An Eye for an Eye

by Irene Hannon

  “You lead a very busy life.”

  “Doesn’t everyone these days? And I would have been glad to tell you about it myself if you’d asked.”

  “You weren’t in any shape to debrief us in a timely manner.”

  She accepted his explanation with a nod and a quick lift of her shoulders. “Okay. So you know everything about me. Now what?”

  “Any chance you could get out of town for a week or two?”

  “Not without inconveniencing a lot of people.”

  That was the answer he’d expected. “Then let’s talk about your routine. It’s too predictable.”

  She considered that for a moment. “I’m not sure I like that assessment. Predictable sounds boring. I prefer to think of it as organized and structured.”

  “You need to unstructure it a little.”

  She shifted in her chair, and he could tell she was uncomfortable with his request.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a problem exactly. More like a challenge.

  After all my years of military living, of constant packing up and starting over, I like stability and consistency. It’s very unsettling to me when my routine gets disrupted.”

  Given her background, Mark could understand that. But her physical safety had to come first for now.

  “Is there anything you can put on hold for a week or two?”

  “I have regular office hours. I can’t let my patients down.

  They count on me. And I’m sure you know about my other commitments.”

  “A weekly radio program. And counseling at a domestic violence shelter.”

  “I also go to church every Sunday. I’m surprised you missed that one.”

  “It was probably in the file. I only had a chance to give it a quick look this morning.” His lips quirked into a smile.

  “In any case, I’d prefer not to give up any of my commitments.” “Okay.” He’d expected that response too. “But we need to come up with some ways to let you honor them without putting yourself in the line of fire.”

  “I have a treadmill in the spare bedroom I use in bad weather.

  I could switch to that for my daily walk.”

  “That’s a start. How about church? Are you flexible about which service you attend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you vary your schedule at the women’s shelter?”

  “I could alternate afternoons.”

  “Would the radio station consider broadcasting your show from a remote location?”

  “It’s a small, local operation. That would be difficult for them.”

  “Okay. We can live with that as long as someone accompanies you there. Do you always see patients in your office?”

  “Yes. With rare exception.”

  “But you could vary your hours a bit, right?”

  “To some degree.”

  “That would help. And we’ll check out the office for security issues. Let’s talk about living arrangements. Is there anyone you could stay with for a few days, or someone who could stay with you?”

  “No one I’d want to impose on.” She gave him a distressed look. “How long could it take to find this guy?”

  “It’s hard to predict. I’ll have a better idea after the briefing tomorrow with our people and the Oakdale police.” There was no reason to tell her that unless the shooter had made some mistakes, left them some leads to track down, they might never find him. Unless—or until—he struck again. “For the next twenty-four hours we’d like to keep tight security on you. We’ll revisit our plan after the meeting tomorrow.” He moved his empty cup aside. “Have you thought any more about giving us the name of that EAP referral?”

  She sighed. “I knew that topic would come up again.”

  “We can get it if we need to, Emily.” There was apology in his voice, but he let the steel come through too. “There are legal routes we can take if you don’t feel you can cooperate.”

  “I know.” She stared into her cup. “Divulging his name just goes against everything I believe about doctor/patient relationships. Being questioned as part of a police investigation will add to his stress, even if he doesn’t connect it to me.”

  “I’d rather add to his stress than take a chance with your life.”

  Silence greeted his blunt rebuttal. He waited, hoping she’d recognize the necessity of his request and honor it without forcing him to take official action.

  With a resigned sigh, she looked up. “Jack Hanley.” She named his company.

  Relieved by her capitulation, Mark filed the name away in his memory. “We can get everything else we need on our own.”

  “He’s not going to be happy about this.”

  “We can deal with that.”

  “I’m not sure he can.”

  Reaching out, Mark enfolded her hand in his. “I wish you’d worry about yourself as much as you worry about your patients.”

  “The person I’m most worried about at the moment is you.

  Between the two of us, you’re the more likely target.”

  “I’ve got Coop watching my back. I’m not concerned.”

  She looked over her shoulder to check out his partner. Mark didn’t have to. He knew what she was seeing. Coop would appear relaxed as he lingered over his drink, ankle crossed over knee, one arm stretched along the top of the chair next to him. No one in the shop would suspect he was assessing every person who came through the door, that he was ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger. Or that the flap of his suit coat hid a lethal weapon.

  “He strikes me as very competent.”

  “The best.”

  She turned back. “Have you been partners long?”

  “Four years.” He examined her face, noting the deep lines of weariness around her eyes, the strain at the edges of her mouth.

  “Much as I’d love to prolong this, I think you need to go home and rest.”

  A winsome smile tipped up the corners of her lips. “I’d forgotten how easy it is to be with you, Mark. I feel like our summer together was weeks, not years, ago.”

  “Hold that thought until all this is over.” He gave her hand a squeeze, then stood and reached down to help her up. “Don’t make any fast moves. You could be a little lightheaded for a few days, and the last thing we need is for you to nosedive into the floor.”

  She accepted his help—and his advice. “You know, even as a teenager, you were a sensitive guy. And I think you’ve improved with age.”

