Riley decided to ignore that question and focus on the delicious meal. But as they ate, she soon noticed that Blaine’s mind seemed to be elsewhere.
“What’s the matter?” she asked him.
Blaine didn’t reply. His eyes roamed about uneasily.
She felt a flash of worry. What was the problem?
Was he having second thoughts about last night? Was he less contented with this than she was?
“Blaine, what’s wrong?” Riley asked, her voice shaking a little.
After a pause, Blaine said, “Riley, I just don’t feel … safe.”
Riley struggled to make sense of what Blaine had said. Was all the warmth and affection they’d shared since their date last night suddenly gone? What had happened between them to change everything?
“I – I don’t understand,” she stammered. “What do you mean, you don’t feel safe?”
Blaine hesitated, then said, “I think I need to buy a gun. For home protection.”
His words jolted Riley. She hadn’t expected this.
But maybe I should have, she thought.
Sitting across the table from him, she could see a scar on his right cheek. He’d gotten that scar last November in Riley’s own home, trying to protect April and Gabriela from an attacker bent on revenge.
Riley remembered the terrible guilt she’d felt at seeing Blaine unconscious in a hospital bed after it was over.
And now she felt that guilt all over again.
Would Blaine ever feel safe with Riley in her life? Would he ever feel that his daughter could be safe?
And was a gun what he really needed to make him feel safer?
Riley shook her head.
“I don’t know, Blaine,” she said. “I’m not a great fan of civilians keeping weapons in their homes.”
As soon as the words were out, Riley realized how patronizing they sounded.
She couldn’t tell from Blaine’s expression whether he was offended or not. He seemed to be waiting for her to say more.
Riley sipped her coffee, gathering her thoughts.
She said, “Did you know that statistically, home weapons are more likely to lead to homicides, suicides, and accidental deaths than successful home defense? In fact, gun owners are generally at greater risk of becoming homicide victims themselves than people who don’t own guns.”
Blaine nodded.
“Yeah, I know all about that,” he said. “I’ve been doing some research. I also know about Virginia’s self-defense laws. And that this is an open-carry state.”
Riley tilted her head with approval.
“Well, you’re already better prepared than most people who decide to buy a gun. Even so …”
Her words trailed off. She was reluctant to say what was on her mind.
“What is it?” Blaine asked.
Riley took a long, deep breath.
“Blaine, would you want to buy a gun if I wasn’t part of your life?”
“Oh, Riley – ”
“Tell me the truth. Please.”
Blaine sat staring into his coffee for a moment.
“No, I wouldn’t,” he finally said.
Riley reached across the table and held Blaine’s hand.
“That’s what I thought. And I’m sure you can understand how that makes me feel. I care for you a lot, Blaine. It’s terrible to know that your life is more dangerous because of me.”
“I get that,” Blaine said. “But I want you to tell me the truth about something. And please don’t take this wrong.”
Riley silently braced herself for whatever Blaine was about to ask her.
“Are your feelings really a good argument against my buying a gun? I mean, isn’t it a fact that I’m in more danger than the average citizen, and that I ought to be able to defend myself and Crystal – and maybe even you?”
Riley shrugged a little. She felt sad to admit it to herself, but Blaine was right.
If a gun would make him feel more safe and secure, he ought to have one.
She was also sure that he’d be as responsible as a gun owner could possibly be.
“OK,” she said. “Let’s finish breakfast and go shopping.”
Later that morning, Blaine walked into a gun store with Riley. Right away Blaine wondered if he was making a mistake. He couldn’t guess how many fearsome weapons were on the walls and in glass cases. He’d never even fired a gun before – unless he counted the BB gun he’d had as a kid.
What am I getting into? he thought.
A large, bearded man in a plaid shirt was moving about among the merchandise.
“How can I help you folks?” he asked.
Riley said, “We’re looking for some home protection for my friend.”
“Well, I’m sure we’ve got something here that will suit you,” the man said.
Blaine felt awkward under the man’s gaze. He guessed that it wasn’t every day when an attractive woman brought her boyfriend in here to help him choose a weapon.
Blaine couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. He even felt embarrassed about feeling embarrassed. He’d never thought of himself as the kind of man who felt insecure about his masculinity.
As Blaine tried to snap himself out of his awkwardness, the gun seller eyed Riley’s own sidearm with approval.
“That Glock Model 22 you’ve got there’s a fine piece, ma’am,” he said. “A law enforcement professional, are you?”
Riley smiled and showed him her badge.
The man pointed to a row of similar weapons in a glass case.
“Well, I’ve got your Glocks right over here. Pretty good choices, if you ask me.”
Riley looked at the weapons, then looked at Blaine, as if to ask his opinion.
Blaine couldn’t do anything but shrug and blush. He wished he’d put the same time into researching weapons as he had into statistics and laws.
Riley shook her head.
“I’m not sure a semiautomatic is quite what we’re in the market for,” she said.
The man nodded.
“Yeah, they’re kind of complicated, especially for someone new to guns. Things can go wrong.”
Riley nodded in agreement, adding, “Yeah, things like misfires, stovepipe jams, double feed, failure to eject.”
The man said, “Of course, those aren’t real problems for a seasoned FBI gal like you. But for this feller, maybe a revolver is more the style you’re looking for.”
The man escorted them to a glass case full of revolvers.
Blaine’s eyes were drawn to some of the guns with shorter barrels.
At least they looked less intimidating.
“What about that one there?” he said, pointing to one.
The man opened the case, took out the gun, and handed it to Blaine. The weapon felt strange in Blaine’s hand. He couldn’t decide whether it was heavier or lighter than he’d expected.
“A Ruger SP101,” the man said. “Good stopping power. Not a bad