His cheeks puffing outward, Randall exhaled a long, slow breath and explained that Blake had been murdered in Mexico. When Faith probed for more information, he told her the whole story, including the attack on Devlin’s family.
Having finished recounting the tale, Randall turned his back on Faith and slid hands into pants pockets. “I’m sorry.” He looked up at a bright blue sky, a few stringy clouds playing across it. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you that. I figured Jessica would’ve contacted you by now.”
“She called me...before I was taken. But I,” Faith put both feet on the ground, bent over, and held her head in her hands, “I was busy. I couldn’t take her call.” She cursed. “Some sister I am.”
“We all get calls we can’t take. You couldn’t have known.”
The roadway around her rotating, Faith slammed shut her eyes at the thought of Blake being dead. A series of violent images zipped through her brain, beginning with her abduction. Those images were accompanied by an overwhelming sense of fear at how close she had come to being raped and most likely murdered.
“I’m sure Jessica understands.” Randall pivoted. “She knows you’re—”
Faith’s shoulders bounced up and down.
He saw wetness between the fingers covering the woman’s face. Taking a knee, he clutched her upper arms. “Hey, hey...it’s okay. She knows you have a lot of responsibilities.”
Faith sat upright, shaking her head, and wiping her cheeks. “It’s not that. I know she understands. It’s just,” she sniffled and ran fingers over her nose, “it’s just...I think with everything that’s happened...in the last few days,” she swallowed, “I think it all just came rushing up to the surface.”
He patted her hip. “That’s to be expected.”
Her chest swelled. “I can’t help but think there was something I could’ve done differently...something,” she looked away and exhaled, “something I should’ve done that would’ve kept all this...”
“No.” Randall whipped his head back and forth. “No. Don’t...”
“...from happ—”
“...don’t take that on.” He sloped sideways and got in her line of sight. “You did nothing wrong.”
She regarded him.
“So just get that out of your head. You hear me?”
Licking her lips, she looked down. “Yes. I hear you. But you didn’t go through what I went through. You weren’t the one naked and exposed, waiting for that guy to shove his,” her voice trailed off.
Randall hung his head and envisioned a bound Faith, bent over the arm of the sofa. “You’re right. I’m not necessarily the best person to offer advice on this topic; however,” he raised his head, “you’re a cop. You know what happens after a woman’s been assaulted.” He paused. “You know they oftentimes end up blaming themselves. Isn’t that right?”
She nodded.
“And, even though you weren’t actually,” he wavered, “well, you’re still blaming yourself for what happened. So take your own advice, the advice I’m sure you’ve given to victims over the years.”
Her shoulders rising and falling once, Faith let out a breath. “I guess I probably should.”
A minute passed.
Randall pivoted his head. “When I was in grade school, there was this kid who,” he hesitated, “he must’ve been on a mission to make my life a living hell. No matter what I did, he still picked on me. At the time, I just kept thinking that if I was nicer to him, if I helped him with his schoolwork, if I...whatever...that he would treat me better.”
Slanting closer to him while pressing her knees together and resting her elbows on them, Faith strained her ears to pick up Randall’s every word.
“One day, my Pops must’ve sensed something was off with me.” Randall rocked backward into a squat and sat on his haunches, his forearms on his thighs, his fingers interlaced between his knees. “He asked me what was going on, and I told him. We talked for a few minutes before he looked me in the eye and said...Noah, don’t take responsibility for someone else’s shortcomings.”
She frowned. “What exactly did he mean by that?”
“Basically, he told me that this kid was probably a bully with lots of problems, shortcomings. And that no matter what I did, I was most likely not going to get him to like me.”
Faith bobbed her chin at Randall. “So what happened? Did you and this kid eventually patch things up?”
“He kept picking on me. So, one day after school, I called him over and,” Randall stared at her lower legs, “and I beat the snot out of him.”
Her eyes bulging, Faith sat erect.
“I don’t think that’s what Pops had in mind when we talked that day, but,” Randall regarded Faith, “the kid did stop picking on me after that.”
A slow grin overhauled her shocked expression.
He cupped her kneecaps. “The takeaway from all that is...you did everything you could to fight those men off.”
Envisioning the damage that she had inflicted—cutting Mason twice, once with a lamp and once with a knife; gouging the man’s accomplice with a homemade shank and, later, kicking him in the groin, she let a sliver of a smile play over her features. “Oh, I got my shots in all right.”
“I’ll bet you did.” Randall patted one of her knees a couple times. “You can’t expect anything more from yourself, Miss Mahoney. So, just like Pops told me, I’m telling you. You’re not responsible for someone else’s behavior.”
After peering into his brown eyes, she admired his dark hair and square jaw before nodding and covering his hands with hers. “Thank you...again.”
He smiled, “You’re very welcome,” and stood a moment later. “Now...where would you like me to drive you?”
“Home.” She swung her legs into the car. “Where I can get a hot shower and put on some clean clothes.”
“Home it is.” He closed her door and walked around to the driver’s side, his mind thinking of the flight back to Virginia and the upcoming hunt for the outlaw who started all this, Michael Crane.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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