An Eye for an Eye

by Irene Hannon

  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.

  “She says she doesn’t want a wheelchair,” the woman informed them.

  That didn’t surprise Mark. He thought back to the spunky teen who had insisted on walking out of the woods herself rather than wait for help after spraining her ankle on one of their hikes.

  One corner of his mouth hitched up.

  “I think we have enough able-bodied men here to get her safely to the car.”

  “Lucky her.” The nurse gave the three of them an approving look and grinned. “She’s all set.”

  “It’s about time we get to meet this mystery woman,” Coop said.

  “This pretty mystery woman,” Nick chimed in, adjusting his jacket.

  Mark narrowed his eyes, and the other man shrugged.

  “Hey, the background stuff came in on my fax machine. Her picture was right on top. You had your chance twenty years ago.”

  “You’re here to protect her. Nothing more,” Mark reminded him.

  Nick gave a mock salute, grinned, and patted his gun. “Reporting for duty, sir. I’ll be happy to take the night shift.”

  “I knew I liked this guy.” Coop chuckled. “Even if he is a health-food nut.”

  Nick turned to him. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  “If you two are finished, why don’t we talk about a plan?”Mark knew Nick was kidding around. He was a pro on the job.

  But he was all man off the job, according to his colleagues, with a playboy image to match.

  Yet now that Mark had lived in his house for six weeks, he was beginning to suspect that image was more illusion than reality.

  As far as he could see, Nick spent every spare hour lavishing his love on the pile of old bricks he was restoring rather than on a bevy of women. Nevertheless, Nick’s obvious appreciation of Emily’s considerable physical charms disconcerted him.

  “While we stop for that cold drink you promised the lady yesterday, Nick could pick up any prescriptions she needs filled, go on to her condo, and do a sweep. That will expedite things once we get there,” Coop suggested.

  “Good idea. You okay with that?” Mark turned to Nick.

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it.” Leading the way, he gave a discreet tap on the door and stepped inside.

  Emily was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a khaki skirt short enough to reveal an appealing length of leg and a crisp, white sleeveless blouse. She had a gauze patch on her knee, a smaller one on her cheek, and a bulky bandage on her left arm.

  Plus assorted bruises in varying shades of purple and green.

  “Ready to leave?” Mark smiled at her.

  “More than ready.”

  He stepped aside and introduced Nick and Coop.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Emily took their hands in turn. “Mark’s already told me about both of you.”

  He ignored the suspicious looks they sent his way.

  “Nick’s going to go on to your place while we stop for that drink. If you’re up for that.”

  “Just try to talk me out of it. I’m not letting you off the hook because of a little gunshot wound.” She dug around in her purse and handed over her keys. “You’ll need my security alarm code too. Let me find a piece of paper and write it down.” She began to rummage through her purse again, but Mark touched her arm.

  “Just tell us. We’ll remember.”

  “Okay.” She recited it.

  “Got it.” Mark passed her keys to Nick. “We convinced the nurse to forgo the wheelchair.”

  “Thanks.”

  She scooted to the edge of the bed, and Mark moved beside her. “On the condition that you lean on us.”

  “That’s no hardship.” She angled a look at Mark but turned to include Nick and Coop as well. “I can’t recall ever having had this many handsome men at my beck and call.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere.” Coop grinned and moved beside her as she and Mark reached the end of the bed. Nick picked up her overnight case in one hand and juggled the vase of flowers in the other.

  They escorted her down the hall, but when she paused at the bank of elevators, Mark urged her forward. “We’re taking that one.” He indicated the service elevator ahead.

  “Why?” She looked up in time to catch the glance Mark exchanged with Coop over her head, and her puzzled frown eased.

  “Never mind. It must be a security thing.”

  “That, plus we’re trying to avoid any press that might be hanging around. So far we’ve managed to keep your name out of the paper.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  At the basement service entrance, Mark handed Nick his keys. The agent exited first, depositing Emily’s case in the trunk of his car and propping the flowers on the passenger seat. He did a quick sweep of the parking garage before motioning them out. They didn’t linger getting into Mark’s car.

