Safety glasses and noise-canceling headphones in place, he raised his right hand and fired his Glock 17 at the silhouette target fifty feet away until the 33-round high-capacity magazine was empty. He reeled the target in, noting with disgust that roughly half his shots weren’t in the ten ring, although he had nothing outside a nine.He liked the Glock better than the standard-issue revolver he’d carried when he’d been the sheriff of Black Rock—more accurate at a greater distance and more firepower, even without the high-capacity magazine—but guns had never been his thing. Knives had always been his first love, ever since he’d been a kid.Cody could remember practicing until both arms were sore and aching, and then practicing some more until he was nearly as good with his left hand as he was with his right. He hadn’t even stopped when his father had roughly told him that knives weren’t much use anymore, not when throwing a knife left you disarmed and gave your attacker a weapon to use against you.That had just added to the challenge.
