Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) by Laura Griffin Page A

boxes of ammunition. Probably a slight step up from what they carried at the general store.
    “You ever bring clients out here?” she asked.
    “Sometimes.”
    “Catie Reyes?”
    He glanced up from the ammo. He knew she was here to pump him for information, and so far he’d been cool about it. Maybe he had nothing to hide. Or maybe he was just bored playing war games out here in the woods without any women around.
    He walked over and plunked a box of ammo onto the shelf beside her. “She came out a few times.”
    “Was she any good?”
    “At shooting? No.”
    She gazed up at him, waiting for more. What was Catalina Reyes good at? M.J. wanted details to add to what she already had on Catalina’s background—which was a lot like her own.
    Like M.J., she’d grown up in the Rio Grande Valley and worked to put herself through school—in Catalina’s case, the University of Houston. Her first job had been in the HR department of an oil company, where she’d worked her way to management. Eventually, she’d left to start a staffing company that provided temp workers to businesses around Houston.
    As for personal details about the victim, M.J. didn’t know many, although her home revealed a few. Catalina had lived in a perfectly landscaped two-story house painted neutral beige with taupe shutters.
    M.J. liked neutral. She understood it. Neutral was classy, an informed choice. Neutral signaled to Catalina’s neighbors that she’d cut her ties to the Valley, leaving behind pink adobe and yard art. It showed them that they could rest easy, because she wasn’t really Mexican but one of them.
    But there was a lot more to Catalina Reyes than what she showed the public. M.J. was sure Jeremy knew plenty about the woman’s private life, and she was determined to get him to talk.
    But . . . given his aversion to conversation, it might take a while. She glanced down at the box of bullets.
    “I don’t recognize this brand,” she said.
    “They’re a specialty shop. We’re in their R and D program.”
    “Meaning what?”
    “Meaning we test ammo for them. Give feedback.”
    M.J. ejected the magazine and loaded it as Jeremy watched her movements. Then she turned to face the target about thirty feet out. She glanced at the ear protectors and decided to skip it. She was finally getting him talking, and she didn’t want to miss a word.
    “You guys get paid for this service?” She glanced at him, and he was watching her now with his arms folded over his chest.
    “It’s more of a quid pro quo.”
    “You mean they provide equipment, and in exchange you help them fine-tune things?”
    He nodded, obviously more interested in watching her shoot than talking about ammo suppliers. She spread her feet apart, lifted her arms, and took a deep breath. She waited, trying to get her focus. The din of rock music in the next room was the only sound.
    She squeezed the trigger, and the force reverberated through her body. Relief washed over her, and she dropped her arms.
    She glanced over, but he didn’t say anything.
    “Again?”
    He nodded.
    She settled into her stance and fired again. And again. The gun had a surprisingly smooth trigger pull. She went through the entire magazine. She managed to keep her expression blank the whole time, but inside she felt a surge of pride. She hadn’t made a fool of herself.
    She handed it over to him. He reloaded and stepped over to the neighboring station, where there was a fresh target.
    She eased closer to watch. Wide shoulders, straight posture. He raised his arm and went perfectly still. Only his trigger finger moved as he fired the weapon.
    She watched him, transfixed, as he fired shot after shot after shot. When the magazine was spent, she released the breath she’d been holding.
    “Not bad,” she said. Another understatement. She would have thought he’d brought her here to show off, but this had been her idea. She watched his totally relaxed expression as he pressed a button to bring