Eye for an Eye, an (Heroes of Quantico Book #2): A Novel (5 page)

She dredged up a smile. “The voice of recent experience.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Have you been shot before this last incident?”

“I have my share of battle scars.”

“You’re dodging the question.”

He was saved from having to reply by the appearance of the nurse, who moved beside the bed.

“We can do pills or I can administer the medication through the IV, which is faster-acting. Any preference?”

“The IV.”

Emily’s immediate response confirmed Mark’s assessment that she’d waited far too long to ask for help with the pain.

The nurse injected the medication and smiled at Emily. “You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”

As she exited, Emily turned to Mark. “You probably have places to go. It’s Saturday night. You might be able to salvage a few hours.”

“If I leave now, Nick will have me wielding a paintbrush within the hour.”

“Who’s Nick?”

“My roommate. A classmate from the FBI Academy who works in the St. Louis office. He’s rehabbing an old house, and in exchange for a place to stay, he puts me to work every chance he gets. He’ll have Coop climbing ladders too, before he’s through.”

“Your partner’s here?”

“Yes. My boss in Quantico sent him in to help with the case, and he’s staying with Nick too. Except I found out today he’s allergic to drywall dust.” He gave her a rueful smile and shook his head. “He’s never going to let me live this down.”

She gave a soft laugh. Already she was drifting. “I’ll have to meet him.”

“Tomorrow.”

There was silence for a couple of minutes. Her eyes flickered closed, and Mark was relieved to see her features relaxing as the pain medication began to take effect.

“Mark?”

“I’m still here, Em.”

“You’re the only one who ever called me that, you know.” Her lips lifted into a wistful smile, but her eyes remained closed as she reached out to him. “Would you mind holding my hand?”

He cocooned her slender fingers in his. “I’ve had harder duty.”

“Mmm. That feels good. Thanks.”

“It’s my pleasure, Em.”

And in truth, it was.

Darkness hadn’t diminished the oppressive heat, but at least he’d gotten rid of the long sleeves. Unfortunately, his T-shirt exposed more flesh to the thick swarms of hungry mosquitoes that called the mud flats along the river home.

As he stepped into the boat and pushed off from the small dock, he slapped at a few of the bloodthirsty insects that were unfazed by the liberal coating of DEET on his skin. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t venture out onto the river at night.

However, today had been anything but normal. And the heavy blackness of the overcast, starless sky provided the perfect cover for his task. But the darkness wasn’t a problem. He’d fished this river hundreds of times through the years and could navigate it blindfolded.

The muffled putt-putt of the outboard motor, throttled low, echoed in the stillness as he headed downstream. Given the late hour and the dark windows in the few weekend cabins he passed, he doubted the precaution of traveling to an isolated area was necessary. But he’d thought through every step of his plan and saw no reason to change it. He couldn’t afford to get caught.

Especially since the job wasn’t finished.

According to the evening news, one person had been wounded this morning. That hadn’t surprised him. He was a good shot. But an unexpected move by his quarry just as he pulled the trigger had sabotaged his aim. His second shot had been a gamble, and it didn’t appear to have paid off. The reporter on TV had mentioned only a single gunshot wound, and indicated the victim was hospitalized but stable.

He nosed the bow of the boat toward the center of the river, turned upstream, and set the throttle high enough to keep him stationary in the rapid current. Woods ran down to the shore on both sides here, and a quick scan of the secluded bank revealed no sign of life.

As he pulled the pieces of metal from the sack under his seat, he fingered the remains of his dismantled hunting rifle. The stock had been splintered and fed into his barbecue pit this afternoon as he’d cooked a steak. The barrel had been cut into three sections in his workshop, the smaller parts hammered beyond recognition.

Now, one by one, he dropped each piece overboard, watching as they were swallowed by the dark, swirling water.

