“Lies.” Nate shakes his head. “We can finish this later.” He nods toward McCoy’s truck, where the guys are heading toward us with their carrying cases slung over their shoulders. McCoy and Rask hug Nate, making me feel two feet tall. Nate and I should’ve made a better effort.
The four of us make our way into the range. McCoy tells us this place has gone through a massive renovation and has been expanded to include an obstacle course. It just so happens that the four of us are dressed in tactical gear—it’s almost as if we don’t own any other clothes.
Inside, Nate and I stop and take everything in while McCoy and Rask continue toward the counter. “Holy shit,” I mutter while Nate replies, with “Uh huh.”
The central part of the store is laid out with pistols, dozens of rifles (even pink ones), ammunition, holsters, and targets. My eyes land on the section called tactical gear, and I feel a little joy in my heart. I elbow Nate and nod in that direction.
“Nice,” he says quietly. I don’t need any new gear, but that won’t stop me from buying it.
McCoy motions for us to follow him to the back. A buzzer sounds, and the door clicks, signaling us to go in. We step into a room, and we’re told to wait until the red light comes on before entering the range. Once it does, we walk in, and each of us finds an empty station. Nate and I end up next to each other, which is fine. Being twins means we end up gravitating toward each other, even if we don’t mean to. It takes me a few minutes to set up my rifle and make sure my ears are covered, before the light turns green. I fire at my target in rapid succession until I’m satisfied. I press the button to bring my target toward me for inspection and marvel at my work.
After a couple of rounds, the owner comes in and asks McCoy to come with him because he has something to show him. The rest of us tag along. It’s mostly out of fear. We trust no one these days.
The owner takes us to the end of the corridor and through a private door. We’re outside, and the obstacle course is before us. “No live ammo out here,” he says.
I almost want to say duh, but I hold back my sarcastic remark.
“It’s not open to the public yet, but a couple of your buddies have been here to give it a test run. When I bought this land, I knew I wanted a course back here that would be worthy of the military.”
“When can we take a stab at it?” Rask asks.
“Anytime you want. I think, for now, it’s going to remain private,” the owner says. It makes me wonder why he wants to do that. With his setup, one would think people would clamor to come here and pretend.
“We’ll definitely try it out next time,” Tucker says. I open my mouth to say we want to try it now, but this could be one of those foot-in-mouth situations. We follow the owner back in, grab our gear, and take care of the necessary ammo checks before heading out to our vehicles.
“Magoo’s?” Tucker asks.
“Hell, yes,” I say, thankful I didn’t push for the course. “Damn, I haven’t been there since you moved into his little yellow house.” I direct my statement at McCoy.
He smiles. “I love that little house. It’s fucking crowded but perfect.”
I suggest Nate ride with me, and he agrees. I never asked him where he is staying but know it’s not at our house. Ryley would never decide to have him stay there, especially without my knowledge. He stores his gun in my back seat and jumps into the cab of my truck.
We follow McCoy and Rask to our favorite bar and make a scene when we get inside. Slick Rick is working, which makes today even better. He brings over two pitchers of beer and four glasses within seconds of sitting down.
I stand and hug the man. He does everything he can to support the SEALs and sailors stationed in Coronado, even removing our images from his dead wall as soon as he found out we were alive and made sure everyone knew it. His most courageous act was making sure we knew an FBI Agent was asking questions about us. And while that turned out to be Cara, Slick Rick protected us when we needed it the most. “How ya’ll been doing?” he asks.
“We’re good. Ryley and I just moved back. It looks like we’re here to stay.”
“And you?” he asks Nate.
He raises his full glass to Rick. “Splitting my time between here, DC, and Las Vegas.”
Here? I mean, I get it. Business headquarters is here, Livvie’s here, but aside from the occasional visit, does he need to be here?