“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The Alpines—the guys out of Estes Park—are all her friends. They hang out in the lobby all day, and she gets to know them. They’ve been up on the mountain for a few days. She’s just ready for them to get back.”

“Gun range,” I said, even more anxious than I was before.

***

Martinez, Kitsch, Harbinger, and Sloan were all to my left. We stood in a line, goggles on, in our own stalls, killing our targets so hard we were creating unwanted attention.

“Are you a team or something?” a man asked the second I removed my ear muffs.

“Yep,” I said, setting down my firearm.

“Are those Howard Leight’s?” he asked.

I looked down at my earmuffs. “Yeah?”

“Best of the best. They’re on my list.”

“Oh? Tell me more.” I put on the earmuffs and popped in another clip before turning around to obliterate my target.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Martinez laughing, his cheek still pressed against his rifle.

The sun was touching the summit of the mountain range, so I checked my watch and packed up, whirling my finger around to signal to my guys that I was leaving. They all waved, still focused on their targets.

I carried my shit to the FJ, hearing the chatty dude from the range stomping on the gravel as he followed me out.

I unlocked the door and opened it, but not before he could call to me. “Hey. I’m sorry. Did I say something to offend you?”

“No, why?”

“You were just so … abrupt earlier. I thought maybe I’d pissed you off.”

“No.”

He shifted, uncomfortably waiting for me to apologize, or twirl my hair, or maybe giggle. He clearly had no idea how to react to me.

“So.” He breathed out a laugh then shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

“Good talk,” I said, getting inside my vehicle.

I rushed home, unable to sit still knowing Spenser would be there any minute. I’d made up the guest room, although I didn’t have to do much. There was already a bed, new bedding, and a dresser.

I pulled into the drive and groaned. Peter was sitting on my porch. I was so preoccupied with Spenser’s arrival, I hadn’t noticed his Maybach parked across the street.

I stepped out, carrying my duffle bag.

“If you wanted to go to the range…” he began.

“I’m good,” I said, passing him to unlock the door.

“Why didn’t you tell me Spenser was coming?”

I turned around. Peter had to step back to avoid getting smacked with my duffle.

“Because it’s none of your business.”

“She’s my friend too.”

“Did she call you? Did she say she was coming?”

He frowned. “You know she wouldn’t. She’s barely spoken to me since—”