“It’s in my name. If caller ID picks up, it shows me. I’m warning you, it’s got a GPS tracker in it I can access from my computer.”

Fear crept in. “Why?”

“I prefer to know we can find you. When the phone’s on, I can track it. If you didn’t have the issue of Bryan hanging over your head, it’d be different. I’m paying for it and you’re free to use it as much as you need. I do, however, insist on the ability to find you. You’re my responsibility. Tad would kill me if anything happened to you. Go get dressed. Jeans, nothing fancy.”

“Why?”

“You and I are going out.”

When Sully met her in the kitchen a few minutes later, he carried a metal briefcase.

This outing was apparently news to Mac as well. Mac’s eyebrows arched. “What’s going on?”

“I’m taking Clarisse out for a couple of hours. We’ll grab lunch while we’re gone. Come on, babe.”

Mac stared. “Did you want me to come?”

“You’ve got a lot to do, including finishing your month-end trip ticket paperwork, don’t you?” He held the door open for Clarisse.

“Yes, Master,” Mac said.

Clarisse followed Sully downstairs where he held the passenger door of the Jag open for her. He locked the briefcase in the trunk before getting behind the wheel. She noticed he’d brought his cane with him.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see.” A playful smile curled his lips. He winked.

“Nervous?”

“Should I be?”

He gently caught her hand and laced his fingers through hers before bringing it to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand. “I promise you I would die to keep you safe.”

A deep shiver ran through her at the depth of his voice, the emotions in his words. She instinctively knew he meant it.

If she could only force her brain to accept the memo.

The XM radio in his car was tuned to the sixties channel. As they pulled out of the driveway, Sully put his sunglasses on. “Feel free to change the channel if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. It’s fine.” She didn’t know what to talk about but didn’t feel a need to fill the silence between them, either. She had the same kind of rapport with Mac, could work side by side with him on the boat or in the kitchen without needing to talk.

Only with Mac she felt free to have a playful relationship with him, to bump hips or to spontaneously dance with him when a favorite song played on the stereo.

She wasn’t sure she should have that kind of interaction with Sully.

Then again, maybe she should tone it down with Mac, too. They weren’t her men, could never be anything but friends. To lose her heart to them, especially knowing they weren’t gay, would only cause her pain in the end.

Clarisse settled in her seat and watched the scenery pass. Thirty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a gun store and shooting range in New Port Richey.

Nervous tension filled her. She suspected what the metal briefcase held. “What are we doing here?”

Without removing his sunglasses, he turned to look at her. “I need you to be able to defend yourself.”

“Why? What have you heard?” Sully had taken over and contacted the detective in charge of her case in Ohio. She knew Sully was planning for her to return to Ohio soon to speak with them, but she didn’t know any of the details.

She didn’t want to.

“Nothing. I don’t trust the slimy son of a bitch. I won’t feel comfortable giving you access to my guns without knowing you can safely handle them.”

“How many do you have?”

He smiled. “Enough.”

He walked around the front of the car to open her door for her.

She noticed he limped and put his hand on the hood and fenders to steady himself. He retrieved his cane from the backseat before getting the briefcase and a duffel bag out of the trunk. Inside, the man behind the counter smiled when he recognized Sully.

“Hey, Sul. Haven’t seen you in a couple of months.”

“Been busy, Gus.” He laid the briefcase on the counter, unlocked it, and opened it. Inside, nestled in protective foam, lay three handguns. She knew enough to recognize one was a revolver and the other two were semiautomatic pistols, but beyond that, she had no clue.

The clerk brought Sully three boxes of ammunition and several targets and rang him up. “Take your pick, they’re all open.”

“Thanks.”

Sully carried everything and led the way through a door to the shooting range. “Have you ever shot one of these before?”

“When I was a kid, Uncle Tad taught me how to shoot a pellet gun.”

“So the answer would be no?” He turned. The curl to his lips belied his words.

She smiled. “No.”

His smile widened. “Okay.” He removed two pairs of protective glasses and shooter’s ear muffs from the duffel bag. Then he clipped one of the targets to the line and ran it down to the end of the range.

Before he even removed the trigger locks from the guns he explained them to her. One was a 9mm, the other pistol a .45, and the revolver a

.38. He explained the safety mechanisms, how to load them, how to shoot them. Then he unlocked them and demonstrated.

“I’m sure Tad explained to you to always treat any gun, even an unloaded one, as if it was loaded.”

“Yeah.”

He loaded the 9mm’s clip and put on his safety glasses and muffs.

“Put those on,” he ordered, nodding toward hers.

She did.

He told her where to stand, out of the way. Then he emptied the clip into the target. Most of the shots lay close to or inside the bull’s-eye. “Did you watch how I stood and held it?”

“Yeah.”

He removed the clip and handed it and the gun to her. “Load it.”

With trembling hands she did while Sully offered encouragement when needed. When it came time to put the clip in the gun, he laid his hands over hers.

“Remember to breathe. Then hold your breath before you pull the trigger.”

He stepped behind her and put his arms around her as she readied the gun. Clarisse fought against the urge to lean back against him, into his embrace. He helped her position her hands and arms correctly before stepping out of the way.

“Okay.”

She flicked the safety and took a deep breath, fired. The kick startled her more than the noise. The way Sully shot made it look easy. She glanced at him where he stood to the side, leaning against the partition wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He nodded his approval.

She took a deep breath and over the space of a minute finished the clip, then ejected it, and laid it and the gun on the counter.

