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“I know what you mean.”
“Both times he did the wrong thing,” Cate said softly. “But with the best intentions. It had to be heartbreaking for him.” She was silent for a moment. “That’s why I feel responsible for what happened the other day—the prosecutor who was killed, the men who were shot.”
“You’re not responsible,” Liam insisted, taking his eyes off the road for a few seconds to make sure Cate understood. “Vishenko—assuming he’s behind the attempt to kill you, which is a pretty fair assumption—is responsible. For all of it. Not you.”
Cate shook her head. “But I am. Because I was a coward for so many years...until Alec convinced me otherwise. If I had—” She broke off, and Liam wondered what she’d been about to say. She finally continued. “If I had gone to the police years ago with what I knew...with the evidence I had...who knows? Things could have been so different.”
Liam was sure this wasn’t what she’d originally been thinking, but all he said was “You can’t second-guess yourself like this. That’s the first thing you learn when you become a bodyguard. All you can do is the best you can do at the time.”
“That’s what Alec and Angelina said.”
“They’re right.” Cate still didn’t look convinced, so Liam added, “Remember what D’Arcy said? That Vishenko was working hand in glove with Pennington back in the day? They could have stopped him then, same as Pennington, if they’d known. But they didn’t. Everything that happened to you at Vishenko’s hands could have been prevented...if they’d stopped him years ago. Same goes for what happened in the courthouse. But they didn’t know. D’Arcy, Callahan and my brother-in-law, Cody, did the best they could with what they knew at the time. That’s all any of us can do. If we clutter up our minds with what-ifs and might-have-beens, we’ll be frozen with fear of making a mistake. Then at the critical moment we won’t do anything. And that’s worse than doing the wrong thing for the right reasons.”
The GPS beeped at that moment, announcing a rest area five miles ahead. “Do you need to stop?” he asked her.
“No, I’m fine for now.”
Liam thought for a moment. “The past is the past, Cate,” he said finally, returning to their original conversation. “It is what it is, and we can’t change a single thing. Would I change things I’ve done over the years if I could? Sure. I don’t think anyone can say they’ve never made a mistake they’d give anything to fix. But we can’t fix it. We can only learn from it, and try not to make the same mistakes in the future.”
He took his right hand off the steering wheel and laid it over her left one. Once again she didn’t flinch away from his touch, and Liam drew courage from that lack of negative reaction. He drew a deep breath. “Last night you said there’s nothing you want more than to be able to come to a man clean and whole, but you can’t because of what Vishenko did to you. If that’s the only thing holding you back—because he made you feel broken and unclean—don’t. Don’t let the past color your future. Don’t let him win.”
“That’s what Alec said when he was trying to convince me to testify against Vishenko. He said, ‘You can’t let him win...not ever again.’” She turned away and stared out the window, her face a mask of repressed emotion. “Do you think I want to let him win?” she asked in a desperate undertone. “Do you think I want to remember?” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want that, but I’m afraid, Liam. Afraid that if I try to...to...do as you say, that I will remember. And I don’t think I can bear it.”
* * *
Vishenko sat back in his leather seat in the cabin of his private Learjet, and stared across the short distance at the government bureaucrat he was attempting to bribe. Despite the fact that it was early afternoon, he’d served them both snifters of Courvoisier L’Essence, his favorite cognac, and both men were savoring it.
Vishenko gave the other man points for being a good negotiator by the simple expedient of saying absolutely nothing. He had not named a price. He had not mentioned a name. He had merely sat silently in the seat he’d been offered...and waited for Vishenko to make the first move. To make the first offer.
“One million,” Vishenko said finally.
The man chuckled softly, his teeth gleaming white in his dark face. “That has been offered to others for more than a year. And it got you absolutely nothing.”
True, Vishenko acknowledged to himself. “What would you consider a fair offer?” he asked, wanting the other man to state his price...so he could negotiate down from there. If he made the first offer himself, he could easily overshoot the mark and end up paying more than the man would settle for.
