Page 40 of Night Hawk
“Isn’t there?” He stepped closer and cupped her cheek, those long fingers gentle, yet firm.
She expected his touch would be thrilling, but she struggled to breathe. “We’re attracted to each other.”
His fingertips flirted with her hairline, and she waited a moment for them to plunge into her hair and draw her closer. They didn’t, though. Instead, he stilled them. “I think it’s more than that, don’t you?”
Yeah. Way more.But she wouldn’t admit it. Not now. Not with all they had to do. Even if his touch was like a match, kindling every emotion. She didn’t want to disappoint him. She also didn’t want to encourage him.
She gently removed his hand and held it for a moment, making it more difficult to say no to his touch. “I can’t do this with you. When Dad was shot…”
She had to pause to breathe. She let go of his hand. “I was admiring the way you looked all suited up for the raid. And in that moment—that briefest of seconds when I took my eyes off the op—Dad stepped up to the house. I was too late to call out to him, and he was gunned down.”
The memory of her father dropping to the ground. Blood oozing from his chest. Unable to go to him due to gunfire. Watching him bleed out before her eyes.
She shuddered, and Clay inched closer, his expression warm and comforting.
“It’s my fault he’s dead,” she said, firming her resolution to keep Clay at arm’s length. “If I’d been paying attention to my job, it would never have happened. And I won’t risk anyone’s life in this investigation because of a romantic attraction.”
He looked at her long and hard, then gave a slight shake of his head. “You couldn’t have stopped the bullet that killed your dad. Not even if you hadn’t been distracted. It all played out too fast. None of us could’ve done anything. Unless we went back in time and changed the op. As leader, I had choices. We could’ve gone a few ways, and I chose the plan. So if anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”
“What? No. Not at all.” She grabbed his hand again. “I don’t blame you or anyone else.”
“Then why blame yourself? Because I guarantee each officer on scene that day went home and played the raid over and over again. Might still be playing it and trying to figure out how they could’ve stopped the shooting. And each person will have their own version of how they could’ve done something different to change the outcome.”
“But they weren’t negligent. I was.”
“Negligent is a pretty harsh word.”
“I deserve harsh words.” She paced away from him and turned her back. She couldn’t look at him or she might actually believe him and forgive herself. A forgiveness she didn’t deserve.
His footfalls sounded on the tile floor as he came up behind her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. She wanted to lean back and rest against his strong body. To bask in the warmth. Draw strength from him, but touching him again would only take her to the wrong place. So she remained still. Didn’t speak.
“Have you talked to God about this?” he asked quietly.
“Talk is probably a tame word for what I’ve done.”
“Yelled at Him?”
“At times, yeah. Even blamed Him. He could’ve changed the outcome that day.”
Clay didn’t speak for a long time, so she turned to look at him. His eyes were narrowed, and he ran a hand through his hair, leaving little tufts sticking up. She wanted to smooth them down. She shoved her hands into her pockets and waited him out.
“I had to go to counseling once when I had to shoot a guy in the line of duty,” he finally said. “Turned out I was repressing my feelings. And once I started to deal with the incident, I wanted to blame someone. Anyone. The counselor told me that I was simply redirecting my anger so I could learn to accept the fact that I’d killed a man.”
Now, she wanted to take his hand, this time to comfort him, but she resisted the urge. “And what did the counselor say about the anger? Surely, that wasn’t helping.”
“It wasn’t, and she said it was useless. It didn’t actually do anything. It sure didn’t help me get better or find a way to avoid it happening again in the future. She was a Christian counselor, and she said blaming God ultimately shows we believe that God is in our debt. That He has to do everything we ask of Him. It should be the other way around. Blaming God—that’s not faith.”
“Fine words, but…”
“Yeah, I felt the same way at the time. Then my pastor suggested that we should use the phrase, ‘God, make me,’ not ‘God give me.’ So I turned around my thinking. Decided to look at the death to see how it would make me a better person. I came up with all kinds of ways I could use it for good. That’s when I was able to deal with the guilt.”
She looked at him then. Really looked deep into his eyes. She saw the suffering this death caused, but she also saw hope. The determination to make life better because of the experience. He was an amazing man. A truly fine Christian. Someone she could strive to emulate and learn from while they were together.
She smiled at him. “Thank you for sharing.”
“I wish I could say I put this kind of thinking into practice all the time, but honestly, I fail a lot. Like with your dad’s death. Took me some time to deal with the guilt. But if you can get your mind right, it works great.”
“I’ll think about it for sure. But I doubt it’ll change my mind about a relationship with a co-worker. I know I’m not technically on the job, but this isn’t about technicalities. I want to keep things professional.”
