Though the urge to hurry was beginning to beat through my brain, I knew that was one thing I couldn't do... if I wanted to save lives. ― Keri Arthur
Remorse
I mistook what was urgent for what was important. I should have kept Cyril in the loop and then I wouldn't have had to rashly call out the Swat team for what I thought was an emergency.
Yeah, I had a strip torn off me by Cyril for my carelessness and it was a well-deserved dressing down―the problem was Clare also ended up as collateral damage when she did nothing.
Although she wouldn't admit it, I was stepping on her toes.
The only saving grace for me was they both knew I overreacted―and why? Because it looked like deja vu to me and I couldn't lose Clare the same way I lost Sarah.
So I get a pity pass. I can almost hear their thoughts―Poor Cam, he's still dealing with loss.
Well yeah, I am, but that doesn't deserve a bye. I still have to do the job and I'm tasked with trying to save lives.
But stupid me, I could have ended up getting people killed.
Oh well, my bad, just doesn't cut it.
"I need you to snap out of it right now," Clare growled.
"Self pity doesn't help and beating yourself up is a perverted way of trying to make reparation when it only makes you feel worse."
"Maybe I'm too close to you and it's affecting my judgment." I protested.
Her eyes were filled with sparks. "Don't excuse a lapse of judgment―we both knew we should have kept Cyril in the loop―this is on both of us."
Her anger jerked the slack out of me. "You're right―I'm acting like a wimp instead of taking charge."
"Glad you finally see it. And by the way, I know you care about me, but I can be both loveable and capable at the same time. I don't need a care giver―I need a partner."
There was no need to say anything more―she was right and being sorry didn't help. What was needed was a plan to tease this dangerous duo out―make them show their hands so we could nail them to the wall.
"Okay," I sighed, "so I'm here now, where should we start?"
"Right here," she smiled, kissing me long and hard on the mouth. "I like that you care about me―just don't let it get in the way again."
"I think that's a lesson learned," I said ruefully, rubbing my lip. "By the way, I bruise easily."
"I'll keep that in mind," she whispered, kissing me softly this time...on my cheek.
We sat by the fire that night, as we did at Thanksgiving, this time, with even more to be grateful about.
Maggie, our golden retriever, was at our feet and Clare was nestled close to me on the couch. We were talking in drowsy tones as people do before a fire. I suppose that's where stories are birthed, in the comfort and warmth of a burning spar.
Our story was no different from countless others, except our lives were precarious, threatened by an unseen sniper with skill enough to kill at great distances and a vengeful woman who was after blood.
But other than that, most people were no different than Clare and I, eager to live and afraid to die.
But we really had to get rid of Jim Barnes and Robyn before they ruined our lives.
To be continued…
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