  Her words warmed him, but he hid their effect with a grin.

  “Thanks. But don’t tell Coop, okay? I’d never live it down.”

  “Not a macho thing, huh?” she teased.

  Over her head, Mark nodded to Coop, who moved to the door to scan the parking lot. “Not in the HRT. Okay, let’s get you home.”

  As Mark lifted his finger toward the bell, Nick opened the door to Emily’s townhouse condo.

  “Everything okay?” Mark ushered Emily inside while Coop took one more look behind them before shutting the door.

  “No problems.”

  Emily paused in the small foyer and gave a contented sigh.

  “It’s good to be home.” She angled toward the shadowy living room on her left, where all the shades and drapes had been drawn. “Why is it so dark in here?”

  Mark followed her as she moved into the room, giving the space an appreciative scan. Soft white walls formed a neutral backdrop for her impressionist prints and cobalt blue couch.

  Inviting side chairs upholstered in cream, blue, and rose stripes were styled in clean, simple lines. A piece of contemporary blown-glass art in vivid jewel tones was centered on the glass-topped coffee table.

  Classy, he concluded. Just like the lady who called this home.

  As she headed toward the window and reached for the pull on the shade, he moved behind her and put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “It’s safer this way.”

  Mark watched her contented expression morph
to apprehension as her illusion of home-turf safety evaporated. He wished he could restore it. Wished he could guarantee her this was a safe haven. But the only way to ensure her security was to catch the guy who’d lined them up in the sights of his rifle.

  “I put your bag in the bedroom, Emily.” Nick broke the tense silence. “We’re going to need a few minutes to sort things out here, if you want to unpack.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Her words came out shaky. “There are sodas in the fridge if anyone gets thirsty. Did you get those prescriptions, Nick?”

  “Also in the bedroom.”

  “Thanks.”

  The three men watched her slow progress toward the steps, her fingers skimming the wall to steady herself. When they heard her door on the second floor click closed, Nick spoke.

  “She’s pretty banged up.”

  “Inside and out.” Coop frowned. “This whole situation reminds me of Monica.”

  “But that turned out okay,” Mark reminded him. And himself. “Yeah.” Coop shoved one hand in the pocket of his slacks and turned. “Okay, Nick, what have you got?”

  “The security here isn’t bad.” He settled on the edge of the couch, and the other two men sat as well. “She has a good alarm system and deadbolts on the outside doors. The windows are double-paned. She’s also got a very attentive neighbor in the attached unit, who cornered me as I was opening the door. An older woman.

  She was quite protective until I showed her my creds.”

  “That would have to be Evelyn.”

  “Evelyn Martelli. How did you know?”

  “Emily told me about her. The grandmotherly type, from what I gather.”

  “Yes. But she’s not afraid of confrontation. And it was obvious she keeps an eye out for your friend. I checked the parking situation too. Not so good. An isolated garage in back covers this whole unit. The spots are numbered, meaning it would be easy to target a car.”

  “The visitor parking in the front would be safer. Plus, there’s a lot more activity out there,” Coop noted.

  “I agree. In terms of surveillance, much as I’d like to suggest we put an agent inside—and I’d be happy to volunteer for that duty,” Nick offered with a grin, “it makes more sense to monitor the building from the parking lot. From the front we can scan the whole area and watch for anyone who might be stalking her.

  Plus, we could be at her door in seconds.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Coop concurred.

  “I also got an update from Steve. The guy left a clear route through the woods, thanks to broken branches and trampled underbrush, but not much else. The lab’s working on what they have, but no results yet. They promised to have more by the briefing tomorrow.”

  A door opened upstairs, and Emily came down the steps a few moments later. She’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and her feet were bare. If anything, she looked more vulnerable than ever. Mark’s throat tightened, and he had to restrain the urge to close the distance between them and wrap her in a comforting hug.

  She hesitated in the doorway of the living room, grasping the door frame with one hand. “Am I interrupting?”

  Mark rose. “Not at all. We need to talk with you, anyway.”

  She joined them, and with Mark’s assistance gingerly lowered herself into one of the striped chairs. She flashed him a smile as he took his seat. “Why do I think you gentlemen have been planning my life for me?”

  “Nick volunteered to sleep on your couch,” Coop told her.

  “We voted him down,” Mark added. “He’ll be in the parking lot.”

  “You can’t blame a guy for trying.” Nick grinned, eliciting a smile from Emily.

  “We’ll regroup after the briefing tomorrow, but in the meantime we’ll have an agent in the visitor lot out front. What are your plans for tomorrow?”

  “I have appointments, but I’m going to reschedule them for later in the week and stay close to home. I think I’ll sleep most of the day.”

  “Good plan,” Mark approved. “By end of day, we may have some additional information. We do need one more thing from you. Names of the women you’ve counseled at the shelter in the past four weeks.”

  Emily sent him a puzzled look. “Why?”

  “Abusers are not nice people. And when thwarted, they can be dangerous. If any of the women you spoke with told her spouse or boyfriend that your counsel convinced her to leave him permanently, he could be very upset. How many women would you estimate you’ve counseled in the past month?”

