Thief (24 page)

“Why a team?”

“Working solo is not what we’re about. It would defeat the purpose.”

“What is the purpose?”

He planted the gun case on the table, hanging on to it as the table jiggled until he was sure it wouldn’t slide off. He bent a little, opening the case to reveal a long rifle. His jet-black hair traced along his chin and fell in front of his face. It was startlingly exquisite. “Did you want to shoot or did you want to ask me questions?”

I planted the second case near his on the table. “Both.”

“Then ask me questions about guns.” He held up the one he had taken out of the case. “Have you done this before?”

“No.” I really wanted to ask him more about the Academy, but he made it seem easy to talk about it, like I could ask him later. I was sure I would. Wasn’t this supposed to be a secret? How was he able to talk about it so openly? Unless it really wasn’t that secret. Just their jobs were confidential. It was confusing.

He rubbed the stock of the gun as if to show me it was harmless. “This is a 303 British.” He opened it up, revealing an empty chamber. “It’s a top loading rifle. You drop the cartridge in from up here.” He demonstrated without a cartridge. “When you’re ready to shoot, you have to flip this.” He pointed to the safety. “And then pull here to load.” He did the motion without actually pulling. “There’s a scope on this one, too. You aim and fire. You have to reload a new bullet into the chamber every time you want to take a shot.”

“So not an automatic?”

“No. Reload every time. This way if you fuck up, you’ve only hit someone with one and not the entire magazine.” He passed the gun off to me.

“Wow, confidence booster there.” I held it with both hands, holding the stock and the barrel, flipping it over in my hands to look at it. “You’re not going to load it for me?”

“You fire it, you load it.” He grabbed a couple of rounds of ammo and pointed to the grass range. “Let’s try it over here.”

My heart thundered against my ribs. Watching the guys was one thing. I wanted to shoot, but my nerves were getting to me about it. I guess I expected a longer lecture or for him to show me how before he let me hold one.

Axel stopped at the end of the range and motioned to the ground. “Come on,” he said. “Get down.”

“Huh?”

“I think it’ll be easier if you drop to the ground and fire this. At least your first time.” He took the gun from me, exchanged it for the cartridges of bullets, and sunk to the ground. He sprawled on his stomach, and then motioned for me to join him.

I sidled up next to him, laying on my stomach, feeling the grass on my legs. It kind of shocked me. When was the last time I sprawled out on the grass? I propped myself up on my elbows to watch.

He pushed the stock to his shoulder, and aimed downrange. “When you’re like this, you won’t get it so hard in the shoulder. You need to lock it into your shoulder, and this way you just naturally do it.” He passed the gun back to me. I had to drop the cartridges to take it.

“How do I load?” I asked, unsure.

He showed me how to load the cartridge again, and walked me through positioning the gun. I held myself up on my elbows while aiming downrange.

Axel stayed shoulder to shoulder with me until he thought I was ready to start shooting. He went back to the gun cases, pulling out two pairs of ear protection. He passed one to me and then put some on his own head. Then he got on his knees to make some distance.

“What do I shoot at?” I asked.

“Try to hit those poles out there,” he said.

I made a face. They were tiny targets. I guess he was saying it didn’t matter, my first time shooting, he wasn’t going to have me hit a target.

I lowered my head, using the scope, and sized up the pole. The scope was actually pretty neat. I’d have to depend on the accuracy.

I breathed out slow, lining up my sight again, and keeping the scope lined to what I thought was a good spot on the thin wood pole.

“Lock it into your shoulder,” he said.

I jabbed it into my shoulder again, retargeting. I wasn’t sure how tight I needed it to be. It felt good enough.

“Take your time.” The tone indicated I was taking a while.

“I do have a loaded gun,” I said, hoping my tone said shut up or I would aim at him.

“Never let intimidation hold you back,” he said in that smoky voice.

I relocked the 303 to my shoulder. I yanked to load up a bullet, and aimed again using the scope, keeping an eye on the target.

I pulled back on the trigger. The gun fired.

The scope cracked against my forehead between my eyebrows. Pain radiated instantly. I put the gun aside, rubbing the spot. It was like banging your head into the corner of a cabinet.

