An Eye for an Eye

by Irene Hannon

  Silence again. Mark had no doubt Les was giving his cigar a workout, and he held his breath. The final decision rested with his Quantico boss, and everyone knew it.

  “Okay. We’ll revisit this in a few days. How’s your friend doing, Mark?”

  Les’s question told Mark his boss wasn’t fooled about the reason for his reluctance to return to Quantico. That the Bulldog had figured out there was a strong connection between Mark and Emily. If there wasn’t, both men knew he would have hopped a plane for Virginia without protest and left the investigation in the hands of the local police and the St. Louis office.

  “Better. We’re keeping an eye on her too.”

  “Good. She’s in capable hands, then. Stay in touch.” The line went dead.

  “How do you want to handle the next steps?” Carl refocused the group around the table.

  “There’s not much more we can do.” Steve shook his head.

  “The guy’s just not giving us anything to work with. I’d like to think he’d start making some mistakes—before he launches a second attack.”

  “Is there anything we could do to force his hand? Push him to take some action in a setting we control?” Coop proposed.

  “I don’t see how. Not without putting Mark directly in the line of fire.”

  “If that’s what it takes to flush him out, it might be worth a try,” Mark said.

  That earned him a disapproving frown from Steve. “If your boss heard that, you’d be on the first plane back to Quantico.”

  “We’re running out of options.” Frustration nipped at Mark’s words.

  “I say we hold. Keep the security on Mark and wait this guy out. He sent one note. He might contact us again. Maybe next time he’ll slip and tell us more than he intends to,” Carl said.

  “Agreed.” Steve picked up the tablet he’d been doodling on during the meeting. “And in case the letter was a red herring, let’s maintain Dr. Lawson’s escort service for the next few days.”

  As the meeting broke up, Steve cut Mark off as he headed for the exit, his expression grim. “I know you want to get this guy, but no chances, okay?”

  “I never take chances.”

  Casting a skeptical look at Coop, Steve jerked his head toward Mark. “Watch him.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, Coop regarded his partner as Steve strode away, a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.

  “I don’t think he trusts you.”

  “I want this guy.”

  “So do I.”

  “Getting tired of my company?”

  “Missing Monica. I’m ready to go home.”

  “I hear you.”

  “How about you?”

  “How about me what?”

  “Ready to go home?”

  There was more to Coop’s question than appeared on the surface, Mark knew. It was his way of asking him if he’d dealt with the aftereffects of the convenience store shooting—without having to directly address the emotional stuff.

  In truth, Mark hadn’t dwelt on that incident in the past ten days. Since Emily’s reappearance in his life, his focus had been on protecting her.

  As for going home . . . Mark had never thought of Quantico in those terms. It was a place he stayed between missions, nothing more. And he was in no hurry to return. Not because of the convenience store episode, though he had a ways to go before he’d feel at peace with that. His lack of enthusiasm about returning was due more to Emily, and their providential reunion. It was as if fate had given them a second chance to connect after a twenty-year separation. And he’d never been one to discount fate.

  “I guess I have my answer.”

  Coop’s comment pulled Mark back to the conversation, and he shrugged. “I still have some issues to work through. More than when I came, to be honest.”

  “Yeah. I know. She’s a very nice lady, by the way.”

  Once again, Mark was reminded that his partner knew him too well.

  “Pizza and a movie, as promised.” Mark grinned and held up a flat box with a DVD balanced on top as Emily answered her door later that evening.

  Smiling, she stepped aside and ushered him into her condo.

  “Where’s Coop?”

  “Dropped me off and disappeared.”

  “He could have stayed.”

  “Nope. Not a chance. I’m too old for chaperones on a date.”

  Date.

  Emily tried not to give that casual reference much credence, but she couldn’t quite subdue the flutter in the pit of her stomach. “Em?”

  At Mark’s prompt, she closed and locked the door. “Sorry. I was feeling sorry for Coop.”

  “Appropriate, considering Nick plans to put him to work tonight at the construction site. Otherwise known as his house.

  Or, as Coop calls it, Sneeze City.” Mark grinned at her over his shoulder as he headed toward her kitchen.

  “Poor Coop.” Emily chuckled and shook her head. “I’ll have to see this place sometime. Nick told me it’s a Federal-style house from the late 1800s. It sounds fabulous.”

  Mark’s dubious expression suggested otherwise. “Let me be kind and say it has potential.” He set the pizza on her counter and opened the lid. “You’ll note there are no mushrooms and extra green pepper on your half.”

  Leaning over, she examined the savory-smelling pizza. “And olives and extra pepperoni on yours. I see your tastes haven’t changed much in food.”

  “Or other things.”

  At his quiet comment, she turned to look up at him—and found herself mesmerized by his intense eyes, mere inches away.

  Suddenly Wren Lake felt like yesterday. As did the emotions she always associated with it. The innocent passion of young love, restrained by deeply ingrained moral principles, straining at the leash as Mark’s kisses wreaked havoc with her equilibrium and left her yearning for more.

