Shotgun Justice. Angi Morgan
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“Glad nothing’s changed in the last ten minutes. I checked them when I got home.”
“Just making sure.”
“Well, you could have asked.”
“Come on, Avery. We both need to be on our toes. We can’t get emotional about this situation.” He dug through his bag, removed weapons and ammo. Unzipped carrying cases, setting a rifle and three handguns on the coffee table.
She placed the shotgun between the door and porch window. Easy access. Then she huffed to the kitchen. “I suppose some things will never change.”
“I’m the same man I was before. I’m not changing who that is for this assignment. It’s the reason they sent me.” It sounded as if a metal pot hit the floor. “I never wanted to let you down, Avery.”
“Ha.”
They were there. Emotional. A night of mistakes between them. “There’s no way to avoid this conversation. Is there?”
“You seem to have done a good job avoiding it for at least eight months,” she said, not quite shouting from behind a wall.
“I’m sorry.”
Half her body appeared at the kitchen entrance. She pointed a wooden spoon at him. He would have ducked if it had been in her throwing hand.
“For what part? Not speaking to me? Not making love to me? Leaving me embarrassed in my apartment without a word of explanation? Why are you apologizing?”
“All of the above?”
“That’s what Garrison would say.” She left him alone.
If she was using the spoon, she used it silently. He barely heard a sound for several minutes. The microwave beeped and a pretty good aroma wafted into the living area.
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