“What’s wrong?”

“The scope is stupid.”

“You were scoped.” He patted my thigh. “Leave the gun for a second.”

I touched my forehead between my brows, wondering if I was bleeding. It didn’t feel like it but I wasn’t sure. I got up on my knees, feeling the heat running through me at messing up my first shooting experience. Thank goodness there was a wall and Raven didn’t see.

Axel crouched next to me and held my chin in his fingers. He brushed aside my hair from my cheek. When I still didn’t remove my hand, he curled his fingers around my wrist. “Let go.”

I didn’t want him to see, but he tugged and I relented. He scanned my forehead, his fingers touching the spot. When his fingers got too close, I yanked my head away. “Ow.”

“Just a fender bender,” he said. “You’ll have a good bump for a while though.”

“Oh great,” I said. “Do I need ice?”

“Did you want to stop?”

I blushed; I didn’t want to. If I stopped after one shot, I was worried the guys would call me a wimp. Plus, shooting wasn’t that bad. It was actually kind of fun, since I wasn’t shooting a person or at risk of getting shot at. I could see doing something like this on days off in the future. Without getting hit in the head. “It doesn’t hurt too bad.” It was partially true. It stung, but I could live with it. “Did I hit the pole?”

Axel looked out, squinting at the wood pole. He dropped down, picked up the rifle, and used the scope to check. “Fucking shit. You nailed it.”

My heart leapt. I dropped down next to him. “I want to see.” He passed the gun over, and I checked in the scope. Sure enough, there was a hole that split the wood, slightly to the left. “Was I not supposed to hit it?”

He clapped me on the back of the shoulder. “You’re either a natural or you’re damn lucky. Go ahead and empty the magazine.”

This time I avoided the scope, and locked the gun into my shoulder better. I aimed at the back dirt pile, simply trying to hit a singular carpet. Dust clouds rose at every place I hit as bullets zipped into the carpets, and I managed to land them relatively close to each other.

After I fired every bullet, I felt a rush. Excitement surged through me to be holding something so powerful. It wasn’t that I wanted to hurt anyone with it. I just liked the control and the risk.

“When you’re finished, you pull the magazine out,” he said, showing me. He also taught me how to make sure the barrel was empty, to check the cartridge.

He brought out another gun, a stage coach rifle, this one I only had to pull back once and after the first shot, it would reload and be ready for the next pull of the trigger. There wasn’t a scope on this one, so I aimed with the barrel sight, trying to hit the pole again. I got it twice more. The pole tilted forward and to the left after so many hits and needed to be replaced.

Axel roughed his fingers through his black hair. “Even with a different gun, you’re still hitting your targets.”

“I kind of like it,” I said.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have shown you this. I don’t want you shooting people.”

I huffed and was about tell him I’d only shoot idiots, but stopped short when a cool black eyebrow lifted on his face. His look stilled me until there wasn’t any fight left in me. It was fear of disappointing him if I even joked about this topic. Did I really worry that much about what he thought of me? I swallowed to shake off the feeling. “I won’t shoot anyone,” I said.

“Good.” He got up on his knees. “Let me check that bump on your forehead.”

I sighed, getting up. That was going to be a pain to explain to the others.

He cupped my head in his hands again, his gaze focused on my brow. “It’s puffy.”

“Can I tell the guys you beat me up?”

“Did you want me to die today? You hate me that much?”

I must have had a temporary brain melt down or something. I forgot how Southern guys usually took hitting girls very seriously. Normally, if a guy hit a girl around here within sight of another guy, he could expect a beating. Once, I saw a guy kick a girl at school, and a swarm of guys swooped in on him. I don’t recall seeing him at school ever again. Probably the only reason Raven got away with it with me in front of the others was because I fought back and you could tell he wasn’t hitting as hard as he could. I was pretty much asking for it every time and it was fun. Probably because most
Southern gentlemen
wouldn’t ever dream of it. “I don’t want them knowing what really happened.”

