Brynne laid a hand on her friend’s forearm. “Sara, Freddie Lansing isn’t a schoolyard bully, he’s a grown man. He might try to hurt you!”

Sara’s jawline tightened, and her gaze strayed to a small painting hanging on the far wall. It was Brynne’s own work, a simple watercolor still life featuring a plain crockery bowl filled with fruit.

“I almost wish he would,” Sara said.

Brynne knew there was a safe secreted behind the painting and, now, she had a pretty good guess what was inside, besides the usual jewelry, passports and other important documents.

“Sara,” she breathed, alarmed. “Do not tell me you have a gun, right here in this kitchen.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you,” Sara said, straightening her shoulders and looking quietly determined.

“Could you really shoot someone?” The idea made Brynne slightly ill. She hated guns, had always hated them, although Clay’s experience in that Boston convenience store, where he’d nearly been shot, right along with his partner, had caused her to hate them even more.

“If they broke into my home, intending to harm my children or anyone else who might be around? You’re damn right I could, Brynne. In a freaking heartbeat.”

Imagining herself in such a situation, Brynne realized that she herself could kill someone. It was a chilling insight into her own nature.

“Are you judging me?” Sara asked, without rancor.

“No,” Brynne answered promptly. Honestly. “I’m just scared of guns, that’s all. Really scared of guns.”

“That just shows you’re a sane human being,” Sara replied, resting a hand on Brynne’s, probably to communicate that she wasn’t offended by her horrified reaction to Sara’s apparent willingness to pick up a firearm with intent to kill. “I’m no expert—not like Eli or Dan, anyway—but I’ve had the best available training. And as long as there are people like Freddie Lansing in the world, I’m going to keep my skills polished to a high shine.”

Brynne swallowed. “Here’s hoping you never have to use those skills, Sara.”

Sara tapped the rim of her wineglass against the rim of Brynne’s. “Here’s hoping,” she agreed. She paused thoughtfully, and the noises from the den and the living room seemed to recede into the distance. “Maybe you should learn to shoot, Brynne. My instructor at the range is marvelous. Or Eli could teach you.”

Brynne shivered. “Why would I do that?”

“Maybe so you wouldn’t be so afraid of guns,” Sara suggested lightly. “Or if, God forbid, you needed to protect yourself.”

Brynne was about to change the subject, out of pure desperation, when the back door opened and Eli entered, nearly tripping when Festus shot past him and headed straight for the next room, barking with delight.