“Why isn’t your brother here?” Sammy’s eyes rounded, their depths filled with open curiosity.

“Roddy’s overseas just now.”

“I wish I had a brother to shoot bow and arrows with.”

His innocent remark flew straight and true, directly impaling her heart. Bullseye. Elise closed her eyes against the sharp pain. Sammy wanted a brother, something she could never provide. What had she done by agreeing to Harry’s request?

Elise took a deep breath and let it out. “Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”

“Do you shoot bad guys?”

“Only when necessary,” Elise said dismissively, anxious to change the subject. “Are you interested in learning or not?”

Sammy nodded.

“Brilliant. Before we use the bow and arrows, I need to get some practice in. Can you count to fifteen?”

“I can count a lot higher than that. I can count to a million,” Sammy bragged, his wee chest swelling with self-importance.

“You’re verra clever. But I only need you to count to fifteen. Can you ride your bicycle up and down this road between the big oak tree and my 4x4 fifteen times?”

“Why?”

“Because you need exercise to stay strong.”

“Oh.” Sammy appeared to consider her words.

“Shall I time you?”

“Like for a race?”

“Aye.”

“I don’t wanna race. I wanna shoot arrows.”

She held back a smile.

“You know, laddie, archery requires skill and patience.” She squeezed his arm between her thumb and forefinger, starting at his wrist and working her way to his shoulder. Tapping her chin, she gave him a considering look. “Hmm. Are you sure you can pull back on a bow? It takes muscle and concentration.”

“I’m strong. I lifted a hay bale in the barn, and that’s ginormous.”

“Verra well, then,” Elise nodded. “I think you’ll do.” She let Sammy pin the fresh target to the bale.

“Is it my turn now?”

“How many laps have you completed?”

Sammy hung his head. “None.”

“Tell you what. When you do fifteen, come back, and we’ll get out the bow and fire off a few arrows. How does that sound?”

“Pure dead brilliant!” Sammy exclaimed.

Elise smiled at the first real Scots expression she had heard him utter. Marching back to the shooting line, she pulled out her gun, then waited until the lad trotted up the hill to his bicycle and pedaled off toward the oak tree.

Turning toward the target, Elise took careful aim and squeezed off two rounds before she was satisfied with her accuracy. Generally, she was a good shot, but the second half of her MI6 range test had not gone well, largely due to the pain that had coursed through her body after her run on the treadmill.

A good agent focused through discomfort to obtain the objective. Physical well-being could not matter. Even when injured on assignment, Nigel expected her to fulfill her mission—or die trying.