Moon - New Moon Part 42

"Okay."

Following his directions, she helped him break up the camp, then watched as he stowed his gear and boxes of plants in the back of the vehicle.

It was big. Bigger than the car parked at the house where they'd gotten into trouble.

"This is a... car?"

"You can call it a car. Technically, it's an SUV."

"SUV," she repeated.

"A sports utility vehicle."

She nodded as if she knew what he was talking about. "It's... nice."

He laughed. "Macho guys like them."

When he opened the door, she leaned into the interior, struck by the rich leather and what looked like wood. But when she touched it, the feel was all wrong.

Uncertainly, she climbed into the seat, still intrigued by the interior.

While Logan went to the back to stow some more gear, she ran her hands along the surface in front of her. There was a seam in the leather, telling her there might be a compartment hidden from view. The a.s.sumption was confirmed as her fingers. .h.i.t a latch.

When she applied pressure, a little horizontal door fell open toward her knees. And one of those weapons-a gun-was practically lying in her lap.

As she stared at it, her throat clenched. She'd seen the man at the convenience store use the weapon, and she'd been awestruck. Now here was one of the things right in front of her.

Mesmerized, she reached for the gun, then lifted it up. It felt cool to the touch. And when she took it in her hand, it was alien and strange and heavier than she expected. Yet she wanted to know how it worked.

She turned it in her hand, trying to remember how the thug had held it: with the barrel part facing away from him. There was a metal ring at the bottom side, and a little lever in the middle of that. She slipped her finger into the ring just as Logan opened the door on the other side of the car.

When he saw the gun was pointed toward him, he froze. "Aim that away from me, then take your finger out of the trigger guard," he said in a low, quiet voice. "If you don't want me to end up with a hole in the middle of my stomach."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

RINNA STARED AT Logan, trying to take in what he'd just said.

"I'd rather not end up dead. So point that away from me, and get your finger out of the trigger guard."

Her finger went suddenly stiff.

"How?" she wheezed.

Carefully she did as he asked and laid the gun back in the compartment.

Then she began to shake.

Logan breathed out a little sigh. "Thank you."

"I... I... opened the..." she stammered.

"Glove compartment," he supplied as he came around to her side of the vehicle and picked up the gun. Turning it over in his hand, he walked back to the driver's side and slipped it into the compartment in the door.

"Most handguns have a safety catch," he said, as though he were one of her teachers back in school delivering a lesson. "You have to push a lever before you can fire it. But the Glock is different. The safety is inside the trigger guard. So with your finger where it was, you could have killed me."

She stared at him in shock. "I..."

"You need to learn about guns," he supplied. "After we get home, I'll give you some shooting lessons."

"I could have killed you," she repeated, the enormity of it grabbing her by the throat and making it almost impossible for her to breathe. "You should punish me," she whispered.

"Of course not!"

"I should cut a switch so you can whip me."

"Jesus! No." He pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her. As he folded her close, moisture stung the backs of her eyes.

"I'm so sorry." She struggled to hold her tears back, but they leaked out of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

When Logan felt her shoulders shaking, he rubbed his fingers across her back.

"First I almost killed myself with the electricity. Then I almost killed you with the gun."

"But you didn't. It's okay. Everything's okay."

She fought the tears. "No. I keep messing up."

"No, you don't. Or... not any more than I did in your world. When everything's totally unfamiliar, it's hard to know how to react. I'm the one at fault. I wasn't thinking, I shouldn't have left the gun where you could grab it."

He kept stroking her back and running his fingers through her hair, and finally she got control of herself. She felt him fumbling in the pocket of his door. When she lifted her head, he handed her a small rectangle that felt like flimsy cotton.

"What's that?"

"A tissue. To wipe your eyes and blow your nose."

She did, and he took the crumpled thing and put it in a small bag that was also in his door.

"I suppose a child here would know what that was," she murmured.

"Actually, sometimes they play with guns or show them off, and they kill another child by accident."

"You should get rid of the guns!"

"A lot of people want to. But there are more people who want to defend themselves. Or they argue that even if guns are against the law, criminals will still have them."

"Who's right?"