The necessity for this clandestine trip was galling, and a surge of anger welled up inside him. In a just world, he wouldn’t have to cover his tracks. He would be applauded for following the Good Book, for settling this score. But the cops didn’t see it that way. If he was caught, he’d be thrown into jail. And he couldn’t let that happen. He wanted to right a wrong, not give his quarry a chance to commit more sins.

His failure today left a bitter taste in his mouth. But he consoled himself with the belief that it had to be part of God’s design. The Lord must want revenge exacted in a different way. And it was up to him to figure it out. He’d pray about it, and when he understood what was expected, he’d formulate another plan. A better plan.

Because the next time he set his sights on his target, he didn’t intend to miss.

5

“Morning.”

At Coop’s greeting, Mark stopped in the kitchen doorway. His partner sat at the small oak table, a sheaf of papers spread out in front of him. Judging by the half-empty pot of coffee on the counter, it looked as if he’d been there a while.

“When did you get up?” Mark moved to the counter and poured himself a cup of the dark brew.

“An hour or two ago. I already worked out. Nick has quite a home gym.” He gestured to the papers. “Your friend is one busy lady.”

“The background material showed up?”

“Nick found it on the fax this morning.”

“Where is he?”

“Gone. He said something about having to chase down a new lead on a bank robbery.”

“He’s been hot on that trail since I got here. I’ve been working the case with him.” Mark sat at the table and took a sip from his mug. It had been a long, restless night, and he was feeling the effects. He needed a few jolts of caffeine to jump-start his brain. “Find anything interesting?”

“Depends on how you define interesting. Personally, I think she’s a very interesting lady.”

Mark gave him a wry look. “Okay. I’ll rephrase that. Did you find anything that would mark her as a target?”

“Hard to say.”

That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “You want to explain that?”

“In addition to her private practice, she takes corporate referrals for troubled employees from a number of EAP programs.

According to the file, she’s quite an authority on workplace violence. That was the subject of her PhD dissertation, and she’s done a lot of additional research in that area. The results of that work have appeared in a number of prestigious scholarly journals. In her
spare
time, she hosts a radio call-in program every Thursday night for teens. She’s also active at her church and volunteers as a counselor one afternoon a week at a shelter for abused women. A place called Hope House.”

Tightening his grip on the mug, Mark looked at Coop. “She could have enemies as a result of some of those activities.”

“That’s my take.” Coop took a sip of coffee. “You knew she was married, right?”

“She told me yesterday. To a fireman. He died five years ago.”

Flipping through the papers, Coop pulled out a sheet that included a photo. “Grant Stephens. She never took his name. Professional reasons, maybe, since she already had an established practice when they married. It doesn’t appear she has any living family.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Nor close friends. Or a steady boyfriend.”

The background check had been thorough. Given Steve’s propensity for detail, that didn’t surprise him. “When would she have time?”

“Good point. I’m not even sure how she works sleep into her schedule.”

Mark scanned the sheet on Emily’s husband. Nice-looking guy, with dark hair and a firm jaw. He’d been honored with several citations for bravery, and had died after the floor collapsed while he was trying to rescue a sleeping baby from a second-floor bedroom. True hero material.

Setting the sheet down, Mark toyed with his mug. “Emily’s workplace violence expertise and her involvement at the shelter worry me. We already know about one guy who’s not happy with her because of a job issue. And if she’s talked any of the shelter’s clients into leaving a partner, there could be a disgruntled boyfriend or husband out there.”

“I agree.”

“What’s your assessment of imminent risk?”

“Low. No matter who the target is. Whoever did this appears to have had a plan that took into account behavior patterns and provided a high probability of a clean escape. Given the level of planning, I suspect he was confident he’d succeed. He could have a fully formed plan B, but my gut tells me he doesn’t. He’ll either throw in the towel or go back to the drawing board.”

“To come up with a plan that won’t fail the next time.”

“Yes.” Coop cradled his mug in his hands and leaned back, stretching his legs out under the table. “You need to get Dr.

Lawson to tell you who her unhappy EAP client is.”