  Her gaze sought his lips, and the memory of their tender, gentle coaxing drove the breath from her lungs.

  Not good. Don’t look there.

  She raised her head a bit, but his dark brown eyes weren’t any safer. They warmed her to the core, with a heat searing and intense.

  Keep going.

  Unfortunately, even his hair wasn’t safe. Still thick and dark, she could recall with startling clarity the rich texture of it beneath her fingers.

  Fingers that itched to renew their acquaintance.

  Say something lighthearted!

  Reaching out in a gesture she hoped came across as playful, she brushed her fingers across the hair at his temple, unable to resist.

  Soft, but with great body. Just like she remembered. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve gotten a tad grayer in the past ten days.”

  When his eyes darkened, Emily realized her mistake at once.

  Her touch had evoked passion, not play. She withdrew her hand, linked her fingers, and eased back a few inches.

  She watched Mark tamp down the desire simmering in his deep brown irises. Then he summoned up a smile and rubbed his hand over his hair. “Given what’s been going on, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  She nodded to his hands, keeping hers safely clasped in front of her. “I think I found the culprit.”

  Several tiny white specks clung to his fingers.

  “Paint.” He shook his head in disgust. “No matter how often I wash my hair, I can’t get all the flecks out. Nick had me painting the ceiling.”

  Emily tilted her head and inspected him. “It gives you a distinguished appearance.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Look on the bright side. Eventually it will wash out. Real gray isn’t as easy to get rid of.”

  “Don’t tell me you know anything about that yet.” He studied her. “Your hair looks the same to me.”

  She gave it a self-conscious pat. “I haven’t hit the bottle yet, if that’s what you mean. But don’t look too closely or you’ll see silver threads among the gold, to quote an old song.” She retrieved two sodas from the frid
ge and handed him one as she nodded toward the DVD. “What are we watching?”

  “Father Goose.”

  “Isn’t that a Cary Grant movie?”

  “Yep. An oldie but goodie.”

  “I’m surprised. I thought you’d go for an action/adventure flick.”

  There was a brief, almost imperceptible flicker in his smile. “I get enough of that in my job. Besides, this is set in World War II.

  I expect there will be some action.”

  She picked up the DVD, fingering it with a faraway look.

  “This reminds me of the classic movie series we went to at the Tivoli.”

  “That occurred to me too. I recall there was a Cary Grant movie or two in the mix.”

  “There was. You called them chick flicks.”

  “Did I?”

  “But you went anyway. Earning you mucho brownie points.”

  “That was the plan.” He gave her an unrepentant grin.

  Elbowing him, she took her seat at the table. “You are so bad!

  What’s the ulterior motive tonight?”

  “Who says it’s any different?”

  “On that note, I think I’ll pray.”

  Emily bowed her head, and the room fell silent. When she lifted her chin, Mark’s expression took her off guard. He looked . . . envious. As if he wished he had a connection with the Lord too.

  Emily was torn. She didn’t talk much about her faith. It was a quiet thing, lived more than spoken. Verbal evangelizing didn’t suit her temperament. Yet there were occasions when Christians were called to witness. And based on Mark’s pensive expression, she felt this might be one of them.

  “Does my faith intrigue you?” She kept her tone conversational as she reached for a piece of pizza, opening the door but not pushing.

  He took his time answering, downing a long swallow of his soda and helping himself to a slice before he responded. “I suppose that’s a good word for it. Considering all that’s happened in your life, I would think your trust in the goodness of God would waver.”

  “It has.”

  “But you still believe.” His questioning gaze probed hers.

  “Yes. More than ever. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t struggled with questions. Known long periods of darkness. Doubt is part of being human, Mark. Some of the greatest saints that ever lived struggled with uncertainty. God understands that. Yet doubts can lead to deeper faith by forcing us to look more closely at what we believe. And why.”

  “Doubts can also cause people to turn away.”

  “As you did.”

  He shrugged an acknowledgement. “I’d like to believe. It must be a great comfort. But I’ve seen too much bad stuff. Too many innocent people hurt. Evil exists, Emily.”

  “I know that. But if you can believe in evil, why is it hard for you to believe in goodness?”

  She could tell from his stunned expression that he’d never thought of it in quite those terms.

  “The thing is, Mark, trying to understand the mind of God is like an ant trying to move a mountain.” Emily leaned forward, intent. “His ways are so far beyond our understanding that even attempting to figure them out borders on arrogance. That’s where faith comes in. At some point you have to put your life in God’s hands, acknowledging you may never understand why certain things happen but trusting that he does. Accepting that you don’t have to understand everything is a liberating experience. But letting go isn’t always easy, even for people of strong faith.”

  “I hear you. In my job, control is everything. It’s hard not to think in the same terms about my life.”

  “I struggle with that too. That’s why I’ve had difficulty dealing with the shooting. I was convinced I’d constructed a safe, peaceful life. One that I controlled. Then one day, I go for a quiet walk in the park, and chaos erupts, changing everything in an instant. That Saturday morning was a strong reminder that we’re not as much in charge of our destinies as we might like to believe.”

