Page 19 of Kane (Ghost Ops #4)

Chapter Twelve

“We’re shooting tonight, after the range is closed.”

Daphne jerked her head toward Kane. He’d sat behind one of the counters again, a tray with gun parts arrayed before him. She’d informed him icily that he didn’t have to stay near her all day, but he’d clearly ignored every word she said.

She wasn’t mad at him anymore for asking her questions. She was mad at herself for overreacting. If she’d kept her cool and made some shit up, he wouldn’t have been the wiser. Instead she’d gotten upset (still made shit up, though) and now he had to be wondering why.

Which was the last thing she wanted. But she’d slept like crap because she kept dreaming about Nathan Fader breaking into her apartment, looking for the memory card she’d stolen.

Then she’d dreamed of Jackson finding her, his face split into a gleeful grin as he told her in a kid’s singsong voice that she was in soooo much trouble with Daddy.

She had not been on her game when Kane started prying and she’d acted like a lunatic. She didn’t kid herself that he’d forgotten either.

“Why are we shooting?” she asked. “Do you need to practice?”

“Always, babe. That’s how you keep your skills sharp. Can’t ever assume you’ve reached mastery because as soon as you do, you’ll find out you don’t have it at all.”

“Wow, since when did you branch into Zen lessons? Guns, defense, and Zen. You’re a Renaissance Man, Kane.”

“Very funny. But you aren’t distracting me, Daph. We’re picking up your car today, and we’re returning here to shoot.”

She wanted to tell him no, she’d get an Uber to Huntsville to get her car, but after this morning she wasn’t rocking the boat any further. “Do I at least get dinner out of it?”

“Yeah, you get dinner. And you can stay at the house again tonight if you want.”

Her heart thumped. She did want to. Because until they found out who’d been in her apartment, she didn’t want to go back.

At least not without a serious alarm system.

She’d let herself grow complacent with the building’s security, which consisted of motion-activated cameras with phone alerts (not to her, though), and Blaze.

Not that Blaze wasn’t a good line of defense, but he wasn’t her line of defense. He was Emma’s.

“I might do that. Thanks.”

“You can stay as long as you need. Oh, and I’ll be installing a security system for you, courtesy of One Shot Tactical. Take a couple of days between ordering the equipment and install.”

Daphne blinked. “You don’t have to do that.”

It was an automatic response, but the truth was she wanted it.

She should have asked a while ago since it was part of the range’s business, but she hadn’t quite known how to without giving a reason for wanting security.

The why was what had stumped her because what if they got suspicious about her excuse or asked questions she couldn’t answer?

She’d told herself she was overthinking it, but in the interest of better safe than sorry, she’d kept quiet.

“We’re doing it so don’t argue.”

“I’m not arguing. Just let me know what I owe.”

“Nothing. You’re an employee. Consider it one of the perks.”

She wasn’t arguing with that, either. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We should have done it a while ago. Just never thought of it.”

“You mean nobody ever broke into my apartment before, and Blaze lives in the building.”

“Yeah, that too.”

A man entered the store, a woman behind him.

He strode purposely toward the display cabinets with the weapons while she stopped just inside and looked like a deer in the headlights.

Daphne gave her a sympathetic smile when she made eye contact.

Kane was already talking to the man so she got to her feet and made her way to where the woman had decided to look at purses.

“Those are concealed carry purses,” she told the lady. “Were you looking for something to conceal a gun?”

The woman’s eyes got big. “Oh. Oh, no. Nothing like that. I should have known.” She smiled. “I wondered why you had purses in here. They’re pretty, too.”

“Mm-hmm. They come in a range of styles and colors. All of them have a hidden pocket, quickly accessed, so you can hide your weapon. What do you shoot?”

“I don’t.” She jerked her head toward the man. “Andy does. He wants me to learn, but I’m scared of guns.”

“You don’t need to be scared,” Daphne said. “You just need to learn how to handle one safely. We offer beginner classes for ladies. You’ll be with other beginners, and our instructors will explain everything. Would you like to sign up?”

The woman shot a look at Andy again and lowered her voice. “I don’t think he’d like me to spend money on a class when he says he can teach me.”

