Chapter 9
Before Bryn rearranged his entire morning schedule, he had called the only other shooting range that was still this side of the state line. Maggie had been calm and collected on the phone, and she hadn’t sounded overly eager when Bryn suggested he pay for an hour of the range’s time for solo action. Bryn counted that as professional, and he’d thought the entire experience would be smooth sailing until, of course, he came face-to-face with the redheaded devil child who apparently had the morning shifts.
Not that Ellis Parker was that much younger or older than Bryn, who was twenty-eight and, yes, still dancing, and, yes, planned on doing it for several more years. For God’s sake, Nureyev had danced over two hundred performances a year or some such insanity and hadn’t stopped dancing until he was freakin’ fifty. Bryn had a while to go. He’d been lucky with injuries so far, and he would continue being lucky. Bryn was careful. Oh so terribly careful.