Bullseye by Virginia Smith

could put that off, the better.
    He glanced sideways where Karina was smoothing her thick hair back into its band. “You mentioned something about being able to fix my hair so I don’t look like a bombing victim. Want to give it a try?”
    “Sure. My apartment’s not far.” She pointed at the street bordering the parking lot. “Turn right here, and then take the third left.”
    Her apartment. And with Alex in juvy, they’d be alone.
    Warning Klaxons sounded in his head as he shifted into Drive and headed in the direction she’d indicated.

TEN
    T he feel of Mason’s hair was so familiar it almost hurt Karina to touch him. How many times had she cut his hair over the years? She knew the way it grew, the slightly uneven hairline above his forehead, the almost-cowlick behind his right ear. Steeling her jaw against a tremble, she forced herself to maintain an impassive expression and tested the length between her fingers.
    “Been a while since you had it cut?” Thank goodness her voice came out evenly despite the tide of emotions that swelled inside her.
    “Yeah, I guess I’m about due.”
    He sat in the chair she’d set in the center of her small kitchen, a black stylist’s apron secured around his neck. She ran a comb experimentally across his head, carefully avoiding the burned area above his left ear where the hair had singed down to the scalp.
    I’ll pretend it’s a random haircut from a walk-in customer. Joe Blow, who strolled in for a trim.
    She slid her clippers from their black case and plugged them into the wall outlet above the counter. “Who’s been doing your hair?” Not that she really wanted to know, but if she kept him talking about impersonal things, maybe she could forget whose head she was caressing.
    “Nobody in particular. There’s a place not far from my house I go to. Seems like I get a different stylist every time I go in there.”
    She reached for a guard, and then hesitated, her fingers hovering over them. “You know it’s going to have to be pretty short, right?”
    Mason waved a hand beneath the apron. “Shave it if you have to.”
    “I don’t think we need to be quite that drastic.”
    She picked up a number three, attached it and flipped the switch. The clippers hummed to life. With her teeth set together, she tilted his head and started running the clippers across his scalp against the direction of growth. Hair fell to the floor with each swipe.
    “So do you still go to Trinity?” He raised a hand to point at the framed watercolor hanging on the wall above the entryway.
    The picture was of a plain wooden cross suspended above a filled baptismal. She’d painted it during high school art class, working from a snapshot Mason had taken of their church’s sanctuary.
    “Not anymore.” She bent down to position the clippers at a good angle at the nape of his neck. “Alex and I go to Cornerstone Christian now.”
    Trinity Community Church. When Mason moved away, she’d considered returning to the church where they’d met at youth group during their sophomore year in high school. But the memories were too vivid, too painful. Every time she walked into the sanctuary she couldn’t focus on the Lord, because Mason’s presence was everywhere.
    “What about you?” she asked. “Where do you go to church these days?”
    “I don’t.” His answer was brief, clipped.
    Surprised, she paused and held the clippers a few inches from his head. “You don’t attend church at all?”
    Mason had been an enthusiastic Christian during high school and college. Seeing his commitment had deepened her relationship to the Lord, and to the church. They’d even gone on a mission trip to Mexico with their youth group the summer after their senior year.
    “Not anymore.” His mouth snapped shut, the brittle line of his lips announcing that he wouldn’t discuss the subject any further.
    Karina continued combing through his hair with the clippers. What had happened to him? In the next moment