64: Deva
Deva
The Preben felt awkward in Deva’s left hand, but she tightened the muscles in her arm, held it as steady as she could. She looked along the sights at the target—concentric circles on a pad a hundred metres away. She took a breath, let out half of it, and felt her heart beat once, twice.
On the third double-thump, she squeezed the trigger.
The Preben jerked. Even without checking, she knew she’d missed.
“b****y broken arm!” She slammed the Preben down on the table in front of her.
“I hope that thing’s safe.”
The voice forced her to spin.
Lise stood by the closing door to the firing range. She pointed to the g*n.
“I was always told giving in to anger when you’re using weapons is a recipe for disaster.”
Deva checked. Yes, she’d automatically flicked the catch to make
