Eye for an Eye, an (Heroes of Quantico Book #2): A Novel (3 page)

“I don’t want to jump to any conclusions without some preliminary findings from the crime scene investigation. But I think Mark’s reasoning is sound.”

“So do I. We could be dealing with a sniper who has a very specific target. I’m going to brief the CIRG team as soon as I hang up.”

Again, Mark wasn’t surprised. The HRT was part of the FBI’s larger Critical Incident Response Group, which was charged with crisis management in large-scale, volatile situations. Some of the group’s resources would be tapped to assist with this investigation because of Mark’s involvement.

The sound of shuffling papers came over the line. Mark pictured Les squinting, as he often did in tense situations, his ever-present unlit cigar clenched between his teeth.

“Until we get a better handle on this, I want security on Mark 24/7. I’ll send Coop out there to assist.”

Cringing, Mark imagined his teammate’s reaction to bodyguard duty. They’d worked a few dignitary protection details together through the years, and those had been among Coop’s least-favorite assignments. “I think we can handle this with existing manpower.”

“The decision’s not open to debate. You and Coop have worked together for four years. He knows you—and your habits—better than anyone. He’ll be there this afternoon.”

Coop did know him well, Mark reflected. They’d been on the same assault team since Mark joined the HRT, and when a mission called for partners, they were usually paired. It was unofficial, but that’s how Mark always thought of Coop—as a partner. And friend.

“I’m also going to have Christy take another look at the hate mail and phone calls we got after your shooting incident and review her risk assessment,” Les continued. “See if she missed something.”

Unlikely. Christy Reynolds was a top-notch profiler in the Behavioral Science Unit. She was good at what she did, and she didn’t miss much. But this time Mark kept his mouth shut.

“I know everyone will be on this 24/7. Keep in touch over the weekend, and let’s regroup first thing Monday via conference call,” Les concluded. “By then we should have some data from the crime scene to add to the mix. Get any evidence to Quantico ASAP. In the meantime, Mark, pull up recent prison releases for cases from your days as a field agent. Anything else we need to discuss?”

After a quick look at Steve, Mark responded. “No. We don’t have enough information yet.”

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“How’s the woman doing?”

“She was stable when the EMTs took her out.”

“Good. Keep me in the loop if anything comes up before the conference call.”

The line went dead.

As Steve replaced the receiver, he quirked an eyebrow. “He doesn’t waste words, does he?”

“No. But he knows his stuff.”

Steve turned to Nick, who’d moved off a discreet distance during the call, and waved him over. “Do you have room for one more in that pile-of-bricks rehab you call home?”

“Sure. I can move some drywall and lumber aside.” Nick rejoined them. “What’s up?”

“The Bureau is sending out one of Mark’s teammates. Until we get a handle on this, I want one of you on him whenever he steps outside your door. It will be easier if you’re living under the same roof.”

“You think this was a hit on Mark?”

“It’s a possibility. The MO of this incident doesn’t fit a random shooter.”

“Steve . . . sorry to interrupt, but the press is clamoring for info.”

The three men turned to Ellen Levine, who handled media relations for the St. Louis office.

“I want to get with Oakdale before we say anything, but I’d prefer to stick to the basics—a shooter in the park, one victim with injuries, no other details available yet. You okay with that?”

Ellen asked.

“Fine with me,” Steve replied.

“Can we keep Emily’s name out of this?” Mark directed his query to Ellen. After pulling her into this mess, the least he could do was protect her privacy.

“We can try. The press was all over the ambulance as they took her out. I don’t think they got a look at her, but they’ll figure out where she is.”

“We have an agent with her,” Steve told Mark. “He won’t let anyone except medical personnel get close. Until we sort this out, I want security on both of you. Okay, let’s do a quick debrief with the team here.”

Steve rounded up Clair Ellis, the ERT lead investigator, along with detective Captain Carl Owens from Oakdale and the agents from the St. Louis FBI office who had arrived on the scene. Once the group had gathered, Mark walked them through the events leading up to the shooting. Carl and Steve agreed that both FBI and Oakdale resources would be used in the investigation, and that the FBI’s ERT would handle evidence collection and analysis. Tasks were assigned, and Oakdale officers were paired with FBI agents to begin an immediate canvas of the residential area around the wooded area where Mark had pinpointed the shooter.