“That’s my top priority today. And I want to talk with her about the women she’s counseled recently at the shelter.” Mark checked his watch. “You ready to head over to the hospital?”

“If you’re willing to stop for a sausage biscuit on the way. That chicken Caesar salad Nick put together last night for dinner was good, but it didn’t stick with me.”

“Tell me about it. He’s beginning to go overboard on this health-food kick he’s on.” Mark drained his cup. “Let’s go.”

No media vans were staked out in front of the hospital as they pulled in, but Coop chose to park near the service entrance again in case a reporter or two lurked in the lobby.

Following the pattern they’d begun yesterday, Coop got out first, signaling Mark to follow a couple of minutes later.

Another agent was on duty outside of Emily’s room today.

He stood as they approached, shaking Coop’s hand as Mark introduced them.

“Everything quiet here?”

“Quiet is a relative term,” the man responded. “No problems from a security standpoint. But the lady had a rough night.”

Alarm tightened Mark’s gut. “Did she start bleeding again?”

“No. Nightmares.”

The tension in Mark’s shoulders eased. Nightmares weren’t good, but neither were they unexpected. He’d awakened twice last night in a cold sweat himself. And for once, he hadn’t been able to blame it on the convenience store shooting. This time, it hadn’t been a teenage boy bleeding in his arms, but Emily.

“I’ll cover for you if you want to grab some coffee,” Coop told the agent.

“Thanks. I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs a little.”

As Coop settled into the chair, he nodded toward the closed door. “Go to work. We need names.”

With a nod, Mark cracked the door. The lights were off, and instead of knocking he moved quietly into the dim room. Emily was sleeping, her head turned to one side, her face in shadows.

While he’d admired her trim, toned figure yesterday, today she looked fragile and vulnerable beneath the white sheet outlining her slight body.

Unwilling to wake her after her rough night, Mark rejoined Coop.

“She’s sleeping.”

“No problem. My time is your time.”

“You know, you’re going to be bored out of your mind in forty-eight hours. You didn’t join the HRT to be a bodyguard.”

“You might be surprised. I’m mellowing with age.”

While Coop’s comment was delivered with a grin, there was more than a hint of truth to it, Mark realized. Since meeting and marrying Monica—and somehow rediscovering his faith along the way—Coop had been more laid-back. More content.

It hadn’t dulled his on-the-job skills, but Mark sensed he no longer craved the adrenaline rush of tactical operations that had once been an outlet for his restless energy.

“I think I’ll give Steve a call and—”

A sudden, sharp cry from inside the room brought Coop instantly to his feet. On instinct, both men drew their guns as Mark pushed through the door.

Light from the hallway spilled into the room as the heavy metal door slammed against the wall, but it took no more than one quick glance to determine the cause of Emily’s alarm. Blinking against the sudden light, she was sitting up, her eyes wide with terror, her chest heaving.

They were holstering their guns as the third agent joined them from behind after sprinting down the hall.

“I went through this drill twice last night,” he told them quietly.

As Mark moved beside Emily, the other two agents exited in silence. He sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the hair away from her damp face, his gaze assessing. Her pallor was unsettling, and the dark smudges beneath her eyes were mute testimony to her difficult night.

She groped for his hand and squeezed his fingers, her grip strengthened by residual terror. “I . . . I’m sorry. I had a bad dream.”

“No need to apologize. I’d be more surprised if you didn’t have a nightmare or two.”
Or three. Or thirty.

He wished he could tell her there was a way to stop the dreams.

But if there was, he hadn’t found it yet. The only remedy the counselor had offered was the distance from the event that the passage of time would bring.

It took several minutes for her respiration to moderate, and once it did, he helped her ease back down against the pillow.

She managed a shaky smile. “I’ll be okay once I’m in familiar surroundings and life gets back to normal.”

The normal part wouldn’t be happening in the next few days.

But Mark saw no reason to tell her that yet. She’d find out soon enough.