  “Strong reminder is an understatement. I could think of less traumatizing wake-up calls. By the way, I like the music.”

  He was changing subjects. And that was okay. The journey to faith was rarely a road to Damascus experience, Emily knew.

  For most people, it was a long, slow trip fraught with detours and bumps and wrong turns. The best she could hope for was that their conversation would give Mark food for thought.

  “You should. It’s the jazz CD you brought to our last dinner.”

  Grinning, he chewed a bite of pizza. “I knew I had good taste. Now tell me how you’re adjusting to the disruption in your routine.”

  “Not very well. As you noted early on, I’m used to a predictable life. And life has been anything but that in the past ten days.

  Between changing office hours, alternating days at the shelter, varying church services—even moving my car to visitor parking, not that I’ve been using it, anyway—I feel completely off balance.” The man sitting across from her had contributed to her unsettled state too, but she kept that to herself. “When are you guys going to let me drive myself again?”

  Wiping his hands on a napkin, Mark leaned back in his chair, considering her. “We need to wait a few more days.”

  “Why? It’s been quiet. Maybe the guy decided one try was enough. I can’t put my life on hold forever.”

  “Better on hold than at risk.”

  Some nuance in his voice caught her attention, and her fingers clenched around the paper napkin in her lap, wadding it into a tight ball. “You have some news, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” He leaned forward again and rested his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. “We’ve heard from the shooter.”

  Her heart stuttered as fear coiled in her stomach. “How?”

  “A note. Addressed to me. Saying he wouldn’t miss the next time.”

  “Oh, Mark!” Terror drove the breath from her lungs. “You need to get out of town!”

  “You sound like my boss.”

  “Is that what he wants you to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why would you risk staying?” She grasped his hand, her grip urgent as their fingers entwined. “Please. It’s not worth the chance. You have to go!”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  His gaze locked on hers. “Because I’m afraid the note might be a red herring.”

  It took her a few moments to process his comment, for confusion to give way to understanding—and incredulity. “You think he might be after me?”

  “We can’t rule that out.”

  After several more seconds, she shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mark. I think the note was for real. This guy’s after you.”

  “I’m not convinced yet.”

  “But can’t you let the local people handle it? There’s no reason for you to stay and put yourself in danger.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  As he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, the implications of his message shook her. Mark cared enough about her to put himself in the line of fire on the off chance she was the target. He wanted to protect her. And he was willing to put his life at risk to do that.

  Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. The words from John echoed in Emily’s mind.

  Mark might not have embraced the words of the Bible yet, but he was living the spirit of them.

  In their case, however, she now knew his feelings went way beyond friendship. He’d implied as much in countless ways since their reunion, hidden under the guise of lighthearted banter.

  At this moment, though, there was nothing lighthearted in his demeanor. He was as serious as he’d been those many years ago at Wren Lake when he’d made his youthful promise to never love another.

  Mark was all grown up now. But the look in his eyes told her he once more had love on his mind.

  And, in truth, so did she. Her reaction to the danger he faced confirmed that. The depth of her terror
and panic suggested her feelings for this special man went far deeper than friendship.

  It was the kind of reaction a person had when a loved one was in danger.

  Whatever constraints her mind had put on their relationship, whatever limits it had set, her heart had ignored them, she realized. She cared for Mark far more than she was comfortable acknowledging—and far more than was prudent after such a short reunion. They had a lot of catching up to do before things escalated, and they needed to do it under ordinary circumstances, not while one of them was being stalked by a killer and emotions were spiking way out of normal range. Logic told her that.

  But logic was losing its battle against her heart, where the flame of youthful love had been fanned back to life and was growing day by day into something deep and rich and enduring.

  And as she sat inches away from the man who was fast securing a lasting place in her life, more than anything she wanted to feel his strong arms close around her as they’d once done at Wren Lake.

  As if reading her thoughts, he stood and held out his hand, never breaking eye contact. There was invitation . . . and encouragement . . . and yearning in their depths. But he was leaving the decision up to her. She could follow her heart and step into his arms, or listen to reason and dispel the charged atmosphere by kidding him about taking advantage of a lady in distress.

  He might be disappointed if she chose the latter option, but she suspected he’d take it in stride and revert to their previous easy give and take. Yet she knew what he wanted her to do.

  It was the same thing she wanted to do.

  The question was, should she take that risk?

  13

  As he extended his hand, Mark had no idea if Emily would respond to his invitation. It had been a risk, but a calculated one, taken after careful evaluation of the situation and the signals Emily was sending. As careful as he was capable of, anyway, given that his heart was pounding as hard as it did before a dangerous mission.

  Only when she rose and placed her hand in his did he realize he’d been holding his breath. As he lifted his free hand to brush a few soft strands of hair back from her face, he wasn’t surprised to find that his fingers were trembling. Her nearness had always had that effect on him.