“Well, if you change your mind—or talk him into it—it’s twenty-five dollars for an hour, and that includes gun rental and a box of ammo. Can’t beat that.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Josie.”

Daphne jerked at the same time the woman turned toward the man. “What, honey?”

“Get over here. Lemme show you this sweet little Sig. It’ll fit your hand perfectly.”

Josie turned back to her. “Thanks again. Maybe I’ll talk him into it.”

“You can access the class schedule online.” Daphne handed her a business card. “Good luck.”

The woman—Josie—smiled and went to join her man. Daphne swallowed the acid boiling up into her throat.

It was a name, just a name. Not a rare name, or an unusual one. Josephine. Josie and the Pussycats.

Josie.

Her name.

The name she’d left behind when she fled.

She returned to her desk and tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet in front of her.

But the numbers might as well have been written in hashmarks for all the sense she could make of them.

She pushed to her feet because she needed to move.

She went to the employee break room and took a Diet Coke from the fridge, opened it, and swigged a big mouthful of fake sugar.

First there’d been Nathan Fader and his belief he’d seen her before. Then the break-in at her apartment. And now that name— Josie —being called out across the store like it was nothing. Like it didn’t signify a dead past to her. Or freeze the marrow in her bones to hear it said so casually.

The couple was gone when she returned to the front.

Kane sat at his work station, the tray with the gun disassembled on it.

He was flipping through pages on the computer.

Daphne went over and leaned against the desk, needing a distraction.

He looked up and her belly tightened. Why did he have to be so damned attractive?

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I’m tired of looking at numbers and needed a break. What are you working on?”

“Trying to find information on a modification. So far, no dice.”

She picked up the slide. It was a Glock 19 with an extended magazine. This version would hold nineteen rounds. It wasn’t a monster, like a thirty-three round mag, and though it didn’t fit flush in the handle, it wasn’t so massive as to make it hard to conceal. Basically, a classic pistol.

“What kind of modification?”

He handed her the trigger mechanism. “This is a modified trigger. The mechanism has been lightened to allow for faster pull times. The reset is shorter and it takes less pressure to pull, so you get a faster response. Means somebody can get off a lot of shots quickly.”

Daphne turned it over in her hands, examining it.

She knew all about mods because her dad was an expert gunsmith.

Once, that’d been his entire business. Before he’d expanded his operation to cover such delightful subjects as money laundering, gun running, loan sharking, illegal betting, and pimping.

He still worked on the guns, because he enjoyed it, and he’d taught her and Jackson as much as they could absorb.

Jackson had absorbed more than she had. Her talents lay in numbers and business, while Jackson was destined to be a craftsman like their dad. When he wasn’t being a ragey dick, that is.

She turned the trigger again, ran her fingers over it—and felt something. When she held it up, everything inside her went cold. There was a small diamond etched on the inside of the mechanism.

Her breath shortened, her ears rang. The diamond was her family’s secret calling card. Always had been. Her dad had made this mod—or Jackson had.

“Daph? What’s wrong?”

“I…” She dropped the mechanism in the tray and pulled in a breath. “I’m just, um, feeling kind of off. Maybe your bacon was rancid.”

It was an attempt to lighten the moment that failed. Kane frowned at her. Hard.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Haha, are you side hustling at The Mystic Chick these days? Because Colleen’s the only person I know who sees ghosts.”

Kane was on his feet, his hands on her arms. He gently guided her to his chair and made her sit. Then he grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge behind the counter, opened it, and put it in her hand, completely ignoring the Diet Coke she’d set on his desk.

“Drink, babe. Be still for a little while. You need to go home and rest?”

She shook her head and sipped the water. It was cold going down her throat. Felt good. The soda was a guilty pleasure, but the water was what she needed.

“No, I’ll be fine, really. Maybe I need to eat. It’s been a few hours since breakfast. Low blood sugar and stress combined, probably.”

“Then we need to get you some lunch. What do you want?”

“I don’t care.”

“You have to care. Town like this one with so much good food available? It could be something from the Dawg, or maybe you’d like a sandwich from Miss Mary’s? You like Miss Mary’s club, right?”

