CHAPTER 5

DAY 2

Tuesday

AN: Show me you want a faster posting schedule by reviewing this chapter. Give this chapter a review and I'll post an extra chapter tomorrow (Thursday) as well as the scheduled one Friday. Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews. Keep them coming.

Instead of heading to the basement this morning to train, Finn went down the hall toward the bedrooms. I hung back a little to watch what he was doing. He opened the closet door at the end of the hallway. There was a black steel safe inside that took up the entire space. He punched six numbers into the keypad, and the door swung wide. My mouth dropped open when I saw all the weapons inside. He had handguns, rifles, shotguns, knives, and compound bows. Thanks to a former college boyfriend, who was president of the archery club, I knew far more about bows and arrows than I wanted to.

"Did you bring your weapon with you?"

"Yes." I cleared my throat and quickly added, "It's a Glock 19."

"Get your gun and meet me out front," he said as he put two handguns, one smaller and one larger, a few boxes of ammunition, 2 earmuffs, and 2 pairs of safety glasses into a bag and closed both doors.

I retrieved my gun from my nightstand and followed him to the front yard, where he'd set up six hay bales on tree stumps at the base of the ridge. They all had paper bullseyes attached to them. I put my gun on the folding table next to his bag.

"Do you have any weapons training at all?" He handed me a pair of safety glasses and earmuffs.

"I've been going to a gun range a lot recently."

He picked up the larger gun. "This a Glock 17. It's a full-size, semi-automatic pistol with the capacity to hold seventeen 9mm rounds in the magazine plus one in the chamber. Most people tolerate its larger size because they get better accuracy."

He released the magazine, placed the gun back on the table, and began sliding bullets into the empty magazine like he was loading candy into a Pez dispenser. I frowned when he popped the magazine back into the gun and pulled the slide to load the bullet into the chamber. "Why did you do it that way? The magazine holds seventeen rounds, plus one in the chamber. That's eighteen. Now the magazine is short a bullet."

"That's true." He finally made eye contact. I couldn't be sure, but I think he was impressed that I noticed. "How do you usually load the extra bullet?"

It seemed like a trick question, but I answered anyway. "Well… I put the extra bullet in the hole at the top of the gun, pull the slide to chamber it, and then pop in the full magazine."

"Doing it that way damages the internal pieces over time." He pointed to a little hook in the top of the gun where the extra bullet was supposed to be housed. "See this? It's spring loaded. Putting the round in the chamber from the outside, then racking the slide causes the hook to bend farther than it's designed. Over time, it will cause a malfunction. You don't want that."

"Okay. I didn't know that."

"You want to fully load the magazine, pop it in, and then rack the slide back, bringing the first round into the chamber from the inside. Once you've done that, pop the magazine back out and load the eighteenth bullet." It made sense when he demonstrated. "If you run out of ammo in a shootout, keep your gun pointed at your target while you eject the empty magazine and pop in a full one. The process needs to be seamless." He caught my deer-in-the-headlights expression. "Practice loading the magazine until you can do it without thinking."

He moved to stand behind the red spray-painted line on the grass. The targets/hay bales were grouped in pairs and set at three distances, with each pair getting further away.

"We'll begin your training by already having your gun drawn, but as your skills progress, you'll pull your gun from your holster, sight your mark, and fire five rounds into each target in under 30 seconds, hitting the bullseye each time."

"No problem." I swallowed my doubt and nodded as if his expectations were achievable.

"To minimize recoil, you should use the isosceles stance. See how my knees aren't locked?" He stood with his feet hip width apart, both hands on the gun, thumbs facing forward on the same side, and arms straight. "Now, lock your wrist joints, and don't lean back. Your shots will go north of your target if you do." He motioned to the first pair of targets. "These are set at five yards."

He was calm, controlled, and confident as he shot five rounds into the bullseye. He gave the gun to me and gestured to the target beside his. I held the gun in my hand, feeling its weight.

"Focus on your front sight alignment and center the pad of your index finger on the trigger," he said. "Hold yourself still as you inhale and pull the trigger as you exhale. After the bullet is released, let the trigger relax until it resets. You'll hear a click. Do not take your finger off the trigger or jerk the gun. If you need to fire again, you'll lose valuable time lining up your next shot."

I adjusted my aim and emptied the magazine into the target. Finn grabbed two more target papers to replace the ones we just shot and brought the used ones back to the table. He did excellent, as I'd expected, hitting his five shots into the same hole in the bullseye. My target wasn't as clean. There were thirteen holes in and around the bullseyes. Not bad, but not as good as his.

