Sands sat on his bed, shutting his cell phone. He was too quiet for Grace's liking. She sat next to him, placing a hand on his back.
"Jeffrey? Message from Homer not so good?" She tried to make light of things, but Sands didn't crack even the smallest of smiles.
"Do you know how to shoot a gun?" he asked.
"Huh?"
His voice was emotionless. "Have you ever fired a gun before?"
"Yeah."
Sands turned and smiled at her. "Really?"
"I get the feeling that excites you," she said, still wondering what news he had been given.
Letting the tension he was feeling pass for a moment, his hand found her thigh and he said, "Well, if you can handle that kind of piece as well as you handle mine…"
Grace slapped his hand away, trying not to smile. "Even when something's wrong, you're a horny…"
He leaned over, his lips grazing her neck. "As long as I'm horny, you know there's hope for the situation."
"And the situation we're in right now would be?"
"You are not to leave this room without a gun – or without me, got it?"
Sands orders weren't exciting her this time around – they were scaring her. "I'm really not comfortable with…"
"Gracie, I'm not giving you a choice here. When have you used a gun?"
"Tell me what's going on, Jeffrey."
He sighed, his hand stroking her hair. "Mikey the psycho wasn't kidding when he said that I should have heard of him. Gracie, he's into some serious shit. Drug running mostly, but he's had hits put out on more people than…"
"What?" Grace was immediately frantic. "No way. Michael might be a thief and a tad obsessive, but a killer? I would have known, right? I would have known!"
"Gracie, calm down."
"I shared my life with a killer?"
Sands bowed his head slightly. "Technically, you still are."
"Well…you only kill the 'bad guys', right?" Her voice seemed distant.
Sands smiled. "Something like that." Do cooks count? I mean, God only knows if they wash their hands before they start pawing people's food…and there is the balance to consider. O.K., that's a habit that I'm broken of anyway, since I'd never be able to find a kitchen in a place I haven't been before…
"Jeffrey?"
Realizing his silence, he said, "You've reformed me, Gracie. Only the 'bad guys', I promise."
"I shared my bed with…" Grace couldn't get passed what Sands had told her.
"I'm sure he did a good job of keeping things from you. I'm also sure that he had people do most, if not all, the kills for him. He didn't sound like the type who…"
"That doesn't make it any better."
"Well, maybe this will make up for it a little: he didn't really start to come onto the radar until a few months ago – you already got rid of him by then."
Grace sighed. "Well, that makes me feel slightly less stupid I guess."
"So when have you shot?"
"Hm?"
"A gun, Gracie. When did you shoot one?"
"Oh. Well, my father was a collector and he took me to a target range a few times – nothing extensive or anything."
"Better than nothing. How's your aim?"
"I don't know…it wasn't too bad, I guess. I haven't fired a gun since…"
Sands smiled. "You don't forget, believe me." He shifted on the bed a bit. "Could you get the black bag that's in here somewhere?"
"Sure." Grace got up, quickly finding the bag in the corner of the room. "Geez, Jeffrey, what's in here? It weighs a freaking ton."
"Personal arsenal, Gracie."
"I'm gonna let a blind guy play with firearms?"
Sands opened the bag and pulled out the gun he'd used to kill Ajedrez. "I hate to tell you this, Gracie, but I killed four people right after my 'surgery.'"
"Oh…"
He cupped her face. "They were 'bad guys.' Well, three bad guys and one bad woman."
Grace moved away from him, but realized that she had no reason to. "Sorry," she whispered.
"I'd have done the same thing." Glad you can't stay away though. "Here," he handed her the gun, "pretend it's me."
"What?"
He chuckled. "Get a good firm grip on it. Get a feel for it."
"Incredible," Grace laughed, referring to his comment.
"Yup, that's pretty much what you said about me."
"Damn it, Jeffrey… Can you be serious for like five minutes?"
He turned his head in her direction. "Would you really want me to be? Someone needs to take the edge off, right?"
"The 'edge' has been taken off several times in the past…"
Sands chuckled. "Wrong edge, Gracie, but I'm thrilled to see where your mind is."
"I love an incurable pervert…and sadly, have become one myself." She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Always expect the unexpected, huh?"
"Good motto for the moment, Gracie. Look, as much as I don't want to, I do have to be a bit 'out of character' for the moment."
"I'm not going to like what you have to say, am I?"
"I don't think so, sugarbutt. The guy's here for a reason. He's already hit you and, well, I'm sure my hitting him pissed him off…then there was the threat…"
"What threat?" Grace asked, her eyes wide.
Sands cleared his throat. "Well, not against you, against me…"
"Like that makes it any better?"
"Fast-forwarding," he said quickly. "He could have people anywhere he wants to in this hotel. That's why you don't leave here alone and without something from my bag of tricks here." He fished around a bit and found the tiny gun that Pelé refused to fire. "Small, fits well behind your fly…"
"Huh?"
"Well, not that you'd put it there, but a purse or pocket and…"
"Jeffrey, I really don't think…don't I need like a permit or something?"
Sands smiled. "Gracie, you're with the CIA, remember? You're not going to get in trouble, so stop trying to come up with excuses. This is for your own good, savvy?"
"You still sound like a pirate when you say that word…"
"Guess you'll be walking my plank later then, hm?" He handed Grace the gun and she took it.
"I'm not a gun prude, you know? I grew up around them and have no problem with them…it's just the being out of practice and, oh yeah, someone might try to kill us thing that has me on edge."
"Nothing's going to happen to you, Gracie."
"No? Why not?"
"I won't let it."