wouldn’t push him behind that impenetrable barrier.
Surprise is the essence of attack.
Where had she heard that before? She needed to take Trace by surprise, to make him see her as something other than the princess he was guarding.
Mara ran a finger along her bottom lip. What was that English expression? Come up on his blind side? That was all well and good so long as she didn’t do it literally—she’d seen how fast he was at drawing his gun, and she didn’t want him to shoot her.
She chuckled, wishing she could share the joke with someone. Wishing she could share the joke with
Trace
. But that was out of the question. Then an idea occurred to her.
Perfect
, she thought. Andre had taught her the basics years ago, but no one—no one meaning Trace—knew it. Trace would be the ideal teacher. And he wouldn’t be able to say no. Not under the circumstances.
* * *
Trace stared at the princess in disbelief. “You want me to teach you how to what?”
“Shoot,” she said composedly. “I wish to learn how to protect myself.”
“That’s not necessary,” he told her bluntly. “You’ve got three federal bodyguards dancing attendance on you, not to mention the security team you brought from Zakhar.”
“Yes, but I wish to be like Keira,” she told him.
“You’re planning on walking into a bullet?”
The princess was distracted for a minute. “Is that what she did?”
“Yeah,” Trace growled. “Two years ago. No,” he corrected himself, “more than that now. Took her almost a year before she recovered full use of her right arm.”
She looked at Trace with curiosity. “But you were her partner. How is that possible?”
Trace felt himself flushing under his tan. He’d asked himself that same question at the time. And numerous times ever since. Never mind that Keira, Walker, Ryan Callahan and he had been operating as a team, and Callahan had been closest to her at the moment it had all gone down. Never mind that Keira had deliberately stepped in front of Callahan to take a bullet meant for him. She’d still been Trace’s partner then, and he’d blamed himself for not keeping a closer eye on her.
But he couldn’t tell any of that to the princess. That operation was still a closely guarded secret—and there were still trials pending. Not to mention the princess was a foreign national who did
not
have a need to know. “Long story” was all he said.
She considered him for a minute, and he was afraid she was going to ask more questions, but all she said was, “I do not wish to ‘walk into a bullet’ as you say, but I would still like to learn. If you do not think you can teach me...” she added so artlessly that Trace shot her a sharp, narrow-eyed look, suspecting she had something up her sleeve. But she met his look with one of such innocent inquiry he figured he had to be mistaken...until he got her on the shooting range.
* * *
Trace swore under his breath. This was
not
going as planned. He’d brought the princess to his favorite shooting range and made her sit through three hours of gun safety class before he ever let her step outside with a gun in her hand. Sweetly appealing in her jeans and rose-pink sweater that hugged her curves, with her hair piled with seeming carelessness atop her head in a way that let a few curls dance tantalizingly every time she moved her head, she’d listened intently to every word he said. She’d even asked questions that proved she was following what he was saying. He’d shown her different kinds of pistols, talked to her about ammunition, about rimfire versus center-fire and various calibers of bullets. He’d had her load and unload bullets into a clip, and had demonstrated how to load a clip into a pistol and chamber a round. He’d explained what a safety was, and the importance of utilizing it.
But the minute she stepped onto the range with a Smith & Wesson 22-caliber pistol it was as if he’d wasted his breath.
No one can be that incompetent with
Surprise is the essence of attack.
Where had she heard that before? She needed to take Trace by surprise, to make him see her as something other than the princess he was guarding.
Mara ran a finger along her bottom lip. What was that English expression? Come up on his blind side? That was all well and good so long as she didn’t do it literally—she’d seen how fast he was at drawing his gun, and she didn’t want him to shoot her.
She chuckled, wishing she could share the joke with someone. Wishing she could share the joke with
Trace
. But that was out of the question. Then an idea occurred to her.
Perfect
, she thought. Andre had taught her the basics years ago, but no one—no one meaning Trace—knew it. Trace would be the ideal teacher. And he wouldn’t be able to say no. Not under the circumstances.
* * *
Trace stared at the princess in disbelief. “You want me to teach you how to what?”
“Shoot,” she said composedly. “I wish to learn how to protect myself.”
“That’s not necessary,” he told her bluntly. “You’ve got three federal bodyguards dancing attendance on you, not to mention the security team you brought from Zakhar.”
“Yes, but I wish to be like Keira,” she told him.
“You’re planning on walking into a bullet?”
The princess was distracted for a minute. “Is that what she did?”
“Yeah,” Trace growled. “Two years ago. No,” he corrected himself, “more than that now. Took her almost a year before she recovered full use of her right arm.”
She looked at Trace with curiosity. “But you were her partner. How is that possible?”
Trace felt himself flushing under his tan. He’d asked himself that same question at the time. And numerous times ever since. Never mind that Keira, Walker, Ryan Callahan and he had been operating as a team, and Callahan had been closest to her at the moment it had all gone down. Never mind that Keira had deliberately stepped in front of Callahan to take a bullet meant for him. She’d still been Trace’s partner then, and he’d blamed himself for not keeping a closer eye on her.
But he couldn’t tell any of that to the princess. That operation was still a closely guarded secret—and there were still trials pending. Not to mention the princess was a foreign national who did
not
have a need to know. “Long story” was all he said.
She considered him for a minute, and he was afraid she was going to ask more questions, but all she said was, “I do not wish to ‘walk into a bullet’ as you say, but I would still like to learn. If you do not think you can teach me...” she added so artlessly that Trace shot her a sharp, narrow-eyed look, suspecting she had something up her sleeve. But she met his look with one of such innocent inquiry he figured he had to be mistaken...until he got her on the shooting range.
* * *
Trace swore under his breath. This was
not
going as planned. He’d brought the princess to his favorite shooting range and made her sit through three hours of gun safety class before he ever let her step outside with a gun in her hand. Sweetly appealing in her jeans and rose-pink sweater that hugged her curves, with her hair piled with seeming carelessness atop her head in a way that let a few curls dance tantalizingly every time she moved her head, she’d listened intently to every word he said. She’d even asked questions that proved she was following what he was saying. He’d shown her different kinds of pistols, talked to her about ammunition, about rimfire versus center-fire and various calibers of bullets. He’d had her load and unload bullets into a clip, and had demonstrated how to load a clip into a pistol and chamber a round. He’d explained what a safety was, and the importance of utilizing it.
But the minute she stepped onto the range with a Smith & Wesson 22-caliber pistol it was as if he’d wasted his breath.
No one can be that incompetent with
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