Instead of acknowledging my results positively or negatively, he handed me the empty gun. "Do you feel how light it is without ammo?" I tilted it in my palm and nodded. "Load it and feel the difference. With experience, you'll be able to estimate how many bullets are in the magazine. This is critical during an altercation. Suppose you're running low on ammo and can find cover from the assault. In that case, you should take the opportunity to reload while you can, even if you're not completely empty."

I loaded the gun, nervous that he was watching every move I made with a critical eye. When I was done, I could feel the difference in weight, but I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to tell exactly how many bullets were left in the gun by weight alone. Probably I'd just need to count my shots and hope for the best.

"These targets are 10 yards away." He took the gun and shot five rounds into the target.

He handed the gun to me, and I emptied the magazine into my target at the same distance. He exchanged the target papers while I reloaded. My shots were scattered a little wider because the target was farther away, but my effort was respectable. Unsurprisingly, he did excellent… again.

"This group of targets is twenty yards away. It's unlikely you'll be shooting at someone from this distance with a handgun, but you should be prepared for all eventualities." He shot his five rounds, and then I emptied the magazine into my target. As expected, I was progressively worse, farther from the target.

Now that we'd shot at all the targets from all three distances with the Glock 17, he picked up my gun, the Glock 19, which was slightly smaller.

"The barrel on this is half an inch shorter than the Glock 17, and as you know, it has a magazine capacity of 15 rounds plus 1 in the chamber. That's enough ammo to get you out of most situations without reloading. The good thing about this gun is that it has less recoil than similar-sized guns and is small enough to carry concealed."

We shot all three targets from 5, 10, and 20 yards, reloading as necessary. Finn waited expectantly for my thoughts. "Between the Glock 17 and the 19, I like mine best. It's lighter, and I think I shoot better."

He nodded in agreement. "I'm told you were awarded the Robin Hood Sharpshooter Award. Even for a seasoned agent, five shots to the heart in a life-and-death situation is impressive. You have a natural ability but lack the confidence that comes with practice." While I stood there in a daze, digesting his compliment, he reached for the last gun, which was the smallest. "The Glock 26, sometimes called the Baby Glock, has a magazine capacity of 10 rounds plus 1 in the chamber. That's still enough to get you out of most situations."

After going through the same shooting routine, my wrists were burning from recoil, and the early morning air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder. "I don't like this one as much. It's smaller, and I have to adjust my grip after each shot. That slows me down and messes with my aim."

"That's the biggest complaint with the smaller guns. I think you should focus your training on Glocks 17 & 19. You need to become so proficient with these weapons that they become an extension of your hand, and you automatically reach for them when threatened. We'll eventually branch out to other gun manufacturers. If you're interested, we can also try long-range shooting using a scope and even archery."

My mind flashed back to the sniper-style rifles in his gun safe, and I wondered just how much training he thought I needed to be a competent bounty hunter. It wasn't like I would be sitting on rooftops picking people off the street for failing to appear in court.

"Now, for the fun part." He started taking the gun apart. "A clean weapon is a dependable weapon."

While I dipped the brush into the cleaning solvent and inserted it into the gun's barrel, I had a sudden flash of the time I washed Ranger's gun in dish soap after throwing up all over it. At the time, I didn't think about the ramifications of my actions. "What would happen to a gun if you washed it in dish soap?"

Finn's hands stopped moving the oiled rag over the gun's barrel, and he looked at me with an expression that could only be described as stupefaction. "It'll most likely be ruined," he said slowly, with a hint of suspicion. "Water and soap cause corrosion. Why?"

I felt even more embarrassed now that I knew the importance of maintaining the weapon that could save my life. I looked back down, concentrating on cleaning as I confessed. "I once threw up on a friend's gun."

"And you washed it in dish soap? In a sink full of water?" He was so horrified he nearly choked on his words.

I lifted my head and neither confirmed nor denied it. Let him draw his own conclusions. I didn't have the heart to tell him I also used a vegetable brush and sprayed air freshener on it when I was done. I didn't think he could take it. He didn't seem the type to roll with my quirks like Ranger usually did.

After helping him put the guns away, we went to the same running trail as yesterday and took off through the woods at a brisk pace with him in the lead. When we reached the two-mile mark, he said, "I'm going to keep running, but you can head back and start working on the machines."

I wanted to show him I was tough, but when he started going faster and faster, I knew I'd never keep up. He'd been going slow for my benefit and was probably looking forward to getting rid of me. That seemed to be the theme of my stay here. He had nothing to do with me—no talking or interacting—unless necessary. I tried not to let my feelings get hurt.

I alternated between jogging and walking back to the cabin. As my temporary home came into view, I heard a noise behind me and turned around. Finn whizzed by me, leaving me in the dust. I watched him with my mouth hanging open, hands on my knees, gasping as if I smoked a carton a day and someone had just taken away my oxygen tank. It wasn't fair. He was barely even breathing hard. Once I stopped gasping, I hustled as fast as my weary legs would carry me, stopping several times to ease the pain in my side.

