Winds of Change (Hearts of the Outback Book 4)

by Susanne Bellamy

  He’d set up a target at the base of a hillock and pinned a picture of a monster’s head in the bull’s eye. “I thought it might help if you had something to aim your weapon at.”

  “Where on earth did you find it?” Willa ambled up to the target and examined the image more closely. The oozing green skin reminded her of the horror movie her friend Marcy had worked on before she fell pregnant.

  “Suzie. She has an impressive portfolio of designs. This one was a photocopy that didn’t print properly. She said his ear got chewed off when the copier jammed and offered the print to me. All in a good cause, she said.”

  “Great. And this is supposed to inspire me—how?”

  “I thought you’d prefer not to shoot at a human face. Was I wrong?”

  “We never talked about guns. How did you know?”

  He brushed a hand over her hair and cupped her head as their gazes connected. Despite all the times she’d looked into his eyes, the intensity of green with a starburst around the pupil still surprised her. It was as though Jax was looking deep into her soul.

  “I know you, Willa.”

  In America, her friends thought she was odd in her refusal to carry a handgun or go to the practice range to shoot for fun, but Jax understood. The irony of a soldier being the one to realise she had a gun phobia struck her, but even Jax didn’t know the full story of Jenna’s death.

  Beautiful Jenna. Everyone thought I was the wild one but she lived life on the edge.

  Who else would drive a VW off road through the bush to win a bet? If only the young boys shooting at road signs had looked beyond their target and seen Jenna’s car heading back onto the road. If only they had waited one second more to pull the trigger. If only Jenna hadn’t wanted to win the bet so badly.

  So many if onlys.

  The coroner’s verdict was freak accident, Willa’s interpretation of his words, not his official report. And now— It didn’t matter that her gun was a prop. Her stomach twisted, threatening to make her puke every time she had to pretend to fire it.

  But Jax had drilled her until she could no longer think, only react to his directions. She prayed he could help her get through this sequence as easily.

  His hands trailed down her arms and he took her by the hand and walked backwards to the tree trunk where the gun was propped. “Come on, pick up that rifle and show me how you take aim.”

  Willa swallowed the lump in her throat and raised the prop gun as she’d seen cowboys do in the old Westerns she’d watched with her father, and sighted along the barrel.

  “Hmm, okay. You look like a cowboy in a spaghetti western.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Lots of first timers adopt that stance. It’s okay but not very flexible. Let me show you what I mean.” Jax lifted the rifle to his shoulder and stood as she had.

  “Now imagine the enemy pops up on the side. Standing like this, I’m much slower to change my position and sight again. But if I stand like this, I react and adjust quickly.” He moved until his body was square on to the target and raised the rifle.

  “An enemy appears to my right.” He swivelled smoothly and fired off a couple of pretend shots.

  “Jax, this is fascinating stuff but all I need to know is how to make it look realistic. I’m not firing real bullets.”

  Jax propped the rifle against the tree and pulled a folded script out of his back pocket. He thumbed through it until he found the page he was looking for and pointed to a stage direction. “Here it says you fire off several rounds downhill, then an enemy appears on your right.”

  “I see. You realise the editor will piece together the best bits from all the takes? I don’t have to do this all in one go.”

  “I know. But I was talking to the key grip about the crane shots. For the high shots, you have to stand, turn and fire in one movement. Willa, quite aside from the threats, you wanted me to stay to keep things realistic. Have you changed your mind?”

  She tipped her head back and stared at a lone bird soaring high in the blue sky. Why couldn’t she just do the action like she would any other choreographed sequence? What was so hard about it? “No, it’s just I hate guns so much.”

  “Then stop thinking of it as a gun. Imagine it’s—I don’t know. A magic dart that will make an animal invisible to other hunters. But you have to shoot them quickly because these hunters are nearly on top of you and if you don’t save the animals, you’ll never get home to Kansas with Toto.”

