he added in a lethal growl.
Her jaw clenched, Erin spun away from him. “Jerk,” she muttered as she strode back to the abandoned weapon. A few other choice expletives flashed through her mind as she retrieved the black 9 mm weapon. What the hell had she been thinking agreeing to this crazy scheme? Clearly Jeff’s betrayal and her subsequent time in prison had affected her more profoundly than she’d realized. She whipped back toward her overbearing mentor prepared to demand what he wanted her to do now and found herself face to chest with him.
“Take aim at that target like you want to hit it,” he ordered curtly.
She wanted to hit something all right, but it wasn’t the human silhouette hanging on the other side of the makeshift firing range. Still, she did as she was told since she couldn’t be completely sure of what he’d do if she didn’t. She braced her left hand beneath her right wrist and closed one eye to peer down the barrel.
“Feet shoulder width apart.”
The sharply snapped command came at the same instant that a strong arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her against a hard male physique. Her breath caught. With her body held firmly against him, Logan kicked her feet apart.
“Now, fire,” he ordered.
She obeyed. Her arm flew up with the recoil. The shot went to the right of the target.
Logan swore under his breath. One powerful arm still pinning her waist, he reached out with the other and held her arm steady. “Take your time, Bailey,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. Too close. She could feel his warm breath on the sensitive skin there. “Focus. Hitting that target could mean the difference between life and death. You do want to live, don’t you, Baby?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
She hated it when he called her that, but, at the moment, very distracting sensations were bombarding her, eliminating any possibility of a clever rebuttal. The feel of him, hard, undeniably male, pressed against her buttocks, along the backs of her thighs. His arm around her, fingers splayed just beneath her breast. Oh, and the heady scent—male sweat mixed with his own unique musky smell… Seven long months of abstinence were finally taking their toll.
“Focus,” he murmured thickly.
Erin frowned. Was it her imagination, or was he holding her even more tightly now? Before she could sort through the new awareness generated by his unexpected reaction, he ordered, “Fire!”
She obeyed.
And missed yet again.
He muttered a stinging curse.
“You have to focus, Bailey!” He released her and stormed a few feet away as if needing the distance. He glared first at her, then at the unmarred silhouette.
She struggled to steady herself after the abrupt absence of his body against hers. A whole new barrage of sensations flooded her now. Need, sharp and demanding. And desire, dammit. Desire and disappointment. Disappointment at no longer having him near…for failing to please him.
God, she had lost whatever mind she had left.
He turned toward her then, the savage look on his face sending her stumbling back a couple of steps. “Forty-eight hours, Bailey.” He moved closer. “Two days. That’s all we have left. You’ve got to try harder.”
She shook her head in protest of his accusation. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“You have to do better.” He stopped directly in front of her and stared down at her with a fierceness that undid the last of her bravado. “Tell me about the weapon you seem to be having so much trouble using.”
She hesitated.
Logan cursed himself for the fool he was.
How could Lucas think for one minute that he could do this? There was no way she would be ready. Physical endurance wasn’t nearly enough.
“The weapon, Baby,” he snapped. “Tell me about the weapon you’re holding.”
“Don’t call me that,” she shouted back, sounding tired and disgusted.
He inclined his head and glared at her. “Get used to it. Now tell me about the weapon.”
Distress instantly replaced any anger she’d shown. Bailey stared at the gun in her hand as if it could somehow answer for her. “It’s a 9 mm…ah…” She shook her head and lifted her gaze back to his. “I can’t remember what kind.”
Those huge violet eyes shimmered with uncertainty and no small amount of fear. He swore again, silently this time. He had to find a way to tap into her anger. When she was angry she tried harder, fought back.
“Then tell me about mine.” He held the weapon up where she could see it. “I gave you a block of instruction on both a few hours ago.”
She chewed her lower lip, giving away her every emotion. Jess would never have done that.
“Forty cal Glock,” he barked impatiently as he showed her both sides of the weapon. “Weapon of choice these days by most federal agencies. Similar in weight and size to the 9 mm, but with more deadly force. Combat Tupperware.”
She shook her head, defeat sagging her shoulders. “I hate guns,” she admitted. “I don’t want to know anything about them.”
Fury charged through him. He snagged her right hand, drawing the weapon up where she had no choice but to look at it. He was out of time. He had to know now if she could take the heat. It was the only way. He hated the idea of putting her through what was to come…except his options were sorely limited. He’d come to that conclusion last night and had made the necessary arrangements for their next adventure.
“This is a Beretta,” he explained. “Very popular. Light weight, efficient.” He tightened his fingers around hers. “This weapon could save your life.”
She shook her head again, tears brimming this time. Just what he needed. “I can’t do this. You’ve got the wrong girl for the job.”
He let go of her hand. “You have to do it. And you’re the only girl for the job.”
“You might as well take me back to Atlanta.” Her fearful gaze collided with his. “I could never shoot anyone.” She closed her eyes and drew in a ragged breath. “I just can’t do it, Logan. Face it. This isn’t going to work.”
Wrong answer. They’d come too far to back out now. He wouldn’t let her give up just yet. “When you have an extreme situation, Bailey, you have to take extreme measures. Remember that.”
Before she could fathom his intent, he’d pressed the barrel of his Glock against her forehead. Disbelief registered on her face. “What’re you doing?”
“The question is what’re you going to do, Bailey? You’ve got a gun pointed directly at your head. You have to do something.”
“This is crazy. You’ve—”
“Do something, Bailey! If you hesitate, you’re dead.”
“Wait!”