As they wrapped up, Clair turned to Mark. “I could use some input in the park.”

“Sure.” Mark followed her, with Nick and Steve close behind. A casual onlooker would be surprised by the apparent lack of activity inside the yellow police tape, Mark speculated. But he’d been impressed with the St. Louis ERT during his brief tenure. Already one crime scene investigator was sweeping a fifty-yard radius around the shooting site with a metal detector, searching for the two bullets. In the woods, he knew the hunt would be on for spent shell casings. Once the shooter’s position was identified, a technician would check for fingerprints, footprints, trace evidence. Another technician was beginning to videotape the area and would follow up with digital photos.

No detail would be overlooked. If there was evidence to find, the ERT would discover it.

Clair led them toward the overturned bench and took out a sketchpad. Mark tried to ignore the bloodstains on the concrete. “I need an exact placement for you and your companion.”

She directed her comment to Mark. “Can you walk me through your positions?”

“While you do that, I’m going to see what’s happening in the woods. Stay tight.” Steve looked at Nick.

The agent acknowledged the order with a nod.

Mark sent his friend a disgruntled look. “This is overkill. The place is crawling with police. The shooter is long gone.” Already he was feeling smothered.

“He’s the boss.” Nick lifted one shoulder and stood his ground, folding his arms across his chest.

Turning his back on Nick, Mark recounted the minutes leading up to the shooting and showed Clair where he and Emily had been standing as the first shot was fired. Another technician took measurements, and Clair incorporated those into her diagram.

They ran through the same drill near the bench.

As they finished, Steve rejoined them.

“Did they find anything?” Mark asked.

“Not yet.”

“I’ve got something.”

At the announcement, all heads turned toward the technician with the metal detector. Clair set aside her sketchpad to join him, followed by the technician with the camera and video equipment. As she placed a number on the grass beside the bullet that was lodged partway in the ground, her actions were recorded on video. With the camera running, she extracted the piece of lead with long pincers. Slipping it into an envelope, she sealed the flap. After signing the envelope, she recorded the same number on the outside and jotted that ID in the evidence log.

“One down, one to go.” Steve planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the park. “We’ll need statements from you and your friend, as soon as she’s up to it.”

“I can take care of mine now.” Mark checked his watch. “But I want to talk to the hospital first.”

“I’ll do that while you get started on the statement.” Steve inclined his head toward a waiting detective. “He’s chomping at the bit.” Turning toward Nick, he opened his mouth to speak.

But the agent beat him to it.

“I know. Stay tight. Got it.”

His response earned Nick a cool perusal through narrowed eyes. “I like guys who listen.”

As Steve walked away, Nick grinned at Mark. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“Don’t rub it in. It’s bad enough that I have to live in your construction site.”

“Hey, it’s a great house.”

“Maybe someday.”

Without giving Nick a chance to respond, he headed to the command center.

By the time Mark finished his statement, Steve had returned. “She’s doing okay. They’re moving her to a private room as we speak. Her blood pressure’s low, and she lost a lot of blood, so they want to keep her overnight. I understand she’s not happy about that.”

“I’ll talk to her when I stop by. Is there any reason for me to hang around here?”

“No. The ERT has center stage today.”

“Okay. I’m going to swing by the house to shower, then stop by the office and check my prison releases. But I don’t think I’ve had any in the past few months.”

“Good. That will be one class of suspect we can rule out. I’ll call you if anything breaks.” With a wave, Steve headed toward the woods.

Mark glanced back toward the bloodstained bench. In a flash, the horror came rushing back. Along with anger. And fear. Emily could have died in his arms this morning.

“My car’s over by the command center.” Nick stepped into his line of sight, blocking his view. “Let’s get out of here.”

His jaw clenching, Mark turned away. “Yeah. Let’s.”

