An Eye for an Eye

by Irene Hannon

  Pulling her close, Mark pressed his lips to her hair. “Hang in there, Em. This will be over soon. I promise.”

  “I hope so.”

  “What do you say we put on one of those zany Marx Brothers movies I spotted in your DVD rack? I think we’re both due for some laughter.”

  “Okay.”

  He eased away from her and stood to retrieve the movie, hoping it would help both of them forget for a little while the cloud that had been hanging over them since the day in the park.

  But once the movie ended, they’d be back where they were before it began.

  Hunted by an unknown assailant.

  And while he’d been quiet for a while, Mark had a growing sense of unease that he was getting ready to make another move.

  They were keeping an eye on her.

  Dale hunched down in his Ford Taurus rental car and watched as the guy who’d dropped off the FBI agent earlier at Emily Lawson’s condo returned. Considering the thorough scan he gave the parking lot before he headed for the door, Dale figured he was either an agent or a cop too.

  Parking his car in the long-term lot at the airport and picking up a rental car for the next few days had been a smart move, Dale decided. He was too close to completing his mission to take any risks. Considering how he’d muddied up the license plate on his car the day of the shooting, he was confident no one could have read the number. But after the mistakes at work, he needed to take extra precautions, just to be safe.

  His plan was almost finished, and it was a good one. A righteous one. God approved. He could tell.

  Now it was a matter of deciding when to implement it. That’s why he was watching her place. Why he planned to follow her for the next couple of days. He needed to find out if the cops or the feds were guarding her round the clock. He hoped not.

  She needed to be alone for his plan to work.

  Dale watched as the two men returned to the car and drove away. The shades were drawn in the shrink’s condo, but she was there.

  Two hours later, she was still there. Alone.

  Good.

  It was time for him to take the next step.

  “I just had a call from Les.”

  Turning from the coffeemaker, Mark watched his partner enter Nick’s kitchen, setting aside his pleasant thoughts about the previous evening with Emily. “A call from the boss. Interesting way to start the day.”

  “He wants me back in Quantico for the weekend. For a little R & R, as he put it.”

  “Sounds reasonable. You’ve worked three weeks straight without a break.”

  “He’s never cared about that in the past when we were in the middle of a mission. None of us got a break until the job was finished.” Coop leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest as he sized up his friend. “And the job here isn’t finished.”

  “I’ll stick close to Nick while you’re gone. Besides, my schedule is impossible to pin down these days. The shooter has no idea where I’ll be, except at night when I’m here sleeping. And Nick’s got a state-of-the-art security system.”

  “Les wouldn’t know that. Unless someone told him.”

  Grinning, Mark poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Coop.

  “Happy anniversary.”

  “What I want to know is how you managed to pull this off.”

  “Trade secret.”

  “Especially since things are beginning to get interesting here.”

  Coop continued as if Mark hadn’t spoken.

  “More interesting than spending the weekend with Monica?” A slow smile tugged at Coop’s lips. “Good point. Forget I said that.”

  “It’s forgotten. I had a call this morning too. From Steve. Paul confirmed the match.”

  “We expected that.”

  “He also said they’re beginning to get employee names from Evans’s contractors. He’s passing them on to Oakdale. They’ll run them through NCIC and check the names against the Eight List as they come in while we hit the streets again. But we’re operating with reduced manpower today. Nick’s closing in on the last bank robbery suspect and Steve’s had to pull quite a few agents in to assist. The arrests may go down this weekend.”

  “See all the fun I’ll be missing?” Coop grinned and refilled his cup.

  “Yeah. You look real upset.”

  “Hey, I’ll be thinking about all of you.”

  “Right.”

  “Unless Monica distracts me too much.”

  “Why do I think that’s a given?”

  Chuckling, Coop drained his cup and set it on the counter.

  But as he turned back to Mark, his expression grew more serious. “Listen, whatever you did . . . whatever strings you pulled . . . thanks. I owe you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I bet you will. Just do me a favor, okay? Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  Rolling his eyes, Coop snagged the car keys. “Let’s hit the road. We’ve got a shooter to catch.”

  Emily took off her headphones and rose from the chair in the studio as Andy gave her a thumbs-up from the glass window in the control booth.

  The program had gone well tonight, she concluded. Kyle had called back, sounding much more upbeat since he’d begun talking to a counselor at school, and the rest of the teens she had chatted with had been receptive to her suggestions. These were the kinds of sessions she most enjoyed.

  As she gathered up her notes, she saw Mark and Coop rise from their seats in the booth. After a brief discussion, Coop exited and Mark turned toward her. The warmth of his smile was like the thawing, life-generating caress of the spring sun.

  That was an apt analogy, Emily reflected as she moved to join him. After Grant’s death, she’d been convinced she could never again take the risk of loving. Not even someone in a “safe”profession, let alone an FBI agent. Yet a mere three weeks into their reunion, she was finding it harder and harder to imagine life without Mark. The twenty-year gap in their relationship had melted away as her memory of the teenage Mark with grand plans and high ideals melded with the reality of the grown man who’d brought them to fruition with integrity, discipline, and an admirable sense of honor and justice.

