"Ummm... No."

"What if you need to shoot someone?" Garrett rolled his head back, seeming to say something to the clouds. I figured it was rude, so I didn't ask him what.

"I’ll just hope they're close enough that I can hit them."

"You'll need to hope for more than that if your aim is off. You're a PI, Lexi. You need to keep up with your training."

"I’m a PI, not an assassin."

"Potential career option."

"Garrett! You're a homicide cop."

"At least, you'd keep me in business."

"I don't think we should tell your superiors about this conversation."

"Guess not," he agreed. "Let's go in and get you outfitted."

"Can I try something bigger?" I asked, my mind flitting to last night's action movie.

"How about a grenade launcher?"

My eyes widened. The heroine did grab a grenade launcher and fired it at the drug lords, causing a massive explosion from which she escaped with barely an eyelash singed or a high heel scuffed. "They have one?" I asked breathlessly as I glanced down. I knew I should have worn heels instead of my cute Converse sneakers. How badass would that be?

"No, silly."

"Damn it."

The range was half empty. I figured all the sensible, gun-toting civilians of Montgomery were at work while the criminal faction used their own less-than-legitimate shooting ranges. It barely took any time before we were stationed at a booth, our weapons in hand, and a paper figure sped to the end of the range.

"Let's see what you've got," said Garrett.

I slipped on my protective goggles, added ear protection, and checked my gun. Ready. I aimed, pointed, fired. And missed. I gaped in annoyance at the unmarked paper figure that had obviously jumped two yards to the left at the last second. Firing again, I held my breath as the bullet grazed the outer ring. I emptied my clip, most of the bullets hitting the outer ring, and just a few getting closer to the target. I set my gun on the wooden shelf dividing us from the range and pulled my earmuffs off in annoyance.

"Sheesh, you really let the team down, Graves," said Garrett.

"How could I have gotten so bad?"

"You used to be pretty good. What gives?"

"I can't be that much out of practice!"

Garrett hit the button and the paper figure descended on us. He pulled it off, examining the holes. "Apparently, you are. Let's go again."

I gave the paper figure a sullen look. "You go," I told him.

"Want me to show you how it's done?"

"Yes, but a little less gleefully," I said as he grabbed a fresh target and loaded it onto the pulley. He hit the button to send it back to the end of the range.

"When did you last use a weapon anyway?"

Garrett wrinkled his eyes. "Um..."

"Any corpses pull a gun on you lately?"

"No." He picked up the revolver he selected for our booking and aimed. Firing round after round, each of them hit the inner circle of the heart. He put his last round between the target's eyes.

"Show-off."

"Yeah, and I don't even have people trying to shoot me."

"You're a little fixated on the idea someone is out to get me."

Garrett shrugged. "Seems practical."

"Have you been talking to Mom?"

"Yesterday, but not about your life span. Are you really hosting dinner for all of us?"

"Yep. I offered."

He pulled a face. "For real?"

"Yes! Ugh, you're making it sound like I can't cook or something. We're going to have a delicious meal. It will be the first dinner party I've hosted at my house."

"Want me to bring dessert?"

I hesitated, wondering what the catch might be. Despite Garrett's misgivings about my cooking skills, I'd have to scramble through years of memories to try and remember an occurrence when he baked something. His wife, Traci, however made a fabulous pie. Handing over dessert responsibilities would definitely help me. "Yes, please."

"Get every bullet in the heart ring, and I'll make it myself," Garrett taunted.

I like an incentive, especially one that paid off in the form of edible goods. As the target came flying back, Garrett ripped his perfect score off and loaded up a new sheet. Meanwhile, I gave myself the kind of internal pep talk that could have seen me running for president. The target reached the end as I adjusted my goggles and earmuffs before picking up my gun, and steeling myself more securely this time. I closed one eye, squinted, and aimed. Pop! Pop! Pop!

"Not a single one in the ring," said Garrett.

I laid down my gun and jabbed a finger at the target. "That's because I put them all in the head!"

"Deliberately?"

"Yes!" No.

"But the bet was for the ring. Bet you can't do it again, and this time, aim and hit the heart. Your turn to finish, then my turn."

"What are the stakes?"

"Stakes?"

"You just asked me to perform an amazing feat again, but in a different location..."

"Because you changed it!"

"Because I wanted to! You need to raise the stakes."

"And you need to stake something."

"Damn it!" I snapped. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut while pie was almost on the table. "What do you want?"

Garrett smiled slowly. "A whole weekend of babysitting. I want to take Traci away for the weekend. Somewhere romantic. Somewhere that kids don't exist."

I took a deep breath. I could handle that. I knew all the kids’ tricks. At least, I thought I did. Plus, I could probably get Solomon to help me since he was all about taking the next step. Lily and Jord would pitch in too. I could definitely ask my parents to come by and visit their grandchildren. After all, it takes a village to raise a kid and I was fully prepared to call upon my familial village if I lost the bet.

"Okay. And if I win, you have to bake two pies, a cake, and cookies."

"How many cookies?"

I tried to calculate two lots of eighteen, and failed. Math was never my strong point. My forte was passing notes to Lily about the cute guy who sat behind us in math.

"Forty."

"Terrific! And the cake?"

"Whatever you like, but I want it pretty. You'll have to frost it."

"You're going to love taking care of my kids for a weekend. Shoot."

Garrett recalled my target and handed it to me. He loaded up a new one, triumphantly hitting the button to send it back. He emptied his bullets into the heart target. "I'm going to do rose petals, champagne, massage oil, bubble bath... women like that stuff, right?" he said as the target came whizzing back to us.

"Don't ask me, ask your wife!"

"Do you like that stuff?" We looked at each other in horror. "Forget I asked," said Garrett. "I don't want to know."

"For the record, I think Traci will like all that stuff. I also think she'd like to go away on your anniversary," I said confidently. I knew that because she told me, and I figured it didn't hurt to pass it along. That way, my sister-in-law gets what she wanted and my brother gets to give it to her, which makes him happy. Making them happy seemed more important than getting pie and cake, despite how much I wanted them.

"Ready?" Garrett asked, stepping out of the way as he sent the final target to the end of the range.