  As Coop put the car in gear, Mark spoke from his place beside Emily in the backseat. “To the coffee shop, driver.”

  Coop glanced at Mark in the rearview mirror. “Watch it, buddy.”

  “What? You don’t like being a chauffeur?”

  “I prefer to think of myself as a chaperone. So behave back there, or I’ll have to ground you both.”

  “Restricted to quarters with Emily. I’m not sure that would be such a bad thing.” Reaching for her hand, Mark entwined his fingers with hers.

  She laughed and shook her head. “Are you two always like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Funny. Irreverent. Sparring. I didn’t expect that, considering the serious nature of your work.”

  In truth, that lighthearted banter was what got them through their toughest, most serious jobs, Mark reflected. It was a good technique for diffusing tension in stressful situations. And Emily was stressed to the max. If they could help her relax for an hour or two, she might be able to regroup and regain her equilibrium. To feel a bit more normal.

  Even if her life wasn’t. And wouldn’t be for a while.

  Soon, Mark would have to remind her of that. And he hoped this brief interlude of laughter and teasing would help make the hard stuff to come more palatable.

  6

  As she took the final sip of her double chocolate chip frappuc-cino, Emily smiled at Mark. “Thank you for following through. And for giving me a pleasant interlude in the midst of all this craziness. It’s been fun to reminisce.”

  He leaned back in his chair and returned the smile, flicking a quick glance at Coop, who sat a few tables away. His partner had chosen a seat close enough to allow him to respond instantly if the need arose, and far enough away to be discreet, with a clear line of sight to the front door and a good view of the coffee shop overall. Mark had placed himself against the wall, where he, too, had a comprehensive view. Emily sat across from him, her back to the comings and goings in the shop.

  “I never break a promise.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  He redirected his attention to her but remained alert to the activity in the shop. “What do you mean?”

  “I remember a young man telling me once at Wren Lake that I was the only girl he’d ever love. And that no matter what happened, we’d never lose touch.”

  Although Mark didn’t recall making that exact promise, there were quite a few gaps in his memory when it came to the hours they’d spent at Wren Lake. His most vivid recollection was Emily’s silky hair tangled in his fingers, her supple lips stirring beneath his, her soft skin tantalizing his fingers. Twenty years later, it was enough to stir the embers of that long-ago attraction.

  “Did I say that?”
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  “More than once.” Her gentle smile told him she didn’t hold his lapse in memory against him.

  “I can only offer two excuses in my defense. Youth and hormones.” A soft laugh whispered at her lips. “It’s hard to argue with that rebuttal. Those are powerful forces.”

  “Can I say I’m glad our paths crossed again? And mean it this time?”

  “You can.”

  He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the small table. Linking his fingers, he studied her, liking what the passage of years had done to her eyes. The sweet innocence of youth had given way to compassion, diffused energy to focus, searching to contentment. Her clear gaze had always radiated principle. Now he saw character, and a depth forged of experience—and loss.

  But he also sensed a fundamental loneliness . . . and wondered if he was attuned to that because it mirrored his own.

  “Why isn’t there someone new in your life?”

  His quiet question startled her for a second before she smiled.

  “How do you know there isn’t?” When he didn’t respond at once, her smile faded. “Never mind. I think I can guess.”

  “The office ran a background check,” Mark conceded. “But I would have figured that part out on my own.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t disclose his theory about shared loneliness. “Call it male intuition. Is it because of loyalty to your husband?”

  “No.” Her answer came quick and sure. “Grant loved life and believed in living every day to the fullest. He wouldn’t want me to mourn forever. If he could talk to me today, he’d tell me to move on.”

  “Yet you haven’t.”

  “No.”

  He waited for an explanation, but when she didn’t offer one he respected the line she’d drawn. Instead, he changed the subject.

  “Can we talk about the game plan for the next few days?”

  Renewed tension tightened her features. “I’m beginning to recognize your FBI face.”

  “I’d rather not have to bring up the heavy stuff, Em. But it’s there, and ignoring it would be both foolish and dangerous.”

  She drew in a slow breath, let it out. “Okay. I’m listening.”