“Yes.”

He took out his phone. “I’m ordering it. What else do you want? Fries?”

“Fries are good. Kane, you don’t have to do that. I’ll get a granola bar from the break room. It’ll be fine.”

“Nope, ordering myself a club too. Gotta check with the guys and see if they want anything. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where am I going?”

“I don’t know, but don’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not leaving. Sitting right here until you get back.”

He nodded and left to go take orders from the guys.

Daphne breathed slowly, staring at the tray with the disassembled gun, until he returned a few minutes later.

“Order made. It’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Great. Thank you. Let me know how much I owe you.”

“It’s a sandwich, Sunshine. You can get it the next time.”

“Fair enough.” She sipped the water. “Sorry I distracted you from your work. What are you trying to find out about the mod?”

“Who made it would be a nice start. This was the gun that was used to take Nikki hostage last month.”

Daphne’s insides twisted. “Really? Wow. I thought the FBI would have it.”

She’d learned things about these guys she hadn’t known before that night, namely that they were some kind of military team who had combat experience.

She knew they had training because they were military, and because she’d seen them in action in the self-defense classes, but lots of military people had the training.

What many didn’t have was the actual time in combat.

These guys had it, and she knew that by the way they’d behaved that night.

She’d suspected it before, but nothing told the story like that night had.

She wouldn’t have been there if they hadn’t all been sitting around a fire out back of the range, grilling and drinking, when the call from Seth came in.

She’d been drunk, but not so drunk she didn’t pay attention to what’d been going on.

The drama had been over by the time they’d reached Seth, Callie, and Nikki, but the guys had split up and then come back together after they’d searched the area.

When they’d split there’d been no words, only a few hand signals she hadn’t understood.

When they’d returned, she’d listened to them talk about perimeters and tangos, observed the way they all spoke the same kind of language, how calm and methodical they were in the face of that kind of violence, and she’d come to the conclusion they were no strangers to it.

There was also the fact Agent Corbin kept turning up like a bad penny. That woman made her nervous. Every time she arrived, Daphne thought the FBI was about to take her into custody for questioning about her family. So far, Agent Corbin didn’t seem interested in her. Thank God.

“They had it. Now I do. Temporarily.”

Her skin was hot. “They couldn’t figure out who modified the trigger?”

It took him a few seconds to respond. “That’s a good observation. I’d ask you to keep it to yourself.”

“Who am I going to tell?” Her heart thrummed. “What have you found? Anything?”

“Not yet. There’s a diamond on the inside of the guard. Etched. I don’t know who made it.”

She liked that he didn’t lie to her about it. He had no idea she’d found it because it was well hidden. Not to mention most people wouldn’t know to look. He’d seen her hold up the trigger, but the diamond was easily missed. It was safe for him to assume she hadn’t found it.

“Why do you need to know who made it?”

He picked up the trigger and turned it over. “Just another piece of information. That’s all.”

There was so much more that he wasn’t telling her.

She knew it, because she knew what her family was involved in.

The gun was stolen, modified for the client, and untraceable.

But how did it end up in Sutton’s Creek?

The man who’d taken Nikki Crowell hostage had been someone Callie knew.

He’d wanted her to steal information from her work and give it to him, but she’d refused.

Daphne had chalked the incident up to industrial espionage at the time.

And it still could be, but where had the man gotten the gun?

Her father was careful about who he sold his guns to.

The diamond pattern was a hidden sign to the gun’s quality.

It wasn’t anything he used in his legal gun work and it wasn’t traceable to him.

Kane could turn his computer upside down and he wouldn’t find anything linking that weapon to John O’Malley or Crescent City Armory. On the legal weapons, the customizations, her father’s symbol was the fleur-de-lis. He wouldn’t put that on stolen guns.

Only those who knew could identify the weapons as coming from the O’Malleys. Didn’t mean they could prove it, though. Her father was vain, but he wasn’t stupid. Jackson, however…

Seth ducked his head through the hallway entrance. “Got a minute?”

“Yeah,” Kane said. “Is it just for me, or can Daphne come too?”

“She can come. It’s about Nathan Fader.”