3

It was almost five o’clock when Mark wrapped up at the office. As he’d anticipated, his computer search for recent prison releases from his field days had been a wash. Though he’d been less diligent about monitoring them after joining the HRT, he did check on a periodic basis. It paid to watch your back.

Standing, he clipped his BlackBerry onto his belt and snagged his jacket off the chair beside his desk.

“Ready to go?”

At the familiar voice, he turned. Coop stood at the entrance to his cube, one shoulder propped against the partition, arms folded over his chest. Tall, dark, and imposing, Evan Cooper still looked every bit the Division I quarterback he’d been in his college days. But it was his keen judgment and team orientation as much as his athletic prowess that had earned him a coveted spot on the HRT. Mark always felt lucky to draw him as a partner on missions.

“When did you get here?”

“I walked in about ten minutes ago. Looks like my timing was perfect.”

“Sorry about the bodyguard gig. I tried to talk Les out of it.”

“Not a problem. I don’t mind a little easy duty on occasion.

And Monica sends her thanks. She’s glad there won’t be any deployments of unspecified duration to unknown destinations in my immediate future.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Beginning to get uncomfortable. If it was up to her, she’d have gone straight from four months to birth.”

Grinning, Mark slid his arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

“Have you talked to Les about taking some time off after the baby’s born?”

“We’ve had a few discussions.” Coop pushed away from the partition. “Where are we off to?”

“I want to stop by the hospital.”

“Steve said you know the woman who was shot.”

“Yeah. We go way back. But I haven’t seen her in twenty years.

And after a reunion like this, I wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to see me again.” A muscle clenched in his jaw.

“If you hadn’t been there and reacted as quickly as you did, she might be dead.”

“If I hadn’t been there, the shooting might not have happened.” “I’ve been thinking about that.” Coop shoved his hands into his pockets and regarded Mark. “You’re guessing this is related to the convenience store incident. That you were targeted.”

“It seems like a logical conclusion. A random shooter doesn’t pick a deserted park and fire just two shots.”

“Do you jog there every day?”

“No.” He’d been indoctrinated to avoid patterned behavior.

“But I do go there a couple of times a week. If someone was after me, they could show up a few days in a row and wait.”

“That would raise the risk of detection exponentially.”

“We may not be dealing with a rational person.”

“I’m not sure I buy that. From what I’ve gathered, the shooting sounds like a very deliberate, well-thought-out attempt to take somebody out. And according to the latest update from the crime scene, the shooter managed to disappear without leaving much evidence. That suggests he didn’t want to be caught and knew how to avoid detection. Sounds rational to me.”

“Then how do you explain the risk he took, hanging around maybe several days in a row, waiting for me to show?”

“I can’t. It doesn’t make sense. But neither does the random theory.” A beat of silence ticked by. “Tell me about your friend.”

Mark paused in the process of sliding his Glock into the holster on his belt, momentarily thrown by the change of subject.

“Emily?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s a clinical psychologist.”

“Any enemies that you know of?”

The question jolted him. “She’s not the kind of person to have enemies.”

“How do you know? You haven’t seen her in twenty years.”

“I talked to her this morning. Trust me. She’s still not the kind of person to have enemies.”

“Steve’s running a background check on her.”

“That’s a waste of time.”

“I’d do the same in his place. You would too, under normal circumstances.” Coop gave him a speculative look. “Maybe you’re too close to this one, Mark.”

Taking a deep breath, Mark secured his gun in his holster.

“Okay. You’re right. Every possibility does need to be looked at—dead end or not. You ready to head out?”

“Lead the way. I took a cab from the airport. I didn’t think I’d need a car, since Les’s orders were clear that I was to be your shadow until this thing gets sorted out.”

“You realize that may not happen overnight.” Mark wove his way to the rear of the building.

“Yes. That’s why I reminded Monica as I left that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“I bet she loved that.” Mark reached for the door, only to feel Coop’s restraining hand on his shoulder.

“Hand over the keys and let me go first.”

Frustration tightened Mark’s features as he turned toward his partner. “This is going to get old really fast.”

“Understood. But humor me, okay? If anything happens to you, my neck’s on the line.”

