A very patient Sawyer spent considerable time with her and Annika—the only ones who’d never fired a gun—showing them how to load, unload, reload, how to sight, how to use the safety, how to take it off.

As instructed, Annika slapped the magazine into one of Sawyer’s 9 mms.

“I don’t like it. It feels cold and mean.”

“You don’t have to like it. You have to respect it. A lot of GSWs are accidents, from carelessness. Gunshot wounds,” he explained. “People who don’t learn how to properly handle a gun, who don’t properly secure it when not in use. Some insist guns don’t kill. People do. But guns do kill, and knowing that, respecting that, is really important.”

“Did this gun kill someone?”

“No. But I know it can. I know I can. If there’s no choice.”

He looked down to where the others had set up a temporary target range, with paper targets over a thick sheet of wood.

“Time to try them out. Safeties on.”

Sasha didn’t like the feel of the gun any more than Annika, but she carried it down to the range, where Riley took over the lesson.

“We’re going to start with stance and grip. Basic Weaver stance,” she told Sawyer, “Two-handed grip.”

When she demonstrated, Annika shook her head.

“Sawyer shoots the gun with one hand.”

“And when you can shoot like Dead-Eye here, be my guest. For now, two hands. Your dominant hand presses the weapon forward slightly, and the other draws it back. Balancing. This’ll help you with the recoil. Dominant foot back and to the side, the other forward, knee bent. Most of the weight’s on your front foot.”

She had them practice, again and again, getting into position, lifting an unloaded weapon to eye level.

“Okay. Who wants to shoot first?”

“Sasha does,” Annika said immediately.

“Okay.”

“Load it like I showed you,” Sawyer told her.

When she had, Riley stepped behind her. “Take your time, take your stance, raise your weapon.” She laid a hand on Sasha’s back. “Don’t hold your breath when you squeeze the trigger. Squeeze it, slow and smooth and let your breath out.”

She did, felt the kick all the way to her shoulder, and the force of it, the sound of it like a punch in the heart.

She didn’t miss the target entirely, but put a bullet in the second ring in, to the right.

“Not bad. Adjust your stance, relax your shoulders. Try it again.”

The next shot hit higher, and still well to the right of center.

“You’re pulling it to the right. Think about that, fire again.”

Lower this time, Sasha noted, and another ring closer.

She fired several more, never hit center, but shot what Riley called a decent grouping.

She stepped aside, more than happy to unload and set the gun down, so Annika could step to the line.

Riley adjusted her stance, her grip, then stepped back.

Annika fired when told, missed the paper target, plowed a bullet into the wood.