Page 106 of Fatal Strike
Ten minutes later, she received a call from the reception area—a welcome diversion. “Agent Riesel? There’s an older gentleman here to see you. Says it’s important.”
Edgar Whitson? “Who is he?”
“Roy Riesel.”
Leah’s pulse sped. Dad? In Houston? Had something happened to Mom or one of her siblings? “I’ll be right there.” She rose from her chair on wobbly legs, then sat again.
She reached for her phone and texted Jon.
My dad’s in the reception area. Wants to see me.
You can do this. I’m praying.
With no time to deliberate what prayer meant for her, she placed her phone in her jacket pocket and walked to the reception area. She felt like a soldier heading to the front lines. Was this meeting a good thing or a not-so-good thing? She pushed through the double doors to where Dad stood staring out the window facing Highway 290. His hands were stuck in his pockets, a trait she remembered when he had many things on his mind. His thick hair had turned white, but his shoulders were still erect.
She drew in a deep breath. “Dad.”
He turned and took long strides to her. His nut-brown eyes moistened. Three feet in front of her, he stopped as though an invisible wall separated them, a wall of miscommunication, one she wanted to demolish. She needed courage outside herself to make the step.
Leah opened her arms. “Dad, I’ve missed you. I’m sorry for the problems I caused.”
He wrapped his arms around her, and she fell into his embrace, the same firm hands that had comforted and strengthened her when she was a little girl. His soft sobs brought on her own remorse. Her tears flowed with his, a river of regret. After several long moments, he put her at arm’s length. “You’re grown up and incredibly beautiful.”
She wiped her eyes. “Thank you. We can talk in a conference room.” She spied his visitor badge.
“Alone with my girl? Good.”
The New York accent, spun with the familiar voice, filled her with longing.
In an interview room, they sat across from each other. Father and daughter. Years apart. She reached over the table, and he lifted her hand into his. Firm. Strong. Lines around his eyes and across his brow had aged him.
“I’m ashamed of how our call ended last week,” he said. “I was nervous and dropped my phone. It shattered. I started to call you back on your mother’s phone, but your number was on mine. Leah, I love you and I’ve never stopped missing you.” He pressed his lips together before beginning again. “Iresearched you online. My little girl puts her life in danger to keep people safe.”
His words sounded proud, and she relished the thought.“I’ve been well trained. And I work with a great team of people in violent crime and SWAT. Currently I’m on a homicide case.”
He sucked in a breath. “I didn’t realize.”
Confession time. “Protecting others is a way for me to make up for the foolish years.”
“And I blame myself. Too many shoulds.” He stared wordlessly into her face and blinked. “You’ve changed. Your eyes are calm.”
“It took a while for me to figure out some of life. My work experiences along with a heavy dose of reality have a way of molding a person into a better human being.” She sealed their time together in memory, never to be forgotten.
He glanced down at their hands, knit together. “I used to hold your hand like this when you were a little girl.”
“I remember. When I’d lose a basketball game, you’d have to talk me down off the cliff. The perfectionist in me still has a habit of surfacing.”
“We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I look forward to it. Tell me about Mom and my brothers and sisters.”
“Before I dive into the whole family thing, I want to apologize for all the poor decisions your mother and I made raising you and your siblings. We never included you in the conversations, never asked you how you felt about it.” He blew out a sigh. “We expected far too much. All the times we let you down, disappointed you, missed important events.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not. Will you forgive your mother and me?”
She swallowed a lump. “Yes. A million times yes. I was horrible, so please forgive me.”