  “Eight, maybe. Some weeks I only talk to one, other weeks two or three.”

  “Can you get us their names? We’ll check them out, see if they’ve mentioned your name to their significant other.”

  “You’ll be discreet?”

  “Always.”

  “My notes are at my office. I can have Maria, my secretary, check my file tomorrow. She could also call the shelter to get additional contact information. Is that okay?”

  After a brief hesitation, Mark agreed. “Today would be better.

  But we can wait until first thing in the morning. Have her fax the information.” Mark withdrew a small notebook from his pocket and jotted down a number, glancing at the other two men as he handed it to Emily. “Anything else we need to cover today?”

  When the other two agents shook their heads, he gave Emily his full attention. “Then we’re going to let you get some rest.”

  “I’ll be across the parking lot, in the black SUV,” Nick told her, rising.

  “I’ll wait for you outside.” Coop followed Nick to the door.

  “Thanks, guys.” Emily started to stand, but Mark restrained her.

  “They can find their way out.”

  Waiting until the door clicked shut, he moved to the ottoman across from her and took her hands. “We’re going to do our best to find this guy, Em.”

  “I know.” She squeezed his fingers. “Some reunion, huh?”

  “Yeah.” A humorless smile twisted his lips. “But we’re going to make up for this after the dust settles. And that’s a promise I won’t forget.”

  For an instant, Mark was tempted to lean close and seal his pledge with a kiss. Emily had been right earlier. The years had melted away, and Wren Lake seemed like yesterday. He, too, felt as if they’d picked up where they’d left off.

  But twenty years had passed, and you couldn’t step back into a relationship that easily, he reminded himself. They were different people now, with histories that had shaped and changed them in the two decades that had elapsed since they’d shared their first kiss. She’d loved again, and mourned that loss. He’d shied away from commitments, unwilling to take on the inevitable stress of trying to juggle a relationship with his demanding career. Reconnecting wasn’t that simple. Especially when he was slated to return to Quantico in four short weeks, and her life was here.

  Restraining his amorous impulse, Mark gave her fingers one more squeeze and rose. “Lock the deadbolt behind me.”

  He helped her up, and she followed him to the door.

  “Be careful, Mark.”

  “I will. And keep the shades and curtains closed.”

  “Okay.”

  He lifted his hand and touched her cheek. Hesitated. And then he stepped through the door and pulled it closed, waiting until he heard the soft click of the lock before joining Coop.

  Emily took a long, slow breath and rested her forehead against the door as quiet descended in her condo.

  If the last thirty-six hours had left her reeling, the last thirty-six seconds had sucked the air from her lungs.

  Unless the pain medication was totally addling her brain, she’d swear that Mark had wanted to kiss her just now.

  Unsettling as that was, she was more unnerved by her reaction. She’d wanted him to.

  Pushing away from the door, she forced her lethargic legs to carry her back up the stairs to her bedroom. Sinking onto the mattress, she stretched out with a sigh. She’d tried to disguise her discomfort as much as possible
around the three agents, but she was hurting. Badly. Every muscle in her body ached, and her arm was throbbing. The pain medication she’d downed as soon as she’d arrived home hadn’t yet kicked in.

  Yesterday, she’d used the word surreal to describe her present situation. And it fit. Despite the bulky bandage, she found it difficult to believe she’d been shot. Things like this didn’t happen to people like her, who lived quiet lives, pursued safe careers, abided by the law. Crime and violence weren’t supposed to be part of her world anymore, now that Grant was gone.

  She turned her head on the pillow, toward the photo on her nightstand. It had been taken at Grant’s birthday party a week before the fire that had claimed his life and destroyed their future.

  She’d known when she’d married him that his job carried some risk. But he’d assured her accidents were rare, that the safety net of his training would protect him 99 percent of the time.

  Neither of them had counted on Grant running into the 1 percent sort of situation where it wouldn’t.

  Lifting the photo from the nightstand, she gazed at Grant’s face, recalling their first meeting. She’d shared an elevator with him when he’d come to do a safety inspection at her office building. His energy and intensity had reminded her of Mark—a surprise, considering she hadn’t thought much about her summer beau in the years before meeting Grant.

  It wasn’t that she and Mark had had a falling out. They’d stayed in touch for a few months after that idyllic summer, and she’d seen him again at her grandmother’s funeral, but they’d both had plans, and the letters had gradually dwindled, then ceased.

  Nevertheless, she’d tucked the memory of her first, sweet taste of romance in her heart, expecting someday to find the man who would take it to the next level.

  But for years, she hadn’t. Always goal oriented, she’d devoted herself to her schooling with a singular focus that allowed no room for other pursuits. She’d received her PhD at twenty-six and gone on to work with a seasoned pro, opening her own practice after he retired two years later. There’d never been any time for romance.

  Until Grant had convinced her to take time.

  And in truth, it had been an easy sell, she reflected. With his teasing smile, he’d always been able to coax her away for a day of fun, convince her to leave the office before seven and share a pizza, or cajole her into taking a walk through the autumn leaves. He’d helped teach her the value of balance in her life, the importance of carving out time for relationships.