Page 147 of Unseen Danger

If he couldn’t protect the woman he loved, how could he protect anyone? And what was his life worth if he couldn’t protect the people he loved? What was it all for? That was what his life was all about. If he couldn’t save people from danger…

“That’s in God’s hands.” His dad’s voice came to him as if carried on the fog.

Air returned to Branson’s lungs as he remembered the rest of what his dad had said.

“Our God is mighty to save…”

The truth hit him like a punch in the gut, making him drop his hold on the pillar.

When had he become so arrogant that he thought he was stronger than God? He had completely overestimated his own strength and abilities. Training and skills seemed like they would supply all he needed to be able to save the day. Every time. As if he were some kind of superhero.

But prizing physical strength and fighting skills, and even the intelligence to create secure environments, above all else was a slippery foundation for life. Because he was only human.

Even superheroes were defeated sometimes. And Branson didn’t have superhuman powers. But he’d sure acted like he did, thinking he alone could keep Nevaeh and everyone else protected at all times.

Only God was mighty enough to accomplish that. Branson had forgotten that truth somewhere along the way to trying to impress others and be a hero people would look up to, like Andrew.

He’d wanted to be a man who made a difference and saved lives. That wasn’t a bad thing.

But he’d determined having superior human strength was far better than pursuing the kind of strength his dad had. It was ironic, because though his dad didn’t save physical lives, he was the means God used to save souls. He made the most important kind of impact on people’s lives.

The kind of impact Branson could’ve had on others, even in the celebrity culture. He’d blamed his silence about God and Christianity on the consequences he’d incur if he risked sharing about Christ. But the job hadn’t silenced him and made him drift away from God. He’d done that himself. Because he hadn’t trusted God to take care of the fallout if he spoke the truth with boldness. He should’ve been speaking out and standing firm, no matter the risks.

Thanks to his mixed-up priorities, he’d missed having the most important kind of impact in Nevaeh’s life. He could’ve done more to point her to Christ, to help her gain freedom from her fear by telling her about the only way victory over fear was possible—through God’s power.

The same power that was accessible to Branson right now.

Hope stirred in his stomach as he walked away from the pillar and stopped beneath a tall lamp that pushed light through the thinning fog.

He could do something to help Nevaeh. He could access the superhuman powers available to him. He could pray.

“Lord, I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish and arrogant in my aspirations for my career, for my life. I didn’t even ask You what You wanted me to do with my life. And I may have missed the chance to tell Nevaeh about You.” His voice choked on the words as remorse, worry, and desperation clogged his throat. “Please give me another chance, Lord. Please protect her.”

God could keep her safe. Branson knew that. Andrew had always said God had put him in the church at the right time, in just the right position to be able to take down the shooter. It was God, not Andrew, Who had protected the people that day.

And it would be God now, not Branson, Who would protect Nevaeh if that was His plan.

“I know You can do so much more to help Nevaeh than I can, Lord. Only You know all things, control all things, and have power over evil. We need Your help right now, Lord. Nevaeh needs You. Please, protect her from danger. Deliver her.”

His phone dinged in his back pocket.

He reached for it as he swiped away the tear track on his cheek. He checked the screen.

D-Chop.

His heart lurched as he smacked the phone to his ear. “D-Chop?”

“Hey. Heard about Nevaeh. You’re getting her back, right? I can’t believe Buzz would do something so stupid.”

“Buzz? You mean Walter Johnson?”

“Yeah, he always been Buzz to us.”

Branson gripped the phone tighter. “Have you known him long?”

“Sure. Grew up in the same hood. Ran with the same...kids.” He’d probably stopped short to avoid saying gang instead. “Got him a job not long ago with a pit crew back in L.A.”

“Then maybe you can tell us where he’d go to hide out. If he wanted to keep Nevaeh hidden, where would he go around here? A place he’d know about that he could use.”

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