“When did you—?”

“I’ve been going out to the gun range for months now, little brother. If you paid attention to anything besides your job, you’d know that.”

“You could have mentioned that you’d taken up a hobby,” Eli challenged wryly. “Is the safety on?”

“Of course it is,” Sara retorted briskly. “I’m not stupid.”

“What if Eric or Hayley find that thing and mess with it?” Eli, like many cops, was of the belief that most women—and men, for that matter—were better off without a handgun, simply because so many things could go wrong.

For instance, the assailant might take it away and use it against its owner.

When it came to firearms, Murphy’s Law was the rule rather than the exception.

Eli was rattled. “Suppose you think there’s an intruder in the house and you fire that thing and then find out you’ve maimed or killed one of your kids?”

“That isn’t going to happen.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“Stop being such an old lady, Eli. You’re willing to have Dan Summers living under this roof—a human lethal weapon—but you’re afraid of a little peashooter like this?”

“Sara.”

She set the gun carefully on a sideboard. Leaned back against it like an old-time gunfighter against the bar in a saloon.

“I’d recommend you don’t sneak in here and steal any more spaghetti casseroles from the freezer,” she said. “Especially not when you’re just coming off a late shift.”

Eli was not amused. “You’re taking this whole Luke Bible thing too seriously,” he accused. “You are not a fast gun on the side of truth, justice and the American Way.”

“Oh, but I am,” Sara said. “And I’ve got the multi-book contract to prove it. A couple of training certificates from the gun range, too. I’m downright deadly.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Eli snapped.

“I’m within my rights here, Dudley Do-Right. Not a goll-derned thing you can do about it.”

Eli rolled his eyes. “Call Dan first thing tomorrow. And try not to shoot the meter reader or the UPS man, okay?”

“Tomorrow—which is actually today—is a holiday. New Year’s, remember? No hapless service people will come within range.”

“Shit,” Eli said. “Another damn holiday.”

“You still coming by for roast beef dinner?” Sara inquired, as though they hadn’t been discussing carnage. “Seven o’clock sharp. Bring a bottle of red wine. In fact, bring several.”

“Right,” Eli replied. He was beaten, and he knew it, but he wasn’t going to let this gun-thing slide. Cops and soldiers needed semiautomatic weapons like Sara’s, but women in wooly red robes and fluffy slippers?

Not so much.

Seeing that his master was on the move, Festus roused himself from his light slumber and got to his feet, though he’d probably been alert since the mention of roast beef.