Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (144 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I DIDN’T ARRIVE AT the bed-and-breakfast until eleven that night. The whole drive there, I resisted the urge to call Joshua and check up on the case. Had the police analyzed the evidence yet? Was any part of Heather’s story verifiable? Just so I wouldn’t call, I hid my phone in my purse and blasted my music as loud as it would go.

#

I RUBBED MY EYES and threw back the warm blankets that were piled up on my king-size bed. I yawned and stretched. It was 4:30 a.m. I’d gotten four hours of sleep, which was more than I’d had in a long time.

The fan above me whirred, waving the stray hairs out of my eyes. Its chain clacked every few rotations. There was nothing for me to do. I just lay there and soaked up the nothingness.

For at least ten minutes.

That was all my body could handle before my mind strayed. I jumped out of bed, pulled on my running shorts, tank top, and shoes, and went for an hour-long run around the residential neighborhood. The view was so boring. One identical house after the other, as if they were drones lined up in a factory. That was a life I never craved. Something deeper stirred within me. I wanted more than just to settle down.

Unless, of course, it was with the right person. But I hadn’t met that right person, and I wasn’t even close.

Back in my room, I clicked the TV on and went to the kitchen to get my kettle boiling. Then I undressed and got into the shower. I liked it hot, almost scalding. I let the water wash over my face and I closed my eyes. This was my favorite place to think, to let my mind go and open up. There was just something about the sound, and the way a shower made me feel.

By the time I got out and drank my tea, it was almost time to leave for my shooting lesson.

I put on a cute tank top and my skinny jeans. I sprayed myself with body spray—coconut—and put on my makeup.

Taking my gun from the nightstand where I’d stored it, I raced down the stairs. I was getting excited. I’d always wanted to learn how to shoot, but I’d never pursued the opportunity.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

SAND HOLLOW WAS A sandpit where people could target practice and sight-in their rifles before hunting season. It took about thirty minutes to get out there and my little Honda didn’t like the last part, which was a dirt road.

I parked behind a nice Chevy truck, got out, and saw him. He was standing backlit by the sun, wore dark aviators, and held a handgun loosely at his side, as if it was an old friend. He was tall, and his shirt pulled tight against his ripped muscles. He looked like a gunslinger, like in the Old West, someone who would strike fear in the heart of anyone who dared to stand against him. I shut my mouth. Geez, was I losing it or what? I needed to get out more. At the first sight of an attractive man, I was getting warm all over.

I walked up to him, my boots crunching the gravel. He looked up and watched me approach.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m Sarah Steele.”

We shook hands. I tried not to look so impressed with his muscular physique, but I couldn’t help but check him out.

“Sarah, so good to see you again.” He smiled in this easy way. He had thick black hair and a trimmed beard. I didn’t like beards, but somehow, on him, it worked.

At his words, my heart fluttered nervously. I looked down. “Again?” I asked.

“Oh,” he said. “I’ve watched your case against Williams. It’s a devastating crime.”

I shifted my feet uncomfortably.

“It had a disturbing end as well,” he said.

I put on my sunglasses. The last thing I wanted to do here was discuss the Williams case.

“Any new leads?” he asked, leaning down, looking at me.

I took a little step back, wanting to leave. “I don’t know. I’m not on the case anymore.” Before he could say anything else, I pulled out my gun. “Can we start the lesson?”

Solomon just looked at me a moment, reading my face. I tried to stay impassive, but the more I looked at him, the more my features melted. He was just so darn hot.

“Let me see this,” he said as he took the gun from me. He withdrew the clip and examined it like a pro. At least, he looked like a pro to me.

“This is a good gun—you’ll do well with it,” he said. “Do you have ammunition?”

I nodded. “I have a box.”

“Well, we’ll need to go over some safety rules first. The biggest thing about gun safety is knowledge. The more you know…” He laughed and took off his sunglasses. “The more you know.” He laughed harder and held his side.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “The more you know?”

This made him laugh even harder and he gripped the truck mirror for support. He sucked in some air and straightened, still grinning like a little boy. “The more you know, like
Sesame Street
, you know, but this would not be a good topic for kids.”

I smiled at the idea of Big Bird giving gun safety tips. “Everyone needs to use caution around a gun, especially the Grouch.”

Despite my reticence over his questions, I couldn’t help but like him. As the hour went on, I was impressed with his knowledge and his ability to teach that knowledge in an easy-to-understand way. And after those first few personal questions, he became a professional.

But I had to be careful—this was, after all, a man. A handsome man. And handsome men were usually dangerous, especially to me.

After I’d shown him what I knew about cleaning and caring for the gun and he corrected a few of my mistakes, he went through a list of safety regulations I needed to know. He said that by the time we finished five lessons, I would be able to apply for my concealed weapon permit. That thought thrilled me.