By the time I made it back to the cabin, I was flushed and sweaty. I found Finn in the basement kitchen, putting ingredients into the blender. "Are we having orangecicle smoothies again?" I asked.

"Iced coffee smoothie's this time." He pressed the button on the blender, effectively cutting off any more conversation. He poured the dark frothy contents into two glass mugs and pulled plastic popsicle molds out of a cabinet.

"Are you making smoothie popsicles?" I asked as he poured the remainder into the molds and placed it in the freezer.

"I don't like to waste," was his only response as he picked up his mug and went outside. I no longer felt insulted by his rude behavior. It was clear he didn't want me around, and I was fine with that.

I didn't want to make a pest of myself by following him like a lost puppy, but I also didn't want to sit inside on a pretty day. I took my delicious smoothie and headed down to the dock. It was shaped like a capital H, with the center line extending from the shore. A speed boat was on one side, and a jet ski on the other. Both were lifted out of the water for the season and covered by black metal roofs.

I sat at the end of the dock and looked out over the calm blue water. It was still too cold for a swim, but I intended on taking full advantage of the warm weather in a few weeks. Maybe Finn would let me drive the boat if I asked nicely.

I gave myself thirty minutes before heading back. Heeding Finn's warning from last night, I decided to show him I could pull my weight by cleaning the basement kitchen. After a rigorous lower-body workout, we broke for lunch. He took his salad and sandwich and went out the front door with Maggie while I ate on the back deck. I didn't know where he went, and I didn't care.

After finishing my food and cleaning the upstairs kitchen, I checked my watch and found half an hour of lunchtime left, so I took a walk through the woods close to the shore. As I walked, the lake's bank got steeper and rockier. I found a swing hanging from a tree and sat down in the shade.

Life was slow on the mountain, which gave me plenty of time to think about how my life would change when I got home. Being a bounty hunter wasn't easy, but the danger level increased when you added my curious need to understand the how and why of the crime. It was a personality flaw that I didn't see changing, so I needed to be smarter and make better decisions instead of flying by the seat of my pants and expecting someone to save me when it all went to hell.

My break was over, so I headed back to the basement for an afternoon of sparring. I'd never sparred with a man before. What little I'd had time to learn at Kick It had all involved fending off attacks from women. So, this would be interesting.

Finn was putting on a pair of padded mitts to fend off strikes without getting hurt. "Get into fighting position. We'll begin with basic upper body strikes."

This was the first thing Denise taught me in Krav Maga class, so I felt ready. Turning slightly to the side, I put my left foot in front of my back foot. I bent my knees a little and raised my heels to help with balance and speed.

"Good. Now let me see you move."

I put my fists up to guard my face and stepped forward with my front leg, bringing my right leg swiftly forward. I advanced three times in quick succession, then used the same technique in reverse. I was feeling pumped. "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee," I called out Mohamed Ali's chant. Finn's eyebrow rose as if gauging my mental stability and finding me lacking. I chuckled. Mary Lou would have appreciated my fight song and given me a high five. Finn, not so much. Oh well.

"You have the proper form, and your fists are correct," he said, ignoring my moment of cockiness.

This may come as a surprise, but I got into more than my share of trouble when I was younger. I learned quickly that you don't stick your thumbs inside your fist unless you want to break them.

"Hit with the first two knuckles. They're the strongest part of your fist. And grunt when you make contact. It lets your attacker know you're trained and increases your adrenaline." He moved his mitt in front of his face. "Start with a set of ten cross punches."

I felt silly grunting at first, but then I realized I was hitting harder and feeling more confident. I sounded fierce. It was as if I had psychologically convinced myself I was a badass and could reign terror down on this man.

After finishing the third set of cross punches, he took the mitt off and turned his fist to the side. He bent his elbow and drove his fist toward the side of my vulnerable neck but stopped short of contact. "That's a hammer strike." He put his mitt back on, and I started striking with the side of my fist. "Use the power from your hips," he called out, blocking each hit. Whatever modification I made must have been successful because he stopped yelling out pointers and focused on counting. After three sets, he moved on to the next upper-body strike. "You should opt for the palm strike, punch, or hammer strike first, but if your attacker is too close, you can use the elbow strike." He demonstrated a forward elbow strike and a backhanded one, then counted out three sets.

Toward the end of the last set, he pulled his mitt back as if to hit me with it, and on instinct, my forearm hit the mitt, blocking the blow. "Shit! That hurt!" I shook my arm out, wincing, and frowned up at him from my bent-over position. He didn't look contrite. Asshole.

