Wednesday, July 31, 11:00 A.M.
One more piece of advice, kid. If you’re going to treat confessed serial killers in this office, you should consider keeping a weapon here for self-defense. You’re afraid of guns, so figure something else out.
Special Agent Atticus Spenser’s words to Faith had missed the mark. She wasn’t afraid of guns, she was flat-out terrified. She figured Caitlin Cassidy was right: It was time to face her fear. So the next morning, after filling her tank with a hearty breakfast and three cups of coffee—the sole purpose of which was to raise her blood pressure sufficiently to prevent fainting—she headed downtown and marched intrepidly through the doors of Todd’s Gun World.
And if it hadn’t been for its puke pink grip, she might’ve walked back out as the proud owner of a Ruger LCP. Faith had gotten through the nerves that nearly stopped her from entering the gun shop in the first place. She’d sucked down the queasy feeling that came over her when she saw the rifles, thick as locusts, covering the walls. But when Todd, the earnest owner of Todd’s Gun World, gently placed a lightweight compact pistol with a pink handle in her palm, she’d almost lost her breakfast.
Focusing on the gun’s silly-looking grip seemed like a good way to ward off an outright case of the jitters. “Why’s the handle this color?” she asked though she already knew the answer. Todd had taken one look at Faith and decided the gun she needed was lightweight, lethal . . . and pink.
“Err . . . because you’re a lady? Goes good with your shoes?” His puzzled smile had finished his sentence off for him with an unspoken why’d ya think?
She knew she shouldn’t have worn her Jimmy Choos. A gun was not an accessory. Nor was it a toy, and she hated the way the pink grip made her feel like she could be playing Barbies with her girlfriends. Her throat clogged, and she got that watery feeling in her legs. This was exactly the type of weapon a child might choose to stuff in her ear, like her friend Gina had done. Two deep inhales later, she’d regained her land legs. “What? You don’t have bedazzled?”
Giving her hand a paternal pat, Todd had said, “Far as I can tell, nobody dragged you in here, Missy. You asked me to assist you in finding a weapon for self-defense. This model is compact, so it’s safe and easier for you to fire. It’s easy to load, and you can handle the recoil. But that don’t mean it’s for sissies. This here compact pistol packs a punch. It’s a favored BUG for our boys in blue.”
“What do you mean BUG?” Oh, Lord. Did she really want to know the lingo?
“Backup gun. Now, the question is, do you want a gun for protection, or don’t you? If the answer is yes, I got plenty without the pink for you women’s liber types.”
“I haven’t burned a bra in years.” Some people giggle when they get nervous—Faith got mouthy. Still, she bit her lower lip. Todd had hit the nail on the head . . . and then hammered it home.
Do you want a gun or don’t you?
She’d let the question roll around in her head. If she hadn’t understood the need for personal defense before, she understood it now. Being holed up in her office with Dante, with her wits as her only line of self-defense had been a wake-up call. No, he hadn’t harmed her. Yes, she now believed his confession to be a lie, but she could never go back to that false sense of security she’d had before. She’d turned the gun over once or twice, testing the grip. The weight of her decision was as palpable as the cool pistol in her hand. She blew out a hard breath.
She didn’t think she could take a human life—even in self-defense. “Thanks anyway, but I guess I don’t want a gun after all.”
“No worries.” He’d grinned widely and thumped her on the back. “I see what your deal is, and I got all kinds of nonlethals. Uncle Todd’s gonna fix you up right.”
Now, Faith stood smack in the middle of her unprotected office with no gun and the full knowledge she simply didn’t have it in her to use lethal force. But that was okay. She hadn’t given up on the idea of personal safety. She’d re-upped for her Krav Maga class, and added an additional night per week. Plus, Todd had made good on his promise, and she’d left his shop with enough bells and whistles to befuddle an attacker into believing she was the badass.
She also had a few tricks of her own up her sleeve. She closed the door to her office, flipped the dead bolt in place, and started to unpack her personal-defense arsenal. First came the letter opener, brass-plated and pointy. Not sharp enough to kill someone, but it could put an eye out in a pinch. She slipped the letter opener in her top desk drawer and moved on to the next item.
It took both hands to lift the glass orb from her shopping bag. None of the paperweights at the office-supply store had been treacherous enough to suit her, so she’d gone to a Christmas specialty shop and picked up this little beauty—a giant snow globe of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, mounted on a wooden base. An absolute steal at ten dollars and guaranteed to knock an intruder out cold. She marched the heavy globe over to the bookshelf. When one end of the shelf lifted like a teeter-totter, she rearranged, then rubbed her hands together in satisfaction.
Two down; two to go.
She snapped her pepper-spray ultra system, which included an earsplitting alarm and blinding strobe, onto her belt. To prove she was a good sport, she’d selected the spray with the pink holster. Remembering Todd’s attagirl, her chest puffed. Then her foot began to tap. She still had one final item to place. Circling her office, she kept her eyes peeled for the perfect spot. The desk seemed an obvious choice, but that zone had already been secured by the letter opener. She circled the room again, but nothing came to mind—this place really could use more furniture. But the third circle was the charm—her gaze fixed on the plantless plant stand near the doorway. If she turned the boxy mahogany stand against the wall just so, its sliding door would be hidden from view and, voilà, became a secret panel.
When she pulled her Taser from its case, her hands stayed steady—a very good sign. Constructed from black plastic, the stun gun felt light and comfortable in her grip. With a simple click, she activated the laser sights. Sweeping the red dot about the room, she straight-armed the Taser.
“Clear,” she whispered.
No. That wasn’t right.
“Clear,” she said, in soft but audible voice. Yes, that was a bit better. She turned off the red light and resolved to practice handling both her Taser and her pepper-spray ultra system again tomorrow. Lightning doesn’t often strike twice, so it seemed unlikely she’d ever actually use her assembled arsenal, but one thing was damn sure, on the off chance lightning did strike again, she wouldn’t be caught unprepared.