“Happens to everyone the first time. Suck it up.” His palms warmed my cheeks and he pressed them until my lips made a fish face. “If you can’t laugh at yourself, you’ve got no sense of humor.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said through my squished lips.

He released me with a slight shove that knocked me back a half step. “Help me clean up.”

I helped by putting the 303 back into the case and collecting the empty magazines and the casings he could find. I worked beside him in silence for a while, trying to figure out if I would get a headache later from the welt on my forehead.

“So,” he said. “You told Coaltar you were a biology researcher?”

I slowed in strapping the gun into place in the case. “Uh ... maybe?”

He had his head bowed, focusing on the gun. “Was any of that real interest, or were you just trying to talk to him?”

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged, snapping the gun case shut. “It made me wonder why you talk about Wil going to college, but you never mention it for yourself.”

I snorted. “Me? At college?”

“Why not?” He picked up the gun case, carrying it under his arm. He motioned to the wall, back toward the parking lot and started heading that direction. “You’re pretty smart. You could take the SATs and probably start at a community college for basic classes.”

I shrugged, carrying the gun case and walking beside him. “I don’t know what I want.”

“You seemed interested in the glowing fish.”

“I’m interested in a lot of things. I just never really thought about what I wanted before. It was just always what I could get so I could scrape by.”

We got to the Cherokee and he opened the back. We dropped the gun cases inside. He closed the back again and leaned against it. “If you had to pick something, what would you go for?”

I shifted from foot to foot. The truth was, a lot of things did interest me, like biology and other sciences, and now even shooting guns. It was impossible to pick. “Why do I have to pick one?”

His dark eyes sparkled with amusement. Was he pleased with this answer? “Pick two.”

“I don’t want to pick,” I said. “I don’t want to ...” I didn’t know how to express it.

“Get locked down into one thing?”

I bit my lip to try to stop the heat on my cheeks. I didn’t want to say yes, but couldn’t deny that was how I felt. It was why I’d resisted the idea of college a long time ago and simply never tried at all in school. You had to pick just one type of study that ended up costing a lot of money in student loans and you had to stick with it. Why? I folded my arms over my stomach and leaned against the back of the Jeep. “How did you get into biology?”

“Kind of by accident,” he said. “When I went into the Academy, they encourage you to explore and do what interests you.”

“I thought you were trying to say it was an espionage group. So it is like a school? Like a college?”

“It is more than you think,” he said. “As far as your interests, they offer whatever they can so you can pursue your own talents. Their classes aren’t exactly normal. For example, if you were interested in working with zoo animals, they’d find a place for you at the zoo with hands on training. If you want biology, they stick you in a biology lab.”

“Wouldn’t you have to take classes at the university? Get a degree first?”

“No.”

My eyebrow lifted. “How can they just throw you in a lab?”

“You’ll get any training you need, but you may get the short course. Your curiosity determines how much you study,” he said. He pointed to the gray wall, indicating to the rifle range behind it. “You were interested in guns, right? I gave you a handful of instructions and you figured it out on your own without much push. Then suddenly you wanted to know how the next gun worked, and then next time you may ask me how to piece the thing together. You may go home and read up on it. Maybe you take your own class. I don’t have to give you homework. I don’t have to tell you there’s a test. You’ll learn if you’re really interested. The Academy just has the resources to help put you where you want to be.”

The underlying premise of the Academy seemed daunting. They’d teach you anything you wanted to know? “What if you don’t know what you want to learn?”

He shrugged. “They’ll pair you up with people who are driven by what they do, until you figure out what you want. Maybe you want to be a biologist. Maybe you want to fix cars and learn carpentry. Maybe you just like studying in general and want to learn everything. Whatever you want to know, they’ll help you find the answers.”

“How does this help them with the whole spy thing?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it away from his face and those glasses. A couple of locks fell back against his chin, defiant. “Your interests make you unique, and more of an expert than anyone else. When you’re doing what you really want, you’ll work harder to obtain it. With just the right push, the right support, you’ll be unstoppable. It takes a very special type of person to fit in with the Academy. You’re either naturally drawn to it, or you push back and resist and never know what you’ve missed.”