Avery gasped; Cherry's smile turned sly. "I've shocked you."

"I didn't think Matt's little sister could talk that way."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Avery."

"Sounds ominous."

She laughed. "Not at all. You've been gone a long time, that's all." Without waiting for a response, she sighted her tin prey and fired. One shot after another, ripping off six. Hitting her target each time.

Avery watched her, both surprised and awed by her ability. Un-nerved by it as well. Particularly in light of their conversation. She shifted her gaze to Cherry's arms, noticing how cut they were. The way her biceps bulged as she gripped the gun, how she hardly recoiled when it discharged.

She'd never noticed what good shape the other woman was in. How strong she was. How strongly built. Avery supposed that was because compared to her, everybody looked big.

Truth was, she'd always thought of Cherry as a girlie-girl, like Lilah. And like her own mother had been. Avery had been the tomboy. The one who hadn't quite fit the mold of Southern womanhood. And now here was Cherry, all buff and macho, blasting the crap out of tin cans.

Cherry reloaded, turned and offered the gun to Avery, grip out. "Want to give it a try?"

Avery hesitated. She disliked guns. Was one of those folks who thought the world would be a better place if every weapon on the planet was collected and destroyed and people were forced to sit across a table from one another and work out their differences. Maybe over a latte or caffe mocha.

Cherry's smug grin had her reaching for the gun. "Okay," she said grimly, "walk me through this."

"It helps to plant your feet. Like this." Cherry demonstrated. "Wrap both hands around the grip. That's right," she said as Avery followed her directions.

"I feel like an idiot," Avery said. "Like an Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabe."

"I felt that way at first. You'll grow to like it."

When pigs fly. "What now?"

"Point and shoot. But be careful, it's got some kick."

Avery aimed at the can that looked closest to her and pulled the trigger. The force of the explosion sent her stumbling backward. She peeked at the target. "Did I hit it?"

"Nope. You might try keeping your eyes open next time."

"Shit."

"Try again."

Avery did. And missed cleanly. After her sixth attempt, she handed the gun back. "My career as a shooter is officially over."

"You might change your mind. If you stay in Cypress Springs."

"Don't hold your breath." She watched Cherry handle the weapon with a sort of reverence completely foreign to Avery. "What's the allure? I don't get it."

Cherry thought a moment. "It makes me feel powerful. In control."

"That's an odd answer."

"Really? Isn't that what weapons are all about? Power and control. Winning."

"And here I always thought they were about killing."

"There are always going to be bad guys, Avery. People determined to take away what you hold dear. People without morals or conscience. Guns, the ability-and willingness-to use them are a necessary deterrent."

Avery had argued this one before and knew she couldn't win. And a part of her knew Cherry spoke the truth. The current truth. But she was idealist enough to believe there was another way. "The only way to fight violence is with violence, that's what you're saying? React to force with greater force until we've blown the entire planet to hell?"

"The one with the biggest boom wins."

Moments later, Avery drove off. She glanced in her rearview mirror. The sun was setting behind her, the sky a palette of bloody reds and oranges. Cherry stood where she had left her, standing beside her car, staring after Avery.

Her outing with the younger woman had left her feeling uncomfortable, as if she had been party to something unclean. As if she had witnessed something ugly and had done nothing to stop it.

The things Gwen Lancaster had told her about The Seven played through her head.

Anyone whose actions fell outside what was considered right, noral or neighborly was singled out and warned. Before it was all over, they'd broken the civil rights of their fellow citizens in the name of righteousness, law and order.

Could the woman she had just spent the past hour with be party to that?

Absolutely. Avery didn't have a doubt about it. What she was less certain of, however, was how to reconcile the Cherry Stevens she had been witness to today with the one who had brought her breakfast her first morning in Cypress Springs. The one who had been caring, sweet-natured and sensitive.

Today, nothing about Cherry had rung true to her, from the things she had said about Elaine St. Claire to the subtly sly tone she had assumed with Avery.

But why would she have affected such an attitude with her? It didn't make sense. Why either alienate her or, if part of The Seven, be so open about her beliefs? Surely those involved hadn't maintained their anonymity with such transparency.

Avery drew to a stop at the crossroads, stunned with the course of her own thoughts. She was thinking as if The Seven was a given. As if they had and did exist, as if anyone could be a part of their numbers.

An ill feeling settling in the pit of her stomach, she dug through her purse, found the card with Gwen's phone number on it. She punched the number into her cell phone; on the third ring the woman's recorder answered.

"It's Avery Chauvin," she said. "You've got my attention now. Call me." She left the number for both her cell and parents' home phone, then hung up.

Through the open window came the sound of a gun discharging. Avery jerked at the sound. She closed the window against it and the sour-smelling breeze.

CHAPTER 30

The Gavel entered the war room. It had been difficult to get away this Friday evening-he was late. His generals were all in place, assembled around the table. Two held the rapt attention of the others as they complained about the Gavel's leadership and the way he had handled Elaine St. Claire.

One by one they became aware of his presence. Nervous silence fell over them. Guilty silence.

He crossed to his place at the table's head, working to control his anger. He shifted his gaze from one of his detractors to the other. Their discomfort became palpable. "You have a problem, Blue? Hawk?"

Blue faced him boldly. "The situation with the outsider is worsening. We must take action."

"Agreed." He turned his gaze to the other. "Hawk?"

"The handling of St. Claire was a mistake."

Shock rippled through the group. Hawk was the Gavel's biggest supporter. His ally from the beginning. His friend.

Fury took the Gavel's breath. A sense of betrayal. He kept a grip on his emotions. "What should we have done, Hawk? Allowed her to continue to sully the character of this town? To tear at its moral fiber thread by thread? Or allowed her to go to the authorities? Have you forgotten our pledge to one another and this community?"

The other man squirmed under his gaze. "Of course not. But if we'd…taken care of her as we have the others, no one would be the wiser. To have so openly disposed of her-"

"Has sent a message to others like her. We will not be discovered, I promise you that."

Hawk opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it and sat back, obviously dissatisfied. The Gavel narrowed his eyes. He would speak with him privately; if he determined Hawk a risk, he would be removed from the high council.

"What of the reporter?" Blue asked.

"Avery Chauvin? What of her?"

"She's been talking to the other one. The outsider."

"And asking questions," another supplied. "A lot of questions."

He hesitated, surprised. "She's one of us."

"Was one of us," Blue corrected. "She's been away too long to be trusted. She's become a part of the liberal media."