Solomon did a quick overview to make sure I knew my gun safety manual. He showed me the difference between a revolver and a closed-action pistol. He handed me my Glock and explained how to load the clip and chamber a round.

“Now you’re good to go. It’s better to have a revolver when you’re first starting out because it’s easier to see if it is loaded. But this—” he motioned to the Glock, “—will hold more rounds.”

I liked learning new things. And knowing more about guns made me feel more comfortable around them. I was starting to see why education was key.
The more you know.

I chuckled and Solomon looked over at me with a lopsided grin. “Something funny?”

“Nope, just having fun.”

“Good—this
is
fun. You’re a fast learner. Now, see if you can knock some of those cans down.”

Solomon had set up ten or so pop cans against a sandbar. I put in my earplugs, looked down the sights, and concentrated on my breathing. Solomon said the best time to squeeze—not pull—the trigger was at the bottom of a breath. I blew out and fired a second before I breathed in again.

Three popping sounds pierced the air, and two of the cans flew backwards. I whooped.

“Good job, not bad—two out of three.”

But just as we were about to go again, he got a call. His eyes darkened and he turned away. “Yep … Yep … No. I’ll be right there.” He snapped his phone shut and turned to me.

“I have to go.”

I was aghast. “In the middle of my lesson? What kind of teacher are you?”

“Teaching isn’t my only job,” he said. “Sorry.” His mind was already miles away, I could tell. “But, hey, we’ll set up another lesson.” He handed me a card, shook my hand hurriedly, and ran off to his truck like he was running from a fire. Or … to a fire.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

THAT AFTERNOON, I DID everything I could to distract myself from thinking about Williams. I watched TV for about forty minutes until I was bored. I turned on a movie, but it had a character in it who looked just like Tracy Mulligan. So I went to the mall, even though I hated the mall. There was an orange dress that caught my eye, and I tried it on. Maybe I could wear it to the club that night.

It fit me perfectly. The skirt swayed around my hips, making me feel like a lady. However, when I went up to purchase the dress and the cashier told me how much it was, I backed off. I just couldn’t spend more than fifty dollars on a piece of clothing. I’d never gotten over that side of me from when I lived in poverty as a kid.

I texted Angela, but she didn’t respond. So I went to the dojo and met Cassandra and Jessie there. We hung out for a while and did some light sparring. They said they hadn’t seen Angela in a couple of days, but that wasn’t new. Sometimes she’d shack up with a guy and not come out until they ran out of alcohol or he pissed her off. Although I didn’t approve of her choices, I didn’t make a big deal about it since she was over eighteen.

I took them to a café, but they had to run soon after we got there. They had a Saturday class they needed to make. I wished them luck and then sat alone at the table, finishing my coffee.

It was only one o’clock and I was bored out of my mind.

So I did what any normal person did on a boring Saturday—went online.

I Googled Solomon, but without his last name, all I got were references to the biblical character. I typed in “Solomon gun training in Boise,” and this revealed more. I came to a Facebook page, but it had no pictures so I wasn’t sure it was him. However, I found a last name: Cole.

Solomon Cole. I typed his name into a few databases, but nothing showed up and there was nothing about him anywhere else online, which was weird. Even the average Joe had a small online presence whether they wanted it or not. But him ... nothing. Who was he? And did he have another interest in me than what he let on?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

A PULSE, WITH ACTUAL pressure, went through my body, making my breath catch. The club music wasn’t too loud, it was just really good. Tuned in for the perfect blend of sound and feel.

Mandy was not going to be good tonight. I knew it the moment I saw her dress—or pillowcase. I wasn’t sure which it was. It was neon green and her red hair was down and wavy. She was dressed to kill. I was a bit uncomfortable being next to her, as every guy in the radius of that dress was looking at her.

I had gone for a black number I wore once at a wedding a few years ago. It looked good on me, but didn’t bring the kind of attention a dress like Mandy’s brought.

“Hey, I’m going to have fun. We paid big bucks to get in here, and ... Oh, my ... shirtless and hot!” Mandy pointed to the bartenders. They were, in fact, shirtless, and all of them looked like Abercrombie and Fitch models.

Rick wrinkled his nose and pulled her chin up so she would look him in the eye. He gave her a reproving glance, but there was laughter behind his expression.

“For Sarah,” Mandy said. “They’re hot ... for Sarah.”

“Mmm, I see,” he said, and then pulled her out to the dance floor.

The club was set up really well, with four bars so that no matter where you were, you only had to walk a few feet to get a drink. In the center was a lowered dance floor and raised areas to dance on. If you were feeling brave, you could cut loose in front of everyone.

The place was upscale. Huge screens surrounded the dance floor and played the unedited versions of all the hottest music videos. People danced and laughed on the main floor, and the scene intimidated me at once.