Eve lowered the gun and pointed at the ground a few yards in front of her, holding it with both hands, the way he had shown her, finger outside the trigger guard. She looked back at him with a curious smile. “Funny that,” she said. “How it’s the same stuff in guns and fireworks.”

“Funny?” he said. “Funny how?”

“You know,” she said. “Ironic, I guess.” She shrugged. “It’s so innocent—yet so lethal, depending on how you look at it.” She raised the gun again, held it steady, aimed it and fired. This time, the bullet splintered the top corner of the stump, revealing the light fleshy wood beneath the bark.

“Nice,” Keegan told her. “You didn’t kill the guy, but he’s going to need stitches.”

Keegan looked around for Nora, to be sure she was somewhere safe. The dog was behind them still, up where the dirt path from the cottage dropped down into the ravine. She stood watching them, glancing behind herself now and again, as if needing reassurance that the old cottage was still in sight.

Eve held the pistol straight out in front of her again with both hands. She bit her lip and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the trunk dead center with a solid crack, like a banged gavel.

“That’s the way,” Keegan told her. “Through the heart. He’s on his way to the morgue this time.”

She looked back at him, pleased, and that made him smile. It had been months—years, perhaps?—since he’d felt so at ease with someone.

“Do that again,” he said.

She did. A small explosion of bark erupted on the right side of the trunk. She grinned, happy with the results. “Shouldn’t we try from farther away?” she asked him. She nodded behind them, where the flatter ground banked up into the wall of the ravine.

Keegan shook his head. “It’s a two-inch barrel. And you’re no sniper,” he said. “How many rounds do you have left?”

She turned to face him, keeping the gun pointed forward. “I forgot to count.”

“You’ve still got one,” he told her. “Try to keep track while you’re shooting. You should always know how many rounds you have left. It could save your life.” Again, he heard the machismo in his voice; again, he willed it away.

She raised the gun, but then pointed it back down at the ground. “Can’t I just try it from farther away?” She seemed amused and eager, like a kid showing off, and Keegan grinned at her but shook his head.

“A snub nose is for protection,” he said. “Strictly close quarters. If your target is more than a few yards away, it’s always better to make a run for it.”