“When are you getting sprung?” He stroked his thumb over her knuckles.

As if on cue, the surgeon entered. Mark rose and introduced himself.

“You have a patient who’s very anxious to go home,” he told the man.

“Can’t say I blame her.” He addressed his next comment to Emily. “Hospitals are for sick people. You don’t qualify. Your blood pressure is back to normal, and you aren’t running a fever.”

“How bad was the damage?” Emily asked.

“You were lucky. The bullet went through cleanly. It did clip a large vein, which accounted for the heavy bleeding, but managed to miss major nerves and muscles. Other than a small scar at the entry site and a larger one at the exit site, you shouldn’t have any lasting effects.” He moved closer to the bed. “If everything looks okay, we’ll change the dressing and you’re out of here.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Mark said. With a wink at Emily, he exited as a nurse entered.

Coop rose as Mark stepped through the door. “What’s the verdict?”

“We should be good to go soon.”

“And our agenda is . . . ?”

“I promised Emily we’d stop for a cold drink on the way to her place. A rain check for the date we were arranging yesterday when we were rudely interrupted.”

“I’m good with that. As long as it’s someplace very public, since our shooter appears to prefer isolated locations. And don’t pick a spot either of you frequent.”

“Gee, thanks for the tip.” Mark smirked at him.

“You know, this bodyguard gig would be easier if you weren’t such a smart aleck.”

“But much more boring.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in Coop’s chest. “I can’t remember too many times when our partnership has been boring.”

Despite Coop’s grin, Mark sensed a subtle, odd undercurrent that was too vague to classify. But it was troubling in some way.

“Is everything okay?”

Whatever had been there a moment before was gone. “Nothing a quick wrap-up here won’t cure. I miss Monica already.” He winked. “You should try this marriage thing sometime. It has distinct advantages.”

At times Mark still found it hard to believe his partner had followed through with his announcement thirteen months ago that he was getting married. Sure, he’d known Coop was interested in Monica when they’d been assigned to her security detail. But she’d been one in a long line of women Coop had dated through the years.

Besides, neither he nor Mark had been in any hurry to tie the knot. They had about all the excitement they could handle in their jobs, and given the 24/7 nature of their work, its unpredictability and danger, plus the extended missions away from Quantico, they’d agreed that marriage would only complicate things—and add pressures, guilt, and distraction to a life that required absolute focus. Besides, they’d seen the marriages of too many of their colleagues crumble under the stress.

Then Monica had come along. And the rest, as conventional wisdom said, was history.

“Why don’t you call her? You can keep an eye on me from down the hall.”

“I think I’ll do that.” With a grin, Coop moved off a few yards, withdrawing his BlackBerry as he walked.

Mark took his seat, his expression thoughtful. Much as he and Coop had shared during the past four years, his partner had never been one to talk about emotion. He had a wicked sense of humor, strong opinions on most subjects, and an ability to rapidly dissect any problem with astounding thoroughness. He played hard—and worked harder. When the chips were down, he was an absolute professional. Mark had never worried about putting his life in Coop’s hands, and had done so on several occasions. The reverse was also true.

Though he’d never verbalized his feelings, Mark missed him.

Before Coop’s marriage, they’d often hung out together after hours. While Mark was a frequent dinner guest at his friend’s house, and he and Coop managed to grab a few hours together here and there, things were different since he’d married. Not to mention the fact that Coop’s new contentment had served to magnify the essential loneliness of Mark’s life.

The elevator door slid open, and Nick stepped out. Spotting Mark, he strode toward him.

“What are you doing here?” Mark queried.

“The bank robbery lead went nowhere. I’ve got protection detail for your friend for the rest of the day.” He spotted the agent who had spent the night outside Emily’s door and lifted a hand in greeting. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he told Mark.

Several minutes passed before anyone reappeared, and Mark welcomed the momentary solitary interlude. But as the nurse exited Emily’s room after changing her dressing and helping her gather up her things, Coop and Nick rejoined him.