Mac didn’t even realize how much time had passed until she noticed they’d toured at least a dozen training buildings, an obstacle course, a climbing tower that was way too high in her opinion, two shooting ranges, and a beach volleyball court of all things. The next thing she knew, they’d done a whole circuit of the SWAT training grounds and were heading back toward the admin building. But instead of taking her there, Gage led her to a one-floor building without any windows. More storage, maybe?
“Last stop on the tour. I figured you might want to get a look at our armory.” Gage flashed her a grin. “No offense, but it’s been my experience that reporters seem to have an unhealthy fascination with the weapons SWAT uses for some reason.”
She smiled up at him. “No offense taken, since I’m a journalist, not a reporter.”
“What’s the difference?”
“About thirty thousand a year.”
He chuckled, but didn’t say anything as he opened the door for her. The building was a welcome relief from the blistering temperatures outside, and Mac pushed her sunglasses up on her head. A police officer behind the counter that blocked their entry into the back half of the building looked up when they entered.
“This is Senior Corporal Trevor McCall,” Gage said. “Beyond his normal SWAT duties, he’s also our senior armorer. He maintains and repairs all our weapons, modifying them when needed. McCall, meet Mackenzie Stone.”
She shook hands with the officer, marveling that here was yet another hot, muscular guy. She didn’t realize it was even statistically possible for that many attractive men to be in one place. This had to be a record or something.
“Come on back and I’ll give you the grand tour,” McCall said.
Gage waited for her to walk around the counter, then followed. There were actually two doors between them and the room where the weapons were kept—the first was made out of a wire material while the other was a solid metal door. Big safes and cabinets lined each wall, along with several shelves with storage bins.
The men led her around the room, pulling out weapons and explaining what they were, how they worked, and what the SWAT team used them for. Mac had seen quite a few weapons, from the pistols the gang members in Dallas carried to the assault rifles and machine guns the cartel drug runners used, but she wasn’t an expert and she quickly got lost in all the details as Gage and McCall explained the differences between this carbine and that rifle. She could barely recognize the difference. Then they showed her all the handguns they stored in the various safes and really confused her. All the numbers started spinning around her head like bees—.380, .40, .357, .38, 9mm, 10mm—and those were just the ones she caught in passing.
“Hang on,” she said, holding up her hand. “Why do you need so many different sizes of guns? Are you guys hoarders or something?”
Both men laughed.
“You know, you might be onto something,” McCall agreed. “We’ve picked up most of them over the years, but hardly ever shoot them.”
“Most of us use Sig 9mms or .40 calibers for both our primary and backup weapons, but I’ve always thought it was a good idea to be as familiar as possible with as many different weapons as we can,” Gage added. “You never know when it might come in handy.”
They showed her a couple of their favorites, letting her hold them so she could get a feel for their heft and balance.
Gage eyed her curiously. “You have much experience firing a handgun?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I’ve only fired a gun once. My dad let me shoot his pistol when I was twelve.” She pointed at the big, heavy revolver she’d just been holding. “It was about the same size as that one. Scared the hell out of me and I dropped it. That was the last time he let me try.”
Gage frowned. “A gun that size isn’t made for someone with small hands, much less a kid.”
She couldn’t argue with that. While she loved her dad, he wasn’t the most patient teacher in the world, which was ironic considering it was how he made his living. If he knew how to do something, he just assumed everybody else should be smart enough to know how to do it, too. Luckily, he taught English literature and not a weapons class.
“You know,” Gage said, his dark eyes softening, “if you want to try again, I could show you how to shoot a gun you’d be more comfortable with.”
Mac smiled. “That sounds fun.”
Gage smiled at her in return, and she realized after a bit that she was just standing there with a goofy grin on her face. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, looking away. And caught McCall looking at them expectantly.
“That does sound fun.” It took her a second to remember what they’d been talking about. That’s right. Target shooting. “We can get all the guys out there—it’ll be a blast.”
Gage scowled at him, but didn’t say anything.
Mac wandered around while Gage and McCall put away the weapons they’d dragged out. That was when she saw the hard plastic cases stacked on shelves inside a heavy-duty, wire storage bin.
She smiled at Gage over her shoulder. “You guys have more guns in there? What, you run out of cabinets and safes to hold them?”
Gage glanced at her as he closed one of the safes. “Those are our night vision goggles.”
Mac’s Spidey senses immediately began to tingle. “Like the ones the guys used during the hostage rescue today? They sound cool. Can I see them?”
“Sure.”
Gage took the set of keys McCall held out, then opened the gate. He grabbed the first box he came to and opened it, but not before she saw the name of the SWAT officer the goggles belonged to—Mike Taylor. The same Mike Taylor who’d supposedly worn them that morning. But from the
