But she should’ve given more of her background. Apparently “My name is Skye Kellerman. I’ll be your gun instructor today,” wasn’t enough. “No,” she replied, “but I was determined to learn fast, and I’ve spent a great deal of time practicing. Now—”
“Are you a policewoman?” another woman interrupted.
They wouldn’t stop until they had the whole story. “No. I was the victim of an attempted rape.”
A collective murmur went through the room.
“I decided to prepare myself in case such an attack ever happens again,” she explained.
“Did they catch the guy?” the bone-thin woman in the front row wanted to know.
“Yes, the police tracked him down and put him in prison.” But that didn’t relieve the fear she felt as a result of her experience. Nothing relieved the fear. They wouldn’t understand that, though, not unless they’d been through a similar trauma.
“How many years did he get?” It was the woman sitting next to the thin lady.
“Eight to ten. But the reality is three. He’ll be out on parole this weekend.”
The voices grew loud as they responded with alarm, but she didn’t believe in minimizing what had happened to her. The public needed to know. Women needed to know. It could happen to you was her message. They had to be prepared.
“Are you the person who started that victim’s organization I’ve read about?” a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair asked.
“I’m one of them,” she clarified. Then several hands shot up, but she shook her head. “I’m happy to tell you all about The Last Stand, what we do and what we’re about. Maybe you’d even like to get involved. But let’s finish our class first, okay?”
The class quieted and she returned to the blackboard just as someone at the very back spoke up. The voice startled her because it was a man’s. “How many guns do you own?”
Turning, Skye saw that Detective Willis had slipped into the room. Where he’d come from or why he was there, she had no idea. But he was scowling.
“I have several, Detective,” she said. “I have a 9mm pistol, but I generally prefer the Kel-Tec P-3AT semiautomatic—although I wouldn’t recommend it to a novice—or the P232 Sig Sauer.”
“And do they help you sleep better at night?”
“I wouldn’t want to be without them,” she retorted.
He said nothing more, but the disapproval on his face bothered her. After his remarks in the past, she could imagine what he was thinking: What, no machine gun? No grenade launcher? He wasn’t happy that she hadn’t called him last night; he thought she was trying to do too much on her own.
Skye continued her class as if he wasn’t there and, a few minutes later, he stalked out. His attitude made her angry, and she wanted him to know. But she had fifteen people in the room, who were all there to learn about self-defense. She discussed caliber in relation to gun size, had each woman try the various guns for fit and distributed a pamphlet on gun safety that she told them they had to read and sign. Then she put in a plug for TLS, promised to bring a sign-up sheet for volunteers to their next class and smiled as they filed out.
But even after it was over, she was angry. What did David think he was doing, showing up and making his views—his negative views—so obvious? He told her to rely on him but he wouldn’t rely on her. Acted like he cared but didn’t really care. Wanted her but not enough to take what she had to offer.
When everyone had left, Skye marched out of the building and down the front steps, planning to call him the minute she reached her car. But she didn’t need to. He was waiting for her. She’d barely stepped onto the ground when he shoved away from the building and intercepted her. “Hey.”
“What did you think you were doing in there?” she demanded.
His eyebrows knitted. “You’re getting carried away, Skye.”
“What does it matter to you?”
“It matters.”
She remembered the way he sat with her in the hospital, hour after hour. How gently he’d tried to question her, to pull everything she could possibly remember about Burke from her mind. The way he’d held her when those dark memories were too ugly to face. He’d been there for her through the darkest period of her life. But as soon as she’d begun to recover, he’d begun to back away.
“Then ignore it,” she said. “You’re good at ignoring things.” She’d thought she wanted to talk to him, but she didn’t. What was there to say? They’d only disagree. She tried to pass him, but he blocked her from going around him.
“Can’t you see yourself?” he asked. “You didn’t call the sheriff’s department last night because you think you’ve got it covered, with your guns and your training and your ‘been there, done that’ tough bullshit. Are you trying to become some sort of female Rambo? If so, that’s foolish. Reckless.”
“Says you!”
“Yeah, says me! It’s already Tuesday. Burke is getting out in three days. Do you really want to shut me out right now, when we most need to work together?”
She didn’t. That was the problem. She wanted his help professionally, but working with him left her emotionally vulnerable. She couldn’t separate the two, not as easily as he seemed to do.
She wished they could go back to the early days, when their feelings were first developing, when everything was still so innocent and unexpected that it took them both unawares. Now that David knew he had to guard against personal involvement, nothing was the same, which was why she’d changed, too—grown defensive. “And where will you be when Burke comes after me again?” she asked. “Sleeping with your ex-wife?”
He blanched but didn’t respond to the verbal jab. “I’m hoping to find something that will enable me to arrest him again before that can happen. And I could use a little cooperation.”
“I’m handling the situation the best way I know how.”
He glared at her for a moment, then sighed as if he realized it was his other feelings—the frustration and confusion he felt with her—that had him so worked up. “I talked with Jane this morning,” he said, obviously trying to control his emotions.
Skye caught her breath, curious in spite of the need to put distance between them. “Jane Burke?”
“Yes.”
“How’s she getting by without her husband?”