Luck Be a Lady - Cathie Linz [70]
“We never talk about stuff,” he muttered, still acting like a kid.
“We’re starting now.”
“We don’t do touchy-feely.”
“We do now. Just this once is okay. So start talking.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell the truth.”
“You want the truth? Fine. I feel like shit. It’s my fault that Will died.”
Instead of being shocked by this news, his dad and granddad just looked at him with understanding. Why were they nodding like that? Did they agree that he was to blame?
“Because you were his partner and it was your job to protect him,” his dad said.
“Damn right. I sensed something was up but I couldn’t put a finger on it. Will was talking about his fiancée. We were serving a warrant on a guy. No prior history of violence. When I said I felt antsy, Will just laughed and said that’s because he was talking about getting married. He was standing right next to me. Then the shot came.” Logan’s throat tightened and he couldn’t speak for a moment. His mouth was dry. “I keep seeing it over and over again in my nightmares. One second we’re standing there talking . . . then he’s hit. Took a bullet in the neck. Blood all over. Everything goes into slow motion. I pulled him behind the parked car next to us. Put pressure on the wound. There was so much blood.” His throat tightened and he couldn’t speak for a moment. “He died in my arms.” His voice cracked.
Buddy and his dad gave him a moment to recover.
“What would you have done differently?” his dad asked quietly.
“Everything. I should have known. Should have trusted my gut. That was a mistake. One that cost Will his life.” Logan remembered yelling, “Officer down,” as the patrolmen who had accompanied them exchanged fire with the shooter.
By the time Logan pulled his own weapon out, it was all over. Will was dead and so was the shooter. “I’m not the same person anymore.” He couldn’t begin to describe the despair that had crept over him the instant he realized Will was gone.
“As cops we are trained to be in control,” his dad said. “Trained to function in emergency situations. We are action-oriented problem-solvers. We believe we can control the unexpected. But we can’t. Not all the time.”
“Why Will and not me?”
“Ah, that’s the question, now isn’t it?” Buddy stood behind Logan and put his hands on his shoulders in a show of support. “It wasn’t your time, boy-o.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“You think you are in charge of the world but you’re not. And Will’s death forced you to acknowledge that.”
“He shouldn’t have died.”
“No, he shouldn’t have. But you didn’t kill him. I know you’d give anything for things to have turned out different. If you could only go back and do it over, you’d trust your gut. You’d have been more cautious. But we rarely get do-overs in this life. And even if you’d been more cautious somehow, there’s no guarantee the outcome wouldn’t have been the same. And we plan on talking to you all night if we have to in order to convince you of that fact. So make yourself comfortable, boy-o. We’re here for the long haul, and you might as well get used to it.”
Megan worried about Logan and his dad and grandfather all night and all day Sunday. She didn’t want to intrude on a personal family situation. She just wanted to know that everyone concerned was okay. She finally gave in by Sunday evening and called Logan.
“I can’t talk now, Megan.” His voice was curt. “Everything is okay. I’ll call you later.” An instant later, she heard the dial tone.
She tried not to be hurt by his brush-off, but it was difficult not to be. He hadn’t even given her the chance to say anything before hanging up on her. And when was later? Later tonight? Tomorrow? Next year?
His record as far as calling her went was dismal.
Fine. She wasn’t going to sit around and mope. She had plenty of things to keep her busy. She would kick Logan Doyle out of her mind. She was tough. She could do that.
The next morning, Megan started her Monday walk to work by appreciating the above-average temperatures