At the shooting range, Amanda and her mother took turns firing a few rounds. Even though the LC9s was lightweight, Amanda still felt a bit exhausted.
Practicing shooting was actually a very tiring and monotonous task—of course, that was if you were genuinely practicing and not just pulling the trigger for stress relief.
Every shot required intense concentration: aiming, adjusting breathing, and then pulling the trigger.
At the moment the bullet was fired, you had to try to feel the direction of the gun's recoil, analyze the deviation by checking the bullet holes, and then make targeted adjustments—this was commonly referred to as "recoil control." Only through continuous practice could one improve.
Even though every model of handgun maintained a performance range, each individual gun was still unique.
If a gun's sights and rear notch were off by just a few micrometers at the time of manufacture, once the bullet traveled several meters—or even over ten meters—the difference in impact points on the target paper could be massive.
This was particularly noticeable with handguns, as their short barrels provided less control over the bullet compared to longer firearms.
Hitting close-range targets might not be an issue, but at greater distances, the bullet could end up flying anywhere. This was also why handguns generally lacked high precision.
Even if someone frequently used a Glock, their shooting results could still vary between different Glock models of the same type.
However, this wasn't a concern for Amanda—those details were still too far beyond her current level. Owen's requirements for her were simple: as long as she could hit the target within six meters, it was good enough. If she could improve further, reaching their mother's level would be ideal.
After firing about eighty rounds, Amanda was worn out. Shooting was physically demanding, and Owen understood the importance of gradual progress. Since they had achieved their goal for the day—getting both his mother and Amanda familiar with the Ruger—he drove them home.
When they got back, Owen had them sit on the couch. His mother and Amanda both knew he had something serious to say.
Owen had thought about it a lot last night and decided he needed to tell his family. They had to take this matter seriously.
"The police came last night because someone was killed in the neighborhood. An Arab man. Carlos later called me and told me that this man had a photo of me on him. CTU also found out that he was an associate of a criminal I apprehended a few days ago—he was here for revenge…"
"Uh…"
Both women gasped and covered their mouths in shock. Owen continued, "I'm really sorry… This might put you in danger."
"Steve, what are you talking about?"
His mother's reaction was strong; she seemed genuinely angry. "We're family. If those scumbags want to come, let them. I'll make sure they regret it."
Truly, a woman may be gentle by nature, but a mother is always strong.
Amanda also reassured him, "Don't worry, Steve. No one can hurt our family. I've been through terrible things—I know how important strength is. That's why I took today's shooting practice seriously…"
Owen looked at Amanda in surprise and then turned to his mother. "You… already knew?"
"Of course. Do you think a mother wouldn't notice when something is wrong with her own daughter?"
"Uh…"
Owen didn't know what to say. He hadn't wanted his mother to know about what happened in Paris—it was too gruesome. But apparently, while he was away, Amanda had already told her everything.
Owen wasn't sure how his mother felt about it and was wondering how to explain it to her when she spoke first:
"Steve, I think you did exactly the right thing. A man should protect his family from harm. That's what your father did, and I don't care what methods you use as long as you keep us safe."
Owen was stunned. He hadn't expected his mother to be so accepting. He wondered if Amanda had withheld some of the more gruesome details, but judging by her expression, it didn't seem like it.
This was actually a good thing. Owen continued, "Last night, a colleague from CTU called me. They've now concealed my personal information. That should've been done from the start, but when I joined, CTU was in chaos, so it got overlooked. That's why that guy was able to find our home so easily…"
His mother nodded, and Owen went on, "But from now on, we still need to stay alert. If you notice anything suspicious, call the police—or call Bryan. You know, Kim's father. He'll help. And if someone breaks in, don't hesitate—just shoot."
Even as he said this, Owen knew that unless they spotted danger ahead of time, calling the police or Bryan wouldn't be very effective. By the time help arrived, things might already be over. So in the end, it would mostly come down to relying on themselves.
As he thought about this, something crossed his mind. After hesitating for a moment, he added, "If it's an emergency, you can try asking Mr. McCall for help…"
"Mr. McCall?"
"Yes."
Owen had no intention of telling them about what happened last night—he planned to take that secret to the grave. He still wasn't sure of McCall's true identity, but he had a feeling the man wouldn't just stand by and do nothing.
His mother and Amanda assumed Owen was suggesting McCall because he was their neighbor and a man, so they didn't question it further.
Seeing how serious her son was, Owen's mother felt reassured, but she still couldn't help but remind him, "We'll be careful. But Steve, you need to be careful too. I don't want to lose you after already losing your father."
"Steve, me too. You have to stay safe, or I'll be really sad…"
Amanda snuggled up to him like a kitten, and Owen felt a deep warmth envelop his heart.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of myself. I don't even have a girlfriend yet—I'm not dying anytime soon."
"Hahaha! Yeah, Steve, you're such a failure. You're 22 and still single."
The atmosphere instantly lightened up. Amanda started teasing her older brother for being single, and their mother laughed along.
"She's right, Steve. Don't just focus on work all the time. America doesn't need you to save it. Go out, meet new people—you might be surprised."
"How about this?" his mother suddenly suggested. "Since we're all off today, why don't we throw a party tonight? Invite some friends over, have some fun. Who knows? Maybe Steve will have a romantic encounter. What do you think?"
"That sounds great! It's settled then! I'll call Kim and invite her over tonight."
"Alright, two votes in favor, one abstention—it's decided! I need to prepare a lot of food… Hmm, I should make a shopping list and head to Walmart soon."
Before Owen could even object, the decision was made. His mother and Amanda had already begun making arrangements.
Owen was speechless. Was this party really for him?
Why did it feel like he was being set up?
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