Sully nodded again and stepped in to take the gun. “Good job, sweetheart.”

Her hands throbbed. He ran the target back to them. Her shots were clearly distinct from Sully’s because hers never hit the center of the bull’s-eye. He hung a fresh target.

“What do you mean good job? My aim sucks.”

“You hit the target. I’m not entering you in the Olympics, kiddo. I want you to be able to safely handle a gun.”

“Why didn’t we bring Mac?” The look on his face when they left had bothered her. Like he felt left out.

Sully frowned, his hands hesitating only a second as he loaded the clip in the .45. “Mac hates guns.”

“He doesn’t like to shoot?”

“Flashbacks.” Sully glanced at her. “He spent three years in Iraq.”

There was a lot she didn’t know about the men. She knew Mac had been in the Army for a while, but hadn’t asked him any questions about it, sensing he didn’t like to talk about it.

“Why don’t the two of you catch a movie tonight?” Sully suggested.

“What?”

“Make it up to him for leaving him alone.”

“That’s freaking spooky.”

“What?”

“You reading my mind like that.”

He motioned for her to step back as he assumed a shooting stance.

“What can I say? It’s a Dom thing.” His mouth curled into an amused smile.

She watched as he emptied the clip. Again, all of his shots hit near or on center. He helped her load the .45 and watched her shoot it.

When she finished, she laid it on the counter.

“Do me a favor, sweetie. Please pick up the shells. My leg’s bothering me.”

“Okay.” While she did, he reloaded the .45 for her.

“You don’t like the Sig, do you?” he asked.

“What?”

“The nine millimeter.”

“No.”

“You acted scared of it.”

She shrugged as she put the shells on the counter. He had her shoot three more clips with the .45 before switching to the revolver.

She didn’t like it much more than the 9mm, but by the time their hour ended, she realized she felt closer to Sully and more relaxed around him than she ever had before. As she helped him relock the guns and put them away, it occurred to her she hadn’t once felt nervous around him since their arrival.

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “How about we have a standing once-a-week shooting date?”

She grinned. “Date?”

He slipped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “Mac gets to spend most of the time with you. Maybe I’d like the pleasure of your company once in a while.”

She sensed something deeper in his grey gaze than simple friendship. Or maybe just wishful thinking on her part? “Okay. I’d like that.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’m thinking all this is overkill on my part, but it would kill me if something happened to you because I didn’t teach you what you need to know to keep yourself safe and we weren’t there to protect you.”

She allowed herself to relax in his arms, rested her forehead against his chest, and closed her eyes. Her mind drifted back to the play party, to the way Mac surrendered to him, to the trust he had in him.

How could she ever admit to him that she wished she could have that, too?

“Thanks, Sully.”

“Let’s go eat.” He released her and slipped his sunglasses on before gathering their things. Moment over.

* * *

Sully thought back to Jason’s call. He didn’t have any proof. He instinctively knew Clarisse wouldn’t have had anything to do with her parents’ deaths, and she probably didn’t suspect Bryan Jackson did either. When they were seated at a table in the restaurant, he decided to test the waters. After chatting with her for a few minutes, he sprang the question.

“So how did your parents feel about Bryan Jackson?”

“They hated him. I actually broke up with him twice before we got back together for good.” She looked sad. “I should have listened to them.”

“Why did you get back together with him?”

Clarisse’s gaze fell to the table. He didn’t miss the tears that filled her eyes. “He personally came to break the news to me about their accident. He was at the station when it happened.” She sniffled and wiped at her eyes with her napkin as her voice dropped. “He insisted on being the one to tell me. I…I fell apart. He picked me up and kept me together, helped me plan the funeral and the arrangements.”

She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “It was like I saw a different side of him, right? That’s before he hit me the first time, obviously. He acted so sweet. He didn’t try to be romantic with me or anything, just…he was there.”

She met Sully’s gaze. “He would stop by to check on me, make sure I was okay. Then after a few weeks, I invited him over for dinner and we got back together. I thought I’d seen a changed man. I thought maybe he’d gotten a handle on his anger. He said he’d been working really hard to change. He acted different for a while. After six months or so, the old Bryan reappeared. Slowly, little things here and there.

By the time I realized he hadn’t really changed, I wasn’t strong enough to make him leave again. I put up with it.”

Sully nodded and traced his fingers through the condensation on his glass. “That’s understandable.” It also confirmed his suspicions that she had no involvement in her parents’ deaths.

“No, it’s not,” she angrily shot back. She glanced around and lowered her voice. “I acted fucking stupid. I let him take me for everything, and by the time I felt ready to go back to school and finish my degree, I couldn’t because I’d let him control me and take control of everything. He wouldn’t give me the money to go to school. Then when I told him I’d kick him out, that’s when he hit me and threatened me the first time.”

“You’re not stupid, Clarisse.”

“Stop it. I am stupid. I’m stupid and I was scared I couldn’t make it on my own, and then I was scared he’d fucking kill me. Who else would have wanted me anyway? Fucking fat chick, all I can attract is a psycho cop for a boyfriend—” Sully reached across the table and grabbed her chin. “Stop,” he whispered. “Don’t you dare let me hear you talk about yourself like that ever again. So help me, girl, I will spank that attitude out of your gorgeous hide.” He placed one finger over her lips. “I don’t give a shit what that asshole told you. Who are you going to believe? A lying psychopath or someone who’s willing to put a gun in your hand?” A playful smile teased his lips.