  She’d loved Mark back in those Wren Lake days, when young passions were high. Yet she’d gotten over him after life had set them on different paths.

  This time, however, she didn’t think she’d emerge unscathed if she let him walk out of her life.

  And that would happen in nine days, when he returned to

  Quantico. For always, if she let fear stop her from following her heart. Or temporarily, if she was willing to give their relationship a fair chance. But unless she was, she couldn’t let him take the job here. His sole tie to St. Louis was her. If she didn’t think their relationship had a future, she had to be honest with him.

  And she had to decide soon. Mark’s boss wouldn’t dally about filling the job in St. Louis.

  “Good program.” Mark squeezed her hand as she entered the booth.

  “Thanks.”

  “Ready to call it a night?”

  “Yes. See you next week, Andy.”

  “I’ll be here.” With a wave, the long-haired technician set off down the hall to lock up.

  Mark put his hand in the small of her back and guided her toward the door. When Coop gave a soft, patterned knock, signaling the all-clear, he stepped out first and motioned Emily to follow.

  “You know, I’m starting to consider this clandestine stuff routine,” she commented as they walked toward the car. “That’s pretty sad.”

  “A temporary inconvenience.” Coop opened the door for them as they slid into the backseat.

  “I hear you’ve been given a reprieve for your anniversary, though,” Emily said as he took his place behind the wheel.

  “Also temporary, unfortunately. But I’ll take it.”

  “Your wife must be thrilled that you’ll be home to celebrate the big day.”
>
  “That’s putting it mildly.” Grinning, he glanced at his two passengers in the rearview mirror. “By the way, Mark, she says thanks. And to tell you you’re invited for dinner as soon as you get back. Steak, no less.”

  Curious, Emily looked at Mark. His face was hard to read in the dim light, but she thought she detected a flush on his cheeks.

  “You had something to do with this?”

  “Not much.”

  “Don’t believe him, Emily. Somehow he convinced our boss— who doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body—to give me a weekend pass. I always suspected my partner was a romantic at heart, although he keeps it well hidden. But being around you seems to bring it out in him.”

  “Knock it off, Coop.” Mark’s comment came out as a low growl.

  “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “Sure.”

  “Hey, Emily deals with feelings all day, every day. I’m sure she understands.”

  Mark threw a quick, speculative glance her way, clearly not comfortable with his partner’s revelation about his softer side.

  But she was glad Coop had passed on that bit of information.

  It gave her yet another insight into the man who’d stolen her heart so many years ago on the shores of Wren Lake.

  And it also reinforced her growing sense that her youthful crush hadn’t been misguided. Mark Sanders had been worthy of her affection years ago. And he was worthy of her love now.

  If only she could find the courage to risk her heart again.

  Dale had never been able to fathom why some men enjoyed frequenting sleazy, dark, smoky bars in questionable areas of town.

  The ready availability of alcohol was one reason, he supposed.

  He’d noticed the staff wasn’t too diligent about checking IDs, and a lot of the guys sitting around the tables had to be borderline minimum age.

  The waitresses could be the attraction too. Most of the patrons were blatantly ogling the young women in their skin-tight jeans and low-cut tops.

  It was possible the music was a draw, but he doubted it. Most of the customers were ignoring the small band that was playing some loud rock tune. For all he knew, it was the same song they’d been playing when he’d arrived forty-five minutes ago.

  They all sounded alike to him.

  He’d picked the same, shadowed corner table two nights in a row. It gave him a good view of the bar, and he’d already spotted some repeat customers from Wednesday night. The regulars were the ones he watched tonight. And it didn’t take long to pick out the one he needed to contact. The twenty-something guy with shaggy blond hair and several days’ growth of beard sat on the stool he’d occupied at the bar last night, and as the evening went on he conducted a series of discreet transactions.

  That was the other reason to come to a place like this. For a price, in relative anonymity, you could get anything you wanted.

  Cash was passed one way, goods the other. The exchange took seconds; eye contact was rarely made.

  Several years ago, before his cop buddy had retired to Florida, he’d talked one night about the ease of doing business on the black market. Dale had half listened, never expecting to need the information. Now he wished he’d paid more attention. But he remembered a fair amount and had observed enough over the past two nights to do this.

  He’d have preferred to make his own drug, but the recipe on the Internet was too complicated for his limited chemistry background. And he didn’t want to leave a trail by ordering the drug online via one of the products masquerading as a “health supplement.” There was no completely anonymous way to get it; this was the best he could do. Still, it bothered him. He Zdidn’t like relying on other people. Never had. For anything. But he didn’t have any better options in this situation.

  Pulling the brim of his baseball cap lower, he adjusted the cheap, black-rimmed reading glasses he’d bought at Walgreens in an attempt to alter his appearance. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the note written in the same style he’d used for his recent communication to the FBI agent and scanned it.

  Liquid ecstasy. Tomorrow night?

  He’d found the street slang for the drug on the Internet too.

