Page 12 of The Mobster’s Daughter (Massachusetts Mafia #2)

Grady

C aitlin paced the room, gnawing on her thumbnail. She paused and looked at his gun on the coffee table between them, then at him. “You said you grabbed my gu n, right?”

Grady snorted. “I didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t leave it for the police to find it.”

“I haven’t shot it in almost a year.” She stopped in front of him. “I’m out of practice.”

“What are you saying, princess?” he asked.

“If a bunch of fucking hitmen are gunning for me, maybe I need some practice. Don’t y ou think?”

She wasn’t wrong. It certainly couldn’t hurt. But she couldn’t shoot his .357 Magnum, not when she had never shot a g un before.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is a good idea. Go grab your backpack and meet me outside. I’ve got ammo in t he truck.”

Grady went outside and opened the back of the Bronco. Under a pile of blankets, he had a duffle bag of weapons—all legal and registered. Caitlin put her backpack down beside him and took out her gun. She handed it to him, and he loaded the clip.

A search of the shed behind the house produced empty paint cans, soda bottles, and a few cardboard boxes. He dragged everything out, and, together, he and Caitlin set them up on a fence at the edge of the property.

“You ready?” he asked when they were done.

“Yep,” she said.

“C ome here.”

She did as she was told, moving to stand right in fro nt of him.

“We’re going to start with a rundown of the basics. In case you forgot the five rules of gu n safety.”

Caitlin snorted. “Rules? That’s kind of ironic, don’t y ou think?”

Grady kept himself from shaking her by sheer will. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Aren’t you kind of a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ guy?” she asked.

“Have you ever seen me shoo t my gun?”

She opened her mouth to answer, then snapped it shut. “Um, no, I guess not. But it’s not like you or any of the men who work for my father follow a ny rules.”

Grady rolled his eyes. “With guns, you always follow the rules, or you get dead . Period.”

“Fine.”

He sighed; nothing with Caitlin was ever easy. Even when she wanted to learn or practice something, she made it difficult.

“Number one: Treat every gun as if it were loaded. Number two: Always point it in a safe direction. Which goes along with numbers three and four: Never point it at anything you don’t plan to shoot and be sure of your target and what’s behind it.

You don’t want to shoot someone because you weren’t paying attention to what was behind them.

And the most important one is to keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot . Got it?”

Caitlin nodd ed. “Yes.”

Grady held out the gun. “Do you remember how to load it?”

“I think so.” She took it and the magazine, slid the magazine into place, then used the buttons on the side of the gun to pop it out. She turned around, pointed it at the target, and put a bullet in th e chamber.

He moved behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and put his hands over hers. “Step back,” he said. “Spread your feet,” he ordered, kicking at her right heel. “Bend your knees a little. Don’t lock them or you’ll go down.”

Caitlin did as he instructed. She spread her legs and stepped back, her body flush against his. Her hair tickled his nose.

That goddamn irresistible need for her reared its head. Grady closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. All he had to do was concentrate and ignore it.

“Relax,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or t o himself.

“I’m trying,” she muttered. “It’s been a long time since I did this.”

He held her trembling hands and together, they brought the gun up. He pointed it at the cardboard box. “Put your finger on the trigger. Take a deep breath and as you exhale, sq ueeze it.”

She did as he said, breathing in, her breast brushing his arm as she inhaled. As the breath escaped her, she squeezed, jumping as the gun went off. The bullet veered left, completely missing t he target.

“I missed,” she grumbled.

“You’ll get better,” he said. “It takes practice.” He released her and backed up. He couldn’t be that close to her and co ncentrate.

“It’s louder than I remember,” she said. “And it has m ore kick.”

Grady chuckled. “If I remember correctly, the last time we went shooting, you used a .22. That’s a pew -pew gun.”

Caitlin put her hand over her mouth and giggled. “What the heck does t hat mean?”

“It means if you shoot somebody with a .22, especially somebody big, you’re just going to piss them off,” he explained. “Unless you shoot them in the eye or something. You might slow them down, but it won’t be for long. Your Sig Sauer has mo re power.”

For the next two hours, he worked with Caitlin, teaching her how to aim and shoot. Hopefully, that would at least give her a chance to get away.

After a while, she cleared the chamber, removed the magazine, and handed the gun to him. “I’m done. I can barely hold my arms up. And I’m starving. We haven’t eaten since late last night. I’m going to make some food. Are yo u hungry?”

