“I thought I was prepared for the op, Kiley. Fully prepared. Had everything planned down to the second.” He took a long breath before going on. “But Sapin had a weapons charge as a juvie, and I didn’t consider his juvie records. He didn’t have any reference to weapons as an adult, so I thought it was all in the past. But it wasn’t, and I should’ve factored the prior charge into my plan. If I had...”
He couldn’t say the words as that old familiar guilt gnawed at his gut, and he wanted to end this conversation, but he would get it out in the open no matter what she thought of him going forward. “Couple that with lack of experience when the shooting started, and I didn’t react as quickly as I could have. I’ve played the shooting over and over in my mind. Hundreds, maybe thousands of times. I could’ve reacted faster. Justa second would’ve made the difference, and I could’ve yanked Olin out of the waybeforehe took the hit.”
She shot him another fiery look. “So, you finally admit you’re responsible. You knew Sapin had a past with guns, and you played down the risk. Made Sapin out to be nonviolent, and he opens up with an AK-57 before we get a word out.”
He took her criticism but didn’t buckle under it. “I relied too much on our current-day threat assessments. Dry runs. Kevlar. Our own assault rifles. We were ready. Just not for him to jerk open the door and start firing.”
“Wait, are you saying you don’t feel any responsibility for what happened?” Barely controlled anger filled her tone.
“I didn’t say that—would never say that.” He curled his hands into fists on his legs and stared out the window. “I take full responsibility, and not a day goes by when I don’t think about what happened to Olin and blame myself for it.” His voice broke, so he stopped speaking. He hated that talking about the op could still make him nearly lose control when he only wanted to project a strong façade.
She didn’t respond when he desperately wanted her to say something. He glanced at her and found her honestly appraising him. She turned away, her lips clamped tightly closed.
“Okay,” he said, ready to end the discussion as he’d said his piece, and she didn’t seem inclined to discuss it any further. Now everything was up to her. “I wanted you to know I didn’t shirk my responsibility, but I made a mistake, a big one, and I take full responsibility for my actions. I won’t bring it up again or try to defend myself. Please know I’m sorry. Very sorry.”
She nodded. Once. Quick, like she still didn’t completely believe him but figured if she responded affirmatively, the discussion would end. And it did.
He sat back, gazing out the window, watching the city lights speed by. They didn’t speak again until they stepped into her apartment. And even then, he took in the space before sayinganything, as he figured the décor would tell him a lot about the woman he hadn’t seen in years.
A blue velvet sofa with more pillows than he could imagine in lively patterns caught his attention first. A glossy yellow coat of paint covered the coffee and side tables, and blue glass lamps with white shades sat on top. She’d mounted framed landscape photos on pale-yellow walls, and the adjoining kitchen island held a laptop along with various chargers, the cords tangled like a bowl of spaghetti.
He noticed a Leatherman on the coffee table. His imagination fired and not in a good way. Was the multipurpose tool hers or had a guy left it there? He hadn’t even thought to ask her if she was dating. She was an amazing woman. Beautiful. Smart. Kind. Good sense of humor. A real catch. Why wouldn’t she be dating?
He looked around more carefully this time, searching for any indication of a guy regularly hanging out here. What he thought he might find he didn’t know, but he saw nothing.
She dropped her backpack on the floor and straightened a throw at the end of the sofa. “Want something to drink?”
More than anything he wanted to wash off this day and pray. Maybe forget how she reacted to the conversation in the SUV. “Actually I have a favor to ask.”
She arched a brow as she stepped to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. He looked at the contents, seeing only yogurt and bottled water.
She took a long drink of the water. “What do you need?”
“Can I take a shower? I feel like I need to clean the bomb scene off me.”
Her mouth dropped open for a moment. “Oh ... yeah, sure. I ... I guess.”
His request was too much for their professional relationship. “If it’s a problem, I understand, but we have a full day tomorrow and—”
“Of course. Let me get some towels and soap for the guest bathroom.” She rushed away, and he hated that he’d put her on the spot for the second time in less than an hour. If she hadn’t scurried out of the room, he would have taken back his request.
Antsy, he wandered the wide-open space, still wondering if she had a significant other. The simple thought of her in a relationship put a sharp pain in his heart.
She returned carrying a stack of lemon-yellow towels and wearing a tight smile on her face. “Sorry if I sounded a little freaked-out there. Your request just seems personal, and I’m really trying to keep things all business with you.”
His regret intensified. “I blew that for you, didn’t I? First on the ride over here, and now asking to shower.”
She looked at him and held his gaze. “I’m glad you shared your side of things with Olin.”
Her reply shocked him, and he stood there like a fool, staring at her until his mind cleared.
“Does it change anything for you?” he asked and hated that he felt the need to do so when he’d promised not to bring it up again.
She nibbled on her lip, and her eyes locked on his again. And there it was. What he’d hoped to see. Longed to see. Interest for him burning in her expression. He was suddenly very aware of being in her apartment with her. In her personal space. Close enough to touch her. Alone.
She broke eye contact and drew in a deep breath. “I really need to think about it.”
Her breathing was ragged, and his heart began racing. He could hardly think straight.