  She couldn’t stop her grin spreading from ear to ear. Jax, waxing creative was unheard of. “Kansas? Are you really channelling Oz?”

  He spread his hands and shrugged. “Work with me on this.”

  Laughing, she picked up the prop, no longer a rifle but a magic weapon against the bad guys. “Okay, hunters, take that, and that, and—”

  Jax stepped in behind and adjusted her grip on the prop. “This is a semiautomatic, not a rifle like the old cowboys used. So you centre your grip in the ‘V’ here, at the junction of the thumb and index finger of your trigger hand. Grip the gun high on the back strap—”

  It was impossible to concentrate with Jax’s front pressed against her back, his heat turning her thoughts to last night. And the night to come.

  You have to earn it.

  His mouth was beside her ear, his lips brushing her earlobe. She blinked and willed herself to focus on Jax’s voice, on his words, not the feel of his lips or his warm breath creating goose bumps down her arm.

  “Keep your head up, and bring the rifle to your head. Place the butt stock of the rifle near the centre line of your body and high up on the chest. Press your cheek firmly to the side of the stock of the gun, like so.

  “Breathe out and squeeze the trigger. Don’t anticipate when the gun will fire. You sort of want to surprise yourself as to when the gun actually discharges.”

  Bracing herself against Jax, Willa breathed in, and out, and squeezed the trigger.

  “Do it again.”

  As before, he made her repeat the action until he was satisfied. “You’ve got it. Well done.”

  “Thank you.” She rested the rifle butt on the ground and wiped the sweat from her face. Who knew shooting a gun could be so draining?

  Jax gently lifted the rifle from her grip, turned it so it pointed down and gave it back.

  “Hey, Willa, you look real scary like that. I wouldn’t want to come up against you with a gun in your hands.” Dave joined them and held out several bullets on his open palm. “Your blanks, ma’am.”

  She picked one up and examined it before holding it out to Jax. “They look strange. Shouldn’t they have pointy tips?”

  He pointed to the end. “Blanks have a crimped end, bullets have a projectile—a pointy tip to you. By feel alone, you can tell because of the crimping. There is no way you would not notice the difference, even if you were blind drunk.

  “Dave, have you checked the AR Willa is using in this scene?”

  “Yes, sir. The BFA is fitted and operational.”

  “Whoa. AR, BFA?” Willa felt as though she’d dropped into a parallel universe as the men traded acronyms.

  Jax took her arm and they strolled down the slope back to HQ. “AR, Assault rifle, BFA, blank-firing adaptor.

  “In a semi-automatic rifle, the automatic bit of its name refers to the way the gun loads a new bullet after each shot. The shooter doesn’t have to pull a lever like in your old cowboy movies and so he, or she, can fire more shots in less time. Blanks will not re-arm your weapon, because there is no recoil or pressure of gas behind the bullet to drive your gas-piston back or unlock your breech. Equally there is no kick, for the same reason. Essentially, the BFA is a barrel plug to hold enough of the pressure of the explosion in, and cause your weapon to reload and recock.”

  “I sort of get what you’re saying. Do you use them in the army, Dave?”

  Hands in pockets, Dave kept pace with them. “This one is different from the ones we use in training. Our BFAs are bright y
ellow so it’s easy to see they’re fitted but that would look totally wrong on film. The props bloke was telling me about it. Your rifle has a replacement barrel with a significantly reduced diameter just in front of the chamber so to the casual viewer, it looks like the real thing.”

  “So I don’t have a real gun in my hands? That makes me feel a whole lot better.”

  “Don’t be blasé about the prop rifle. A blank round can still kill if the target is close to the muzzle of the firearm when it’s discharged. Brandon Lee died of a gunshot wound from a dummy cartridge on the set of his last movie.” Jax removed the rifle from her suddenly clammy grip and passed it to Dave.

  “Don’t take your eyes off Willa’s rifle, Corporal. I don’t want anyone else touching it from now until the end of shooting.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dave gave her a shy grin as he left them.