Gra dy nodded.

“Great,” she said. “I’ll get started. I’ll see yo u inside.”

He watched Caitlin until she entered the small cabin and the door closed behind her.

He didn’t follow; instead, he stayed outside to clean up.

Now and then, he saw her moving around the kitchen through the window.

By the time he cleaned up the targets and the spent shells, the sun was above the mountains.

He put the guns in the back of the SUV, except for his . 357 and Caitlin’s Sig Sauer.

He holstered his gun, took the magazine out of hers, and went inside. Caitlin didn’t look up when Grady walked past her into the small living room. He put her gun on the coffee table and the magazine beside it.

“The food is ready,” she said from the kitchen. “It’s nothing fancy, just grilled cheese and soup.”

“Sounds good.” He returned to the kitchen and washed his hands.

When he turned around, Caitlin was right behind him, only inches away. She stepped to the side to get out of his way, head down, hands shoved in the pockets of her jeans.

“Come here,” he murmured.

She didn’t hesitate; she stepped into the circle of his arms, rested her head on his shoulder, and sighed. Grady kissed her forehead, hugged her tight, and rubbed her back.

“I’m scared,” she w hispered.

Caitlin didn’t admit weakness; hell, she didn’t acknowledge weakness. It wo rried him.

“I promise I will keep you safe, no matter what,” he murmured. “You believe m e, right?”

“I believe you,” she said with a sigh. She grabbed one of her braids and twisted it around her fingers. “Am I worth all this trouble?”

You’re worth it. Especia lly to me.

Not that he said that statement out loud. He couldn’t, not yet, not after one night together. Besides, it would probably come across as trite and unrealistic, given the situation. Caitlin would think he was only saying it to make her fe el better.

“That’s not true,” he told her instead. He hoped she would understand what he meant.

She kissed his cheek. “I’m hungry. L et’s eat.”

They sat at the table, across from each other, and ate in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. When they were done, she took the plates to the sink. Then she turned around, smiled at him, and pointed at the li ving room.

“I cooked, so you get to do the dishes. I’m exhausted. I think I’ll ta ke a nap.”

Grady laughed, got up, and went to the sink.

The TV came on in the living room, though he wasn’t sure what Caitlin decided to watch because the sound was drowned out by the water running in the sink.

Even though it didn’t take him long to wash the dishes, she was asleep when he walked into the living room, stretched out on the couch with the pillow clutched in her arms and the blanket pulled up to her chin.

He took his gun off and put it on the coffee table next to Caitlin’s, then he sat in the recliner, stretched his legs out in front of him, leaned back, and fe ll asleep.

Grady shot upright, wide awake, unsure of what had woken him up.

It took him a minute to get his bearings in the pitch-black room.

Once his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he got up, went to the window, pulled the curtain aside an inch, and peered out.

He didn’t see anything, but something was off.

Something didn’t feel right. He turned on the small lamp on the end table.

Caitlin squinted at him from the couch, and propped herself up on her elbows. “What’s wrong?” she asked groggily.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Something ’s wrong.”

She gave him a funny look, got off the couch, and stretched. “Well, I gotta pee. Let me know if you find something.” She went into the bathroom and shut the door.

He checked the small bedroom, but he didn’t see anything. Leaving the bedroom light on, he walked through the cabin to the kitchen and stopped in front of the window over the sink. That was when all the lights went out.

The bathroom door banged into the wall. “Grady? Where are you?”

The flare of flashlights blazed in the woods behind the cabin. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m in the kitchen. Get over h ere. Now.”

She ran across the room, stood behind him, and put her hand on his arm. “Wh at is it?”

“Someone is outside,” he whispered. He reached for his gun, but it wasn’t in the waistband of his jeans. It was on the cof fee table.

“Shit.” He grabbed Caitlin’s hand and pulled her into the living room. “Go get your backpack.” He picked up their guns. When she came out of the bedroom with her bag slung over her shoulder, he put her gun in her hand.

“No, I can’t shoot somebody,” she protested. “I’m not ready for that.”

“Take it,” he ordered. “Do not argue with me. Keep your finger off the trigger unless you need to shoot.”

He snatched his phone off the table and flipped it open. N o service.

“What is going on?” Caitlin whispered.

“I think they found us,” Grady replied. “The Morettis.”

“How?”