Chapter 19
Peter was tempted to cancel dinner with his grandparents again.
He had an inexplicable urge to stay nearby in case anything happened at Hailey’s parents’ place.
But that didn’t make sense. Staying in Kincaid would still leave him too far away to be of help in an emergency.
Besides, he got the impression that Mr. Jessup was quite capable of protecting his family.
And, as Peter kept having to remind himself, he was not Hailey’s bodyguard. That both relieved and irritated him, which also made no sense. He had zero confidence in his own ability to ensure her safety. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to.
He groaned, hating the fear and indecision that had plagued him since his accident. This was one of the many reasons why he couldn’t return to his former profession, no matter what his grandparents or Miguel said.
And he needed to get going if he intended to be on time.
It really was too late to cancel without a good reason anyway, and he didn’t want to disappoint Gran.
She’d video called every day this week to check on him.
When she called this morning, she’d informed him that she’d gotten up early to procure fresh fish from a local specialty market and was going to make him the best fish and chips he’d had in a long time.
He smiled, remembering her excitement. She did love to take care of her grandkids, and he was the only one close enough to spoil on a regular basis since his sister was still in England and his brother traveled so much.
Shoving his phone and wallet into his pocket, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door. Once he was in the car and driving north, he let his mind wander to Hailey’s situation again. He’d worked plenty of protection details before, but her situation baffled him.
Most people who employed the services of a personal protection agent had an obvious reason for why they needed security.
Government officials were often subject to death threats or other forms of intimidation for their policies or political alliances.
Billionaires had people out for their money.
Movie stars, music artists, or other public figures frequently needed protection from rabid fans or stalkers.
Women—and in some cases men—sometimes needed professional help to keep them safe from a violent ex.
Hailey fit none of those profiles. And there was no chance she’d simply been a victim of a random act of violence. Yesterday’s attack had been decidedly targeted.
His skin started to prickle, and his stomach lurched. It felt like the temperature had just jumped ten degrees. He glanced at the AC controls, but they were still set to max to offset the brutal August day. A wave in front of the vent confirmed cold air was still blowing through.
Then he realized where he was. Around the next bend in the road was the spot where he’d gone through the guardrail two years ago.
In the aftermath of yesterday’s events, he’d had a chance to think about his lack of panic when driving past here yesterday.
He’d hoped his days of unreasonable anxiety around this location were over.
He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.
Apparently not. He might not remember the night of his accident, but his body did.
Why couldn’t things just be easy? He knew the answer—had spent quite some time discussing it with his church small group.
Living in a fallen world often meant being surrounded by brokenness, being broken himself.
But he also knew there was hope, and he had to cling to that.
Implementing one of the breathing techniques he’d been taught at his most recent therapy session, he forced his fingers to relax, and then he prayed until the site of his near-death disappeared behind him.
About an hour later, he arrived at his destination.
Despite the scorching heat and little rain they’d had over the last couple of weeks, Gramps’s flower beds were flourishing.
Stretching the full length of the yellow-brick house, they looked like something from a home garden magazine.
The backyard held more of the same, plus several raised beds where Gran grew her prizewinning tomatoes.
The front door swung open, and Gramps stepped onto the narrow walkway that connected the house to the driveway. His wide smile was contagious, and Peter felt some of his stress trickle away as he climbed out of the car.
“Thought you’d never get here.”
Peter checked his watch. “I’m five minutes early.”
Gramps clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah well, guess we just missed you. Come on in, your gran has everything just about done.”
As they approached the flowers, Peter made a point to slow his steps and give them a good once-over. “You haven’t lost your touch, I see.”
His grandpa’s eyes twinkled. “Gives me something to do.”
Peter knew it was more than that. Gramps did indeed love to get his hands dirty with digging, planting, and pruning.
But he also loved to present Gran with the fruit of his labor.
Every morning from spring to fall, he brought her something from his garden.
It might be a single rosebud or a full bouquet, but whatever it was, the moment brought delight to them both.
Even as a child, Peter hadn’t missed the sparkle in their eyes, nor the love signified by the small gesture.
His own parents’ marriage had been turbulent, but his grandparents’ intentional nurturing of their relationship had given him hope.
Their example was one Peter wanted to emulate one day.
Inside, the tantalizing aroma of one of his favorite meals beckoned them to the kitchen, where Gran was bustling about the stove. Gramps flickered the light, and she spun to welcome them. Her hands flew in greeting, and Peter responded in kind.
Once again, he was grateful for the accessibility ASL offered.
