But that wasn’t the only reason she’d come to the outdoor range.
Three days had passed since Navarre walked in on her and Jackson. Though he hadn’t been openly hostile toward her since then, he hadn’t been friendly either. Mostly, he made a point of disappearing when she was around. It didn’t bother her, she’d dealt with much worse, but it bothered Jackson, which meant she needed to find a way to clear the air between them.
As she loaded rounds into each of the three magazines, Navarre entered the range to her right. Bulky headphones covered his ears, while amber-tinted glasses shielded his eyes. Dressed in all black, with a matching Six Points ball cap on his head, he carried himself with an air of supreme confidence. After all, this was his turf. There were only a dozen or so people in the entire country who could challenge his dominance here.
Years ago, out of morbid curiosity, she’d pulled his military records. Even she had to admit they were impressive. According to the US Army, the average soldier could hit a man-sized target at 300 meters ten percent of the time. To graduate from US Army sniper school, a candidate was expected to achieve at least ninety percent first-round hits at 600 meters.
Navarre graduated with a ninety-seven percent.
During his time in the military, he’d racked up well over one hundred confirmed kills, and was awarded several commendations for acts of heroism and meritorious service in combat. And, like Jackson, he’d been awarded a Bronze Star for his valor in a battle most Americans never heard of and probably never would.
He didn’t say a word, didn’t acknowledge her presence, just removed his rifle from its long, slender case, loaded it, and set it on its bipod. Then he clipped a target to the pulley and sent it out about one hundred yards which, considering his skill level, he should be able to hit in his sleep.
Navarre jacked a round into the chamber, sighted the target, and fired. He methodically repeated the action, over and over, until the rifle was empty and the smell of gunpowder tinged the air. A flick of the switch, and the target came back, the center bull’s-eye dotted with tightly grouped holes.
“Show-off.”
He slanted her a look. “Just doing what they taught me. Let’s see what you got.”
With her own weapon, she was a pretty decent shot, though nowhere near as good as a man with his level of marksmanship. Seriously, if he set his mind to it, he could shoot the cotton off a Q-Tip from a hundred yards away. If she pointed that out, he’d probably accuse her of making excuses, so she kept her big mouth shut and sent a target downrange about fifty yards. Not as far as Navarre had sent his, but her priority was getting comfortable with the weapon, not competing with the big jerk.
She fired the first round, checked to see where the bullet had hit on the man-shaped silhouette target, and adjusted her aim accordingly. The second shot hit closer to the bull’s-eye, and she adjusted her aim once again. Ah, there, that’s better. On her next exhale, she fired the remaining rounds in the rifle and then hit the switch to bring the target back.
Not a bad grouping if she said so herself, but the look on Navarre’s face made it clear he wasn’t impressed. Or maybe he smelled something bad. Then again, that was his default expression whenever she was around. Not that she cared, or least she shouldn’t. But she did, damn it, and that bothered her more. Like it or not, he shared a deep bond with Jackson, and it only made sense to search for a way to make peace with the man.
“I’m not your enemy, you know.”
Navarre removed his bullet-ridden target and replaced it with a fresh one. “I never said you were.”
“Not in so many words, but it’s fairly obvious that’s how you view me.”
He spared her a glance as he reloaded his rifle, and she questioned the wisdom of having this conversation while he had a deadly weapon in his hands.
“Funny thing about this range,” he said as he sent the new target downrange. “During most of the forty years it’s been in operation, there wasn’t anything around it but alligators and orange trees. But little by little, the groves got replaced by strip malls and subdivisions, and the people who knew the range was here when they moved into the area started complaining about the noise and are now lobbying for the range to move.”
“Am I the new neighbors in this metaphor?” she asked. “Because I’m not trying to displace you.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” He stopped the target when it reached the two hundred-yard mark. “Bad things happen whenever you’re around. I’m reminded of that each time I eat in my bullet-ridden kitchen.”
“It’s not like I planned for any of that to happen.”
“No, chaos just comes to you naturally.”
Essie bit back the smartass retort that was perched on the tip of her tongue because it wasn’t going to get her where she wanted to be. “I love Jackson. I’d never do anything to hurt him. You realize that, right?”
“I love him too. Not like that,” Navarre said, irritation straining his face as he slapped the reloaded magazine into his rifle. “He’s like a brother to me; the only family I got that I give a shit about. Don’t think for one second I’m giving that up.”
“Considering how much you mean to him, I would never ask that of you.”
“Yeah, right.” Navarre lowered his head to the rifle’s scope.
It was hard to keep her temper in check with him acting like a putz.
“Look, I get it. You’ve felt threatened by me from day one. Don’t deny it,” she added when he jerked his head up and opened his mouth to do just that. “It’s okay, I know where you’re coming from. As far as you’re concerned, I’m the outsider taking your friend away from you. That’s not the case, but I understand the mindset.”
“I’m not—you don’t—” He heaved out a frustrated breath. Mouth grim, he stared straight down at his shoes, as if choosing his next words carefully. At last, he looked up, and there was steel in his eyes and a pair of notches between his eyebrows. “You hurt him. Badly. I don’t want to see that happen again.”
She wanted to be angry at him for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but in reality that wasn’t the case. Though they weren’t related by blood, Jackson and Navarre were family. She got that now, and if she wanted to smooth things over with Navarre, she had to respect that connection.