"It's important to be able to strike and deflect a blow. Let's try a combination of everything you've learned today, starting with cross punches, hammer strikes, elbow strikes, and finishing with blocks. Begin."

My hits came harder and faster once I found my rhythm. When I finished three sets of combos, I was sweating and tired, but Finn had other plans. Out of nowhere, his mitt came flying at my head. As if I'd been training my whole life, I ducked. I popped up proudly and was promptly hit in the head when his other mitt hit me in the jaw. I fell over onto the mats like a weeble wobble that didn't pop back up.

"You've gotta be quicker than that, but at least your form was good," he said with a hint of humor. I might have even seen him smile if my vision hadn't been blurry. "It's not always about hitting the attacker as much as avoiding being hit. That's when dodging a strike comes in handy."

No shit!

"Get into position for an eight-count combination."

I did the combination three times without getting knocked down, and he took off his mitts. "Please let us be done," I whispered to myself.

We weren't done.

He dug his fingers into a spot above my elbow. It felt like a current of electricity zinged through me. I shrieked and dropped to my knees. "Pressing on the nerves takes little effort and can bring anyone to their knees, even me."

"Handy," I said as I got to my feet, shaking my arm to rid myself of the uncomfortable tingling. While waiting for the feeling to return to my arm, Finn showed me all the pressure points on the human body.

"You can also strike the pressure points with your fist or foot to deliver a more pronounced shot of pain. In most cases, your attacker will release you."

He got two bottles of water from the fridge and threw one to me. I caught it even though my arms were tired.

"What do you know about Yoga?" he asked as we drained our water.

"Nothing until six weeks ago, but…."

"Show me."

I got into the downward-facing dog position, transitioned into the lunge, and then the half splits. When Finn made no comment, I continued further down into the pigeon. I lay on my back with my knees bent and feet beside me, forming the hero pose. I held each pose for around two minutes before sitting up and crossing my right leg to my left side in a seated position called the cow. "That's about all I remember."

"Try this pose." He lay on his back and drew his legs over his head to touch the floor on the other side. Even though it was difficult, the stretch in my back felt great. After two minutes, he switched to a new pose. "This is a three-legged dog." I moved into the same pose with ease. He turned over on his stomach and pushed up, leaving his lower body touching the floor. "This is upward dog." After a couple minutes, he lay flat on his back. "And the last one today is the resting position. There's a site online that leads you through all the poses. You can use my iPad and do those on your own."

I was glad this was something I could do on my own. I could put on soothing music and move through the poses without Finn watching over me.

He went to the bar and made smoothies while I went to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. When I came out, he was gone, and a sticky note was attached to the fridge. There's an apple pie protein bar and a chocolate banana smoothie inside. You have the rest of the afternoon free. I cleaned up the small mess he had made and opened the fridge. I found a glass mug full of frothy goodness and what I assumed was a homemade apple pie protein bar wrapped in waxed paper.

I sat down at the patio table to enjoy my break. It was almost four in the afternoon and seventy degrees out here. I wasn't sure where Finn had disappeared too, probably in the garage like yesterday. While I ate, I thought about how nice it would be to sit in the swing overlooking the lake and read Finn's book about spotting liars that I'd found earlier. I had a couple of hours to kill until dinner, so why not? I went upstairs to get the book and my sunglasses. Maggie followed me to the swing and jumped up on the seat beside me. As I read, I realized I should have brought a notepad because there was a lot of useful information here.

I checked my watch and realized it was time to help Finn with dinner. Sighing, I slowly made my way to the cabin. When I emerged from my shower, all nice and clean, Finn was coming out of the sunroom. He was in different clothes, so he must have showered, too. Other than minimal instructions, we worked in silence preparing the meal. When it was complete, he took his plate and disappeared into the sunroom. I popped my head in and asked, "Do you have an extra notebook and pen I could borrow?"

He swallowed before answering. "The second drawer in my desk. Take what you need."

After getting a pad and pen from his desk in the alcove of the living area, I grabbed my book and food and went out onto the deck. I read and took notes as I ate. When I was done, I pushed my empty plate away and propped my feet on the railing. The sun was setting, and before long, I could barely see the words on the pages. Laying the book aside, I stared into the darkness and listened to the frogs and crickets singing. My eyes started getting heavy, and I knew I'd most likely fall asleep out here if I didn't get up now and clean the kitchen. Leaving the kitchen a mess wouldn't be a good idea. I didn't want Finn to think I couldn't carry my weight, so I grudgingly got up and went inside. Finn had left his plate and glass next to the sink, so I loaded the dishwasher and wiped the counters down. With no one to say good night to, I went to bed.