Calmer, she shook her head, sucking in fewer and fewer deep breaths. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but not from the temperature or mist from the Gulf. She rolled the cold can around her face then finally drank some of the sparkling water. “I’m better now. I just needed to be outside.”
“Panic attacks are a bitch. Running from one isn’t the best idea,” he said.
“I forgot.” She smiled weakly. “It’s been a long, long time since I experienced that feeling.”
“Did you used to have them often?”
“That’s the first one since I went away to college. Of course, there were some pretty close calls when I’d go home for the holidays. I worked summer breaks or took extra courses, anything to stay away.”
She sat down at the patio table and leaned back, propping her feet on another chair. “The attacks became worse after my mother died. Once she wasn’t there to reason with my dad, he became even stricter on what I could do. And when. And with who. And, no you can’t spend the night at your friend’s house. No, you can’t have friends over to our house. And on and on and on.”
Mitch sat next to her but far enough away to not intrude on her space. Some things were beginning to make sense, like the fact she said she hadn’t gone home often. There was always a story when people stayed away. He should know—he’d stayed away for more than twelve years.
“Did CT show up more often after your mother passed away?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. There were a lot of times my dad would tell me to get lost for a while.” Her brow wrinkled, and she softly grunted. “I made the mistake of forgetting once and had to go in the safe room. All night.”
Mitch’s expression hardened. “Did he lock the door?”
She shook her head. “No. But by then I was afraid of what or who I might find if I left the room, so I locked the bolt on my side, curled up, and went to sleep. After that, you can bet I never forgot when I was supposed to be gone.”
They sat in silence for quite a while. He had all the time in the world to listen or just sit. For him, keeping his client safe meant rules. Evidently, his restrictions had made her insides cry out in panic.
One question nagged at his mind. “Why did you decide to be a journalist?”
She glanced in his direction, raised her eyebrows.
“It’s just a question.”
“I became a journalist for a few reasons. First, I like to write, and I’m good at it. Second, I love doing research. Finding out all the things I never knew.” Drinking down the remainder of her water, she stood. “And third, my job would take me on all kinds of assignments, to all different places in the world. Wouldn’t leave much time to go back home.”
Mitch understood her reasoning, all too well. But his departure was to save his siblings. Who was she saving? “Did you miss being away from your dad?”
She didn’t answer.
“Liz, I need you to answer the question.” He wasn’t prying, he was stacking each clue.
“Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” She headed for the open doorway into the living room. “I loved my mother…”
“What about your dad?”
“I loved him…sometimes. Sometimes he could be mean.” Her voice softened. “Let’s just say I grew up. Realized I didn’t need someone ruling my life; I needed to find a way to live my life. To take care of me.” She lifted her face toward his. “Losing the panic attacks was taking care of me. Staying away from him was taking care of me.”
His chest seemed to become one giant hole. “I didn’t mean to cause you to have another one.”
“Like you said before, you can’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you, either. But I do have to take care of myself.” Her expression held such sorrow as she blinked rapidly a few times. “Do you understand? No matter…how I feel about you…I have to take care of me.”
How could he explain to her this wouldn’t last forever? That once the link between her and CT was broken, he could be himself. “The idea that CT has been tracking you for an extended period of time pushes every button of protection I’ve been trained to use. You’ve got to understand. I don’t know how not to do my job. Not to be responsible.”
“I swear if you say you’re responsible one more time, I’m going to rip your head off.”
His first instinct was to say the word just to aggravate the hell out of her. But she looked stone-cold serious.
“All I hear from you is ‘do this, do that. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.’” She exhaled loudly. “You’re as controlling as my dad. Telling me what to do and when. I won’t stand for it. Never again.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “You act like you’re the only one who can save someone.”
She seemed to hate what he stood for. What he’d stood for his entire life. She equated control and responsibility as one and the same. And she hated both. His insides felt like he’d been gut punched.
“And what if I am?” he asked. “What if I’m the only chance someone’s got and I fail? What then, Liz? I’ve been in that place. I’ve missed a shot. Taken the wrong turn. Almost lost a client. And it feels like the fires of hell.” Clenching his jaw, he forged ahead with his personal defense. “But I keep doing this damn job every damn day because it’s what I’m damn good at, and I’m one of the very few willing to take on that kind of responsibility.”