With a disgruntled look, Mark fished the keys out of his pocket and stepped aside. Coop disappeared through the door, returning two minutes later to motion him outside. “We’re clear.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Coop’s sarcasm matched Mark’s.

The drive to the hospital was quiet. Mark knew Coop was checking for tails—just as he was. If this kept up, he was going to be more paranoid than he already was.

They stopped once, at a florist shop, and Coop insisted on the same security drill. But at least he didn’t comment on the oversized bouquet of roses Mark purchased. Unless a raised eyebrow could be construed as a comment.

In any case, Mark ignored it.

At the hospital, Coop parked near the service entrance in the back to avoid the press vans staking out the main entrance.

Again, Mark waited until Coop did a sweep of the area before he got out of the car. Deciding humor rather than anger or frustration might be the easiest way to deal with the awkward situation, he grinned as he stepped out of the car and leaned back in to retrieve the flowers.

“I could get used to this. It makes me feel important.”

Coop gave him a dry look. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

With a chuckle, Mark headed inside.

They found a fellow agent sitting outside Emily’s door, and Mark did the introductions as Coop flashed his credentials.

“I’ll take over for a while if you want to stretch your legs,”

Coop offered.

“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.” The man turned to Mark. “Steve said to let him know if you think she’s up to an interview. Oakdale would like to get a statement today.”

“Okay, thanks.”

As the agent disappeared down the hall, Mark turned to Coop.

“I won’t be long.”

“Don’t rush on my account.” Coop settled into the chair. “In light of the fact that I’ll be sleeping in a construction zone, I’m in no hurry to leave.”

“I take it you talked to Nick?”

“Yeah. I ran into him in the office when I arrived. He hasn’t changed much since you and I were in Richmond with Monica a year and a half ago. Anyway, he warned me about the house.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is if you’re allergic to drywall dust.”

“Seriously?” After four years working in often too-close quarters with his partner, he thought he knew all of Coop’s idiosyncrasies.

“Don’t worry. I came with some heavy-duty medication. I’ll live.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel even guiltier, it’s working.”

“Good. You’ll owe me.” Coop grinned and eyed the flowers.

“Now go see the lady.”

Shaking his head, Mark turned and tapped lightly on the door, cracking it a few inches. “Em? It’s Mark. May I come in?”

There was a rustle of sheets before she responded. “Of course.”

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The top of the bed was hidden from his view, but he confirmed with a quick glance that the agent protecting Emily had drawn and closed the vertical blinds. It was a standard security and privacy measure. Reporters would do almost anything to get video for the evening news, and a plate glass window wouldn’t stop a sniper if he could get a clear line of sight.

The latter scenario didn’t sit well with him, and he pushed it aside. Forcing his lips into a smile, he moved into the room.

To his relief, Emily’s pallor had been replaced with near-normal color, and her eyes were alert. Strain had tightened her features, but considering the sizeable bandage on one arm, the IV in the other, plus her multiple abrasions and bruises, that didn’t surprise him.

“We have to stop meeting like this, you know.” She managed a weary smile as she greeted him.

“I don’t know. I kind of like those pajamas.” Grinning, he moved beside the bed and gave the pink satin top an appreciative inspection.

Warmth tinted her cheeks. “You’ve gotten pretty bold since the old days.”

“More flush too. As I recall, a bouquet of daisies was about all I could afford back then.” He leaned over to set the vase of pink roses on the nightstand, moving a worn Bible aside to clear a space for them.

“Could you let me smell them first?”

“Sure.” He switched direction. She attempted to sit up, but when she stiffened and drew in a sharp breath, he put a hand on her shoulder and pressed her gently back.

“I have a better idea.”

Setting the vase on the nightstand, he withdrew a single long-stemmed pink blossom and handed it to her. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled, closing her eyes as a contented smile softened her lips. “I love the smell of roses. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He drew the side chair close to her bed and sat. “Tell me how you’re doing.”

“I tried to convince them to let me go home.”

“I heard.”

“They said my blood pressure was too low.”

“I heard that too. You lost a lot of blood.”