  There were a bunch of names for it, but this one appeared most often. The perverted use suggested by the name turned his stomach, but if the drug served its purpose, he could live with the term.

  Two tables away, some guy yelled to the waitress to bring another round. This was the third for that table in the past half hour. The excess filled him with disgust. He didn’t drink alcohol, but he’d ordered a beer so he wouldn’t stand out. The untouched bottle sat on his table, the label dotted with beads of sweat. Like the ones forming on his forehead.

  Signaling to the waitress, he folded the note into quarters.

  When she approached, he kept his chin down and handed it to her, along with a five-dollar bill. “Please give this to the blond guy at the bar.”

  She took it without a word, pocketing the money.

  After she delivered it, cocking her head his direction, Dale watched from under the brim of his cap as the man unfolded it.

  Sixty seconds later, the guy turned his direction and scrutinized him. Then he scribbled on the paper, refolded it, and gave it back to the waitress. She dropped it on his table as she passed.

  Slowly Dale unfolded it. The amount the guy had jotted down was higher than it should be. He knew that from his research on the Net. But he wasn’t going to quibble about a few dollars.

  It was a small price to pay for vengeance.

  Lifting his chin, he gave a slight nod. The man turned back to the bar.

  As Dale stood and threw some bills down next to his now-flat beer, relief flooded through him. His plans were falling into place. Tomorrow he’d have the drug in hand.

  After that, it was just a matter of picking the right time and place.

  19

  As Nick pulled up in front of the American Airlines entrance at Lambert International Airport on Friday at noon, Coop leaned forward from the backseat and addressed Mark. “Watch yourself.”

  “I will. Besides, your replacement is excellent.” He shot Nick a grin.

  “I’m under strict orders to keep him in sight whenever he ventures out of the house,” Nick told Coop. “Since my focus is the bank robbery case, that means I get an extra body for the weekend. A good deal, if you ask me. I can use all the help I can get.”

  Grimacing, Mark turned back to Coop. “Are you sure you don’t want some company on this trip?”

  “Forget it, pal. Two’s company and all that. Nick, thanks for the accommodations.”

  “Sorry about the drywall dust.”

  “I survived.” Reaching for his duffel bag, he looked back at Mark. “Depending on how things go, I’ll either see you early next week here or in Quantico in a week.”

  Per Mark’s conversation with Les, they were going to regroup on Monday morning via conference call to discuss the status of the case and decide if Coop’s presence was still needed in St. Louis.

  “Okay. Thanks for all your help. Have a good flight.”

  With a nod, Coop got out of the car and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. Lifting his hand in farewell, he disappeared inside the terminal.

  While Mark was glad Coop would be able to spend his anniversary with Monica, his partner’s absence meant he’d have less opportunity to focus on the shooting. For the weekend, at least, the bank robbery took precedence, so he’d have to stick close to Nick. The pieces in that case were falling rapidly into place, as they often did near the end.

  Prior to the shooting, Mark had worked closely with his academy buddy to track down leads on the perpetrators. They’d discovered that the series of robberies, which had taken place in rapid succession over a four-day period, were the work of three men. Two had been identified and located during the past week and were being tailed. Nick was on the verge of locating the third. They knew he’d been in touch with his girlfriend, and t
hey’d put round-the-clock surveillance on her, expecting she’d lead them to him. Once she did, they’d move in on all three simultaneously. They’d been holding back on arresting the first two, afraid their capture would tip off the third suspect that they were closing in on him too, and he’d flee.

  A few agents would continue to track down the names on the Eight List, but progress would be slow. Nor did Mark expect that Oakdale would do much work on the contractor employee lists this weekend.

  He understood why resources were being diverted to the bank case. It was hot and breaking. And he knew the clerical nature of list-checking wouldn’t have much appeal to the Oakdale detectives, or be a weekend priority.

  But he didn’t have to like it.

  Emily Lawson had been unaccompanied all day. Dale knew, because he’d been following her. Better yet, no one had stopped by to see her all evening.

  Settling back in his car, he checked his watch. He needed to leave for the bar soon to pick up his “order,” but he’d hang around and watch her condo for a few more minutes in case that FBI agent decided to pay a late call.

  His plan was ready to implement. Everything he needed was in a tote bag in the backseat, triple checked against his list. The last picture he’d taken of Ruthie and Bryan. A cordless drill. A screwdriver. A twelve-inch length of metal pipe, one inch in diameter. Duct tape. Latex gloves. Eight feet of flexible garden hose. Baseball cap. Glasses. Later tonight he’d add the drug to his cache.

  And sometime in the next seventy-two hours, Emily Lawson would die.

  The blond guy was sitting at the bar, in the same place he’d been the previous two nights. Dale scanned the dim room, heavy with smoke, as he settled his glasses on his nose and pulled his cap lower. No one took any notice of him as he paused inside the front door, and he eased over to the bar. Sliding onto the empty stool beside the man, he focused on the bartender and ordered a beer.

  When it was delivered, he took out his wallet and paid for it. As the bartender took the cash, Dale slid out another bill, folded it in thirds, and laid it on the counter by his elbow with the denomination showing.