  Jax took Willa’s hands and turned her to look at him. “Nothing will happen to you, Willa. I promise.”

  Jax circled the rock-strewn hill and climbed up the far side, away from the crane camera’s range. Late afternoon sun baked the rocks and sweat ran down his back as he pushed his body hard. The slope was testing his leg and his patience. He looked up, calculating how much further he had to climb until he was positioned above Willa’s shooting spot. He wanted the high ground advantage while Preston stayed close to Willa on the other side of the hill.

  As he stepped up onto a rock, it shifted, slipped, and clattered downhill. Thrown off balance, he gritted his teeth and rode the shaft of pain that shot up his leg. Moments passed and he heard the call for action. He must be close to his vantage point.

  Pushing off the rock he clambered over a mound of hard dirt jutting between two scraggly bushes. He rounded a boulder perched precariously near the top of the hill and scanned the slope below.

  Willa was in position and the camera crane hung high overhead. Of the corporal, there was no sign. Jax took out his two-way radio and called Dave. There was no response and he mentally added better quality two-way radios to his list now he had a second pair of eyes to protect Willa.

  “Places everyone.” The direction carried up the slope and the figures of the crew below scurried like ants into position. “Take two and—action.”

  Jax hunkered down behind the cover of a rock. In this first sequence, Willa wouldn’t use blanks but would simulate the kick of the rifle. Sound effects would be added later by foley artists. He was still trying to get his head around the methods used to create Willa’s movie magic as he watched from behind the scenes.

  Below and to his right, Willa appeared to fire off several shots before following the script directions and turning quickly to her right and firing. Up close she wouldn’t fool a seasoned gunman but her energy and attention to detail looked realistic. Everything he’d shown her was part of her performance. She was a— what was the term she’d used? A quick study.

  Jax watched two more takes and a sense of pride in Willa filled him. She was good.

  “Okay, Willa, repositioning for next sequence. Take five.” Brodie’s voice was a little distorted and Jax ran through the shot sequence for the day. After the high shots were filmed, a series of low, middle distance angles followed. Given the rocky slope, the cameraman had explained a crane camera was the only way to capture what Brodie wanted.

  Drone cameras were so common now, Jax had wanted to ask why they weren’t being used but Willa had been called to return to her mark for shooting and he’d lost the chance.

  As he watched she turned and sat with her back against the rock she’d used as cover and pulled a canteen from a tiny patch of shade. She tipped water into her mouth, gulping greedily, and wiped her mouth and chin.

  “Willa,” he called softly, unwilling to alert anyone else to his position. Only the director and the corporal knew he was secreted close to her and he wanted to keep it that way.

  She turned and a lovely smile broke across her face. “Jax. Do you want some water?”

  He did, but reaching for it would give away his presence. Shaking his head, he smiled back. “I’m fine. Have you checked your blanks?”

  “Crimped edges, no pointy tips, lighter than a proper bullet—which would be more helpful if I knew what a proper bullet’s weight was.”

  She tipped her head back and to the side and looked at him. “I’m glad you’re here, Jax. Really glad. I wish you were closer.”

  Nothing would make Jax break cover. The distance between them—so near and yet so far—was for her protection, but her words tempted him. They slipped through him and lodged within, so deep he knew Willa would always be part of him.

  “I’m glad too.”

  They were meant to be together. Ten years ago, he’d known that instinctively but he hadn’t had the right words to explain it to her. Cringing at the memory of his brash, youthful self, telling Willa to choose: him or her career.

  She had chosen him then. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known it at the time but he had a lot to make up to her.

  A lifetime’s worth of making up.

  Right then he longed to throw caution to the winds and take her in his arms and never let go but the call came for the crew to take their places. Jax scanned the immediate area and watched as the crane moved into position, closing the gap between the camera and Willa.

  A tingle ran down Jax’s spine, that high alert signal that preceded a sortie.

  “Action.”

