“I assume you know how to use it,” he told Carly.

It had been three years, almost to the day, since a man had last handed her a gun. She held it, glad to feel the familiar weight in her hand, glad also to be able to see how its barrel glinted in the florescent light of her sleeping quarters. If she could see, she could shoot. And if she could shoot, maybe she’d be able to stay alive. Relying on people like Tansy to come rushing in at the last minute was not a great self-defense strategy.

“I figured you’d want a revolver,” said Tansy. “A cop gun, just like your last.”

She flipped open the cylinder and then stared at the white tile floor through six little holes.

“If you want, I can take you out back to the targets.”

“It’s okay.” She closed the cylinder with a quiet metal clink. “I’ve shot at enough targets.”

“Not with this gun.” He slapped a box of ammo onto the desk near her bed. “And they won’t be targets tomorrow. It’ll be people. That’s another thing you need to come to terms with.”

“Well, I guess it’s not something you can practice for.”

“Sure you can.” He patted her shoulder. “Come on. Get suited up and let’s get out there.”

Carly wasn’t sure how anyone could prepare themselves for shooting and most likely killing another human being. She wasn’t even sure she could go through with it even if she had to. But she followed Tansy outside anyway, back out into the heat of the ranch grounds.

“You ever shot bottles before?”

She nodded, thinking back to her trips out in the country with her father. He’d buy a large bottle of orange soda along the way. Carly would shake up the bottle until the plastic got hard, and then they’d place it well back of their shooting area, maybe about twenty-five yards. First person to make it explode got to choose what they ordered at the Waysides Diner.

“Yeah,” she said. “I shot the hell out of bottles.”

“But have you ever done it while you were scared?”

“No.” Carly thought back to better days. There hadn’t been much to be afraid about when she was with her father and a trunk full of firearms.

“That’s what everyone forgets,” Tansy said. “It’s hard to do anything when you’re scared, let alone aim a gun properly. Your adrenaline will be pumping, your heart racing, nerves all jumbled up. It’s supposed to help you fight or flee, but not aim.”

“So you’re trying to scare me?”

“Only if you’re afraid of running.” He flashed her a grin. “Ready for some laps?”

“No.” She looked out at the hot, sandy grounds of the ranch, a place filled with cacti, rattlesnakes. “I need to be scared for that, too. Fight or flight.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to fight,” he said, walking up to her with two outstretched claws. “Tickle fight.”

Carly rolled her eyes. Was he serious?

Yes, he was. He lurched toward her and Carly was forced to duck away from his grasp, swatting away one of the claws. “Alright, alright.”

His threat having worked, Tansy took the lead and jogged with her around the ranch, making two laps around the house in the sweltering heat. One lap felt good enough for Carly, but Tansy wanted it to be “realistic.”

After returning to the hastily constructed firing range, Carly drew her weapon and tried aiming it through all the hard panting, shaking, and growing nausea.

“See?” he said. “Get used to your arms feeling like that.”

How the hell could she get used to that?

Carly held her breath and fired a single round. It missed completely, ripping into a patch of sagebrush.

“See?” he said again.

She hoped she’d never have to get used to it.

“And that’s a stationary target,” Tansy’s voice was becoming slightly irritating, buzzing in her ear like a sand fly as she tried concentrating on her target. Maybe that was on purpose, too. An added distraction.

Carly aimed and fired once more, this time exploding an empty jar of pasta sauce. She looked back to Tansy. He deserved a little smug smile.

“Okay,” he said. “Time for another lap.”

* * *

They spent the rest of the day prepping for their meeting with the Sagebrush Militia. For Tansy, that meant going over images of what the hard drive looked like.

“Just keep going through those images,” she said, pulling up more images of it on Tansy’s computer. She was able to identify the exact type of drive that Bryce Johnson had used. And now it was her turn to be instructive. “Let it burn into your memory.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, pulling back his chair, returning to his images.

The average person wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. But for someone like Tansy, hard drives were imminently distinguishable.

“I’d rather be memorizing you,” he muttered under his breath.

“Shh. . . .” Carly felt her face redden. Were they really alone? She turned in her chair to check the room again. Yes, alone. But what about the hallway? Or the rooms next door?

“You wanna do that real quick?” he asked. “Let me burn you into my memory?”

“Haven’t I already?” she said quietly.

“It was too dark.”

She flushed hotter. “You better stick to your work and memorize that hard drive. If it gets in the wrong hands, then a memory is all you’ll have of me. How long would you be able to go on that?”

“Five to ten,” he said, sounding amused with himself.

“How flattering.”

Tansy muttered a few other things, unintelligible, and returned to work. After a few minutes, out of the corner of her eye, Carly saw his head turn. “What?”

“I hope it was worth it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The cover-up. All this crap we’re mired in. Bryce Johnson.”

Hearing that name put a knot in her stomach. She instinctively looked away, as if turning from some bright and painful light.

“I mean. . . .” Tansy trailed off uselessly.

How long would she have to listen to him utter that name? Their time at the hot springs, feeling him move over her—inside her, for God’s sake!—had meant everything to her. Had she read Tansy wrong? Did he return any affection at all, or was she simply a handy way for DARC Ops to win their latest war?

Carly had no idea. For now, Tansy fell silent again. Carly forced herself back to her security system research, for a few seconds. And then she gave up, clicking off the screen.

“I’m sorry.”

“I get it.” She turned back to him, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You have a point. You have a right to be—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I don’t have that right. I don’t even—”

“Yes, you do. And you’re mad. It’s fine.”

“I’ll stop.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t want to be mad at him. Not after they’d just found each other again. It had always been an easy trap for her, especially lately, to feel negative about anything and everything. What had there been to feel good about?

Tansy made her feel good.

But with each mention of that name, with each subtle jab, she could tell that even her feelings for Tansy would sour. Even that would get ruined somehow. How could it not?

“I’m willing to talk about the future with you,” she said, watching a surprised—and maybe even scared—expression cross over his face. “But in order for that to really happen, in order for us to talk about it, and maybe even do it, I need you to forget about the past. Or at least forgive me.”

It was his turn to look away. He nodded slowly.

“Can you do that?” She wanted to hear it. She wanted to know it.

He looked up, snatching her gaze and holding it. “Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

Under his stare, the room started to feel very warm. Maybe it was all the computers, their fans blowing out heat. She rubbed her forehead. It felt grimy.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Me, too.” She reached out to touch him but stopped, stiffening in her chair at the sound of approaching footsteps.

One of their hackers, a woman in her mid-twenties with a shaved head, entered the room. “He wants to meet tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Where?” asked Tansy.

“Vegas. Just outside city limits.”

“In the desert?”

She nodded.

Before Tansy could speak again, a loud analog ring came from the red 1960s phone at the far end of the room. He sprung up out of his chair to answer it, his face looking ashen gray in the fluorescence. When he got off the phone, he looked even sicker.

“What is it?” Carly asked.

“The Feds,” he said quietly. “They’re heading to Vegas tomorrow to raid one of the militia’s operations centers.”

“Can we beat them to it?”

Tansy stood silently for a moment before turning to his hacker assistant. “Tell them to get the van ready. All the toys.”