Gran was profoundly deaf, and the nature of her hearing loss had excluded her as a candidate for a cochlear implant or any sort of hearing aids.
She could read lips moderately well but hadn’t had the resources growing up to master her own speech.
Signing, with or without accompanying speech, was much more efficient for all of them.
Soon the three of them were gathered around the small kitchen table, steaming plates of crisply battered fish and golden fried chips before them. Peter took the first bite, aware Gran was watching closely to gauge his reaction.
“It’s delicious,” he pronounced. And it was. Somehow, Gran had managed to find a recipe and ingredients that perfectly captured the essence of his homeland favorite. Gramps echoed the sentiment, and Gran fairly glowed at their praise.
For several minutes, their conversation was leisurely, centering on everyday things—the weather, local news, how many more quarts of tomatoes they intended to can this season. But as they neared the end of their meal, Gramps changed course.
“Any update on what happened to you the other night?”
Peter swallowed his last bite of fish and set his fork aside.
“Not really. They still haven’t determined who did it or why.
” Yeah, they’d made out with some petty cash and a few expensive watches and such, but they could have cleaned the jewelry shop out.
Instead, they’d used up precious time entering offices on the third floor.
Andre had let it slip that they’d caused some significant issues at Pendleton Accounting, which made Peter wonder if that had been their true target, with the other break-ins serving as a distraction.
Or perhaps the thefts had been opportunistic.
Or the data breaches could have been the distraction.
They just didn’t know. But if the data had been the objective, no one had been able to figure out what the intruders intended to do with it.
“Is that what has you so perturbed?”
“I’m not perturbed.” At least, he thought he’d been doing a pretty good job keeping his focus on the here and now. He hadn’t been thinking about the break-in at all. Concern for Hailey, however, continued to linger at the edges of his mind.
There it is again. Gran raised her eyebrows to punctuate her statement. What were you thinking about?
He sighed. No use trying to deny it. Gran was sharp. Gramps too.
“I met a woman at work last week.” He realized his mistake when both his grandparents grinned. “It’s not like that. She’s in trouble, but we don’t know why.”
Are you protecting her? Gran’s direct question caught him off guard, but it shouldn’t have.
“I don’t do that anymore. I’ve helped her out a few times, but that’s it.”
“You want to though,” Gramps observed. “You care about her.”
Peter started to deny it, but he couldn’t. “I do care. But I can’t offer the protection she needs. If she relies on me, she and her little girl might end up dead.” And it would be his fault.
You’re saying she’s better off with no protection? Gran asked.
“No, but I . . .” He couldn’t find the words for what he was trying to say.
Gran began signing again. You have a gift. You have training. You need to use them the best you can. You can’t let fear keep you from doing what’s right.
Was that what he was doing? He turned her words over in his mind while Gran, seeming to sense he needed time to absorb the idea, paused to serve dessert.
As they dug into a fresh blackberry cobbler, he finally asked, “What if I fail?”
Instead of answering directly, Gramps posed another question. “How have you helped her already?”
Peter related the gist of the previous incidents and his response. He couldn’t congratulate himself for his actions. He’d only done what was needed when he had the opportunity to step in.
But when he finished, Gramps nodded. “So what I’m hearing is that you still know how to respond in a crisis.”
Peter shook his head. “When I’m there in the moment, I don’t have to think about it.
I just act. But when I know what might be coming, how someone could die if I make the wrong decision .
. . it paralyzes me. And what if that only gets worse?
What if I have to make a decision under pressure, and I freeze up then? ”
“We aren’t meant to live in the what-ifs. You’ve trained for these types of situations. You’ve shown that despite your fears, when faced with a threat, you know what needs to be done, and you do it.”
“And sometimes I make mistakes, and my best efforts aren’t enough.
” He had the bumps and scars to prove it.
Had seen the same sort of scenario play out with one of his colleagues.
Memories of arriving on scene and discovering Andy’s lifeless body and that of their client still plagued him—almost as much as his own more recent failure did.
Andy had been an excellent bodyguard, but that hadn’t kept him or their client alive.
Peter had tried to tell himself it could never happen to him.
And then it had, just a few years later.
“No one expects you to be God.” Gramps’s observation pulled him from the past and brought him up short.
“I’m not trying to be.”
“Aren’t you? You take the blame for things you have no control over, and you think even implying an offer of help means guaranteeing success. That’s not your responsibility. It’s God’s.”
Gran chimed in again. Fear and shame are hard taskmasters, but you don’t serve them.
He pulled in a deep breath. Were his grandparents right? Was he allowing fear to steal his gifts from him?