  Willa performed the same sequence of movements as the camera moved from her right side to her left, and finished on her standing shot. From his high angle, it looked good.

  Brodie called up to her. “Great work, Willa. Now load the gun, and Greg,”—he addressed the cameraman—“at the end, zoom out and follow the line of Willa’s final shot.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Jax saw Willa load the rifle as Greg, who had been Jax’s source of information, waved in acknowledgement. All eyes turned to Willa. She signalled she was ready, and raised her rifle to begin the next take.

  “Action.”

  Willa fired, the sound softer than a real bullet, and the reason for the foley work suddenly made sense. She fired to her left.

  Jax heard the crack, the report louder than the first. As Willa adjusted the angle of her gun for a shot towards the crane, Jax surged out of his hiding place towards her. “Stop, Willa. Don’t—”

  She pulled the trigger and Greg shouted as a spark glanced off the metal platform on which he sat.

  As though reality became slow-motion, he saw the cameraman stagger backwards, saw the bloom of red on his shoulder and watched his dismay as he raised a hand to touch it.

  Ignoring the ache in his thigh, Jax jumped from rock to rock and scrambled into Willa’s small space.

  She rose and stared at the cameraman.

  Jax grabbed the rifle and pulled Willa against him. “It’s okay, babe. He’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

  “He’s bleeding, Jax. How can he be bleeding? They were blanks. Dave checked them.

  “Oh, God, Jax, I’ve shot him.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Willa held Jax’s hand tightly as they entered the interview room at the police station and sat. Her insides felt numb and the only thing that kept her going was Jax. He’d refused to leave her side since that awful moment when she’d fired the gun and blood had stained Greg’s shoulder.

  “Are you sure he’s okay?”

  “The doctor said it’s a flesh wound and Greg will be back behind his camera tomorrow.”

  “I could have killed him.”

  “No, Willa, believe me, you couldn’t.”

  No matter how often Jax told her differently, Willa knew the truth. Her finger had pulled the trigger that injured Greg. She had pointed a gun at another human being and caused harm. And for that, she could never forgive herself.

  Caleb entered and closed the door behind him. “Hello, Willa, Jax. How are you?”

  “Okay.” The automatic response popped out, but she’d never be okay again.


  “I shot a man.”

  “Technically, you released a blank which had been tampered with.”

  Caleb sat across from her and placed a file on the table in front of him. “I’ll tape your interview in a moment but I want you to understand this right now, Willa. What happened was not your fault. You are not responsible and no blame attaches to you.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded jerkily, feeling more marionette than human. They would never convince her she was without fault, but they still had a stalker to catch. If she didn’t pull herself together, and quickly, who else might be hurt?

  “I feel—powerless. Someone wants to stop production and I’m completely in the dark. Do you have any idea who is behind these attacks, Detective?”

  “Call me Caleb. We’re working on it.”

  “That’s a line I deliver in my American series. It means my team has no clue but we can’t say that. Please, Caleb, do you have any clue?”

  He hesitated and flicked a glance at Jax before meeting her gaze. In his eyes, she read honesty and conflict and knew she’d put him on the spot.

  But she had to know.

  “We have some ideas but we’ll know more when we get the lab reports on the gun and the letter sent to Mr. Magnusson.”

  Jax gently squeezed her knee and edged his chair closer. If not for his warmth beside her, she was sure she’d have turned into a block of ice by now. “I know it feels slow, Willa, but Caleb and his team will catch whoever is responsible.”

  Caleb nodded. “They’re getting anxious. This last attempt was haphazard at best. None of the blanks would have done too much damage at that distance but it was Greg’s bad luck you took your straight shot towards the crane. And no—” Caleb held up one hand as she opened her mouth to claim responsibility again.

  “I know you pulled the trigger but that does not make you culpable. Now, I’m going to ask Jax to wait outside, and then I’m going to turn on the tape and ask you some questions. I want you to answer them clearly and fully. Okay, Willa?”