“Is there anything you haven’t heard?”

He grinned. “Being with the FBI has its advantages.”

“I’m beginning to realize that. And I hope that means you can fill me in on what happened. No one’s told me a thing.”

“There isn’t much to tell yet. The incident is being investigated as we speak. We think it was a single shooter. He was gone before the police arrived.”

“Who would do a thing like this?”

“We aren’t sure.”

“Was it someone trying to make some sort of statement, like you hear about on the news once in a while?”

“It’s possible. But not likely. Those kinds of shooters tend to pick crowded places and try to inflict as much damage as possible. He only fired two shots, and there was no one around except you and me.”

Some of the color left her cheeks. “You think he was shooting at us specifically?”

“That’s one of the theories we’re considering.”

“Why?”

He debated how to answer, choosing his words with care. “In my line of work, you make enemies.”

“Do you have a suspect?”

“No. But we have some ideas about where to start looking for one.” He hadn’t planned to bring up the convenience store debacle, but he saw no reason to keep it from her. Once his connection to today’s shooting was discovered by the press, she’d hear about it anyway. “I was involved in an incident several months ago that generated national press—and a lot of hate mail to me and the Bureau.”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t remember seeing anything in the media. I would have recognized your name. When did this happen?”

“Early May.”

“That explains it. I was in Europe for a conference. I must have missed the coverage.”

“Just as well. The media frenzy died down in a few days, but the public reaction continued for quite a while.”

She fingered a velvety petal. “Is that why you’re in St. Louis instead of Quantico?”

“Yes. The powers that be wanted to let the dust settle. And I needed a few weeks to recover.”

“Is that new-looking scar on your leg a souvenir of the incident?” “You were looking at my legs?” He tried for a teasing tone, hoping a touch of levity would ease the tautness in her features. “It seemed fair enough. You were looking at mine.” A smile whispered at her lips.

He chuckled. “Guilty as charged. And not the least bit repentant.” “You
have
changed. Whatever happened to that shy boy I knew once upon a summer?”

“He grew up.”

“I noticed.” A dimple flashed in her cheek, but before he could respond, she shifted the conversation back. “You haven’t answered my question about that scar.”

“Yes. It’s a souvenir. I was shot.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

In truth, he’d rather forget the whole thing. And her gentle question suggested she wouldn’t press the issue if he declined to talk about it. But he’d learned that refusing to discuss it wouldn’t make it go away. And that forgetting wasn’t an option.

“My partner Coop and I were on our way to work very early one Monday morning. We stopped at a quick shop for some coffee. I went in, and while I was filling the cups, a guy pulled a gun on the teenage clerk and demanded the money in the cash drawer.” He swallowed. Cleared his throat.

“I was one of three customers. The others were an older man and a pregnant woman. The gunman had the clerk in a choke-hold, and he told us he’d kill him—and us—unless we did exactly what he said. From the way he was sweating and the wild look in his eyes, it was obvious he was an addict in desperate need of a fix. The situation was volatile, and I knew it wouldn’t take much for him to use that gun.”

Mark rested his forearms on his thighs, clasped his hands between his knees, and kept his gaze fixed on the floor as the tragedy replayed in agonizing detail in his mind. “The clerk—his name was Jason Wheeler—tried to open the cash drawer, but it stuck. That infuriated the gunman, and he put the gun to the kid’s temple and said he had five seconds to open the drawer or he’d pull the trigger. To demonstrate he had no qualms about using the weapon, he took a shot in our direction. It didn’t hit any of us, but I knew we couldn’t expect to be as lucky if he fired again.”

Mark took a deep breath. This was where it got really difficult to maintain an impassive tone.

“While all this was happening, Coop decided to grab a bagel to go with his coffee. When he opened the door and the bell jangled, the guy turned, giving me a clear shot. I drew my gun. Unfortunately, Jason chose that instant to make his own move. He jerked away from the gunman as I pulled the trigger. My bullet hit him instead of the target.” Mark closed his eyes. Waited a few seconds. Opened them. “Coop took the guy down, but not before he managed to put a bullet in my leg.”