But it had to be said.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” But the glint in his eyes told her that was exactly what he thought. “He’s also a certified knife instructor and collector. Kade also ran the guy’s import history. In the last ten years, he’s imported over twenty knives from around the world.”
“And you’re going to his place tomorrow at six?” Based on his last words to Kade, that was exactly what he intended on doing. “Can’t Kade and Matt take care of this?”
“No,” he answered in a voice devoid of emotion, one so cold it frightened her.
“Why not?” She squeezed his arm, shaking him, trying to get through to him. “Why do you have to be the one to go? You shouldn’t expose yourself like that, and you’re still recovering.”
Dread sliced into her as she struggled for something else to say that would dissuade him. From the firm set of his jaw and the deadly determination glittering in his eyes, she knew there wasn’t.
A United States Secret Service officer had been murdered in cold blood and Markus left for dead. This was personal. She could no sooner have stopped him than she could have stopped a jumbo jet speeding down the runway. Then a lightbulb switched on her brain.
“You said he worked at the embassy. Doesn’t that mean he has diplomatic immunity? I saw something about that on a TV show. A drunk driver killed a girl but couldn’t be charged because he had diplomatic immunity.”
“He was born and raised here. He’s a U.S. citizen and has no diplomatic immunity. If he did do this, he can be charged with murdering a federal officer and the attempted murder of another.” As if Markus’s words weren’t enough to make her worry, fear curled in her belly as the corners of his lips tipped up in a deadly smile. “That is, if I don’t kill him first.”