Eye for an Eye, an (Heroes of Quantico Book #2): A Novel (10 page)

That had been it.

The reason for the lack of coverage was obvious. The police didn’t have a clue who was responsible. And this latest headline was a crock. There weren’t any leads to check. If there had been, he’d be in jail by now. The care he’d taken to cover his tracks had paid off.

The microwave pinged, and he withdrew the potpie, settling at the table with the newspaper in the empty lunch room. He’d started eating later than the other guys in the past few weeks.

Their chitchat had begun to get on his nerves.

“Smells good in here.”

He looked up as Red entered. Pushing sixty, the foreman had a shock of thick white hair that always needed combing, and the ruddy complexion that had earned him his nickname was redder than ever after the summer construction season.

“It’s one of Ruth’s potpies.”

It didn’t surprise him when that response discombobulated his boss.

“She was a good cook.” Red busied himself at the coffeemaker and changed the subject. “You gonna bowl with us again this fall? League’ll be starting soon.”

“Not this year.”

Turning, Red looked over at him. “Listen, I know you’ve had some really tough months. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

For a moment, he thought Red was going to say more. Instead, the man added some cream to his coffee and headed for the door. “Don’t forget to read that note from George on the bulletin board. Take care, pal.”

Pal.

Red wasn’t his pal. Not like Ruthie had been. Or his son. Nor were any of the guys at work. They weren’t there when he went home at night. They didn’t cook him great meals and listen to his problems or shoot baskets with him or help with the chores.

They went home to their own families.

And he didn’t blame them. That’s what he used to do too.

When he had a family.

A savory piece of chicken from the potpie stuck in his throat, and he pushed the food away, struggling to blink the moisture from his eyes. He couldn’t break down. Not yet. He had a job to do first. The Lord had spoken to him about it. And until he finished that assignment, he needed to keep a clear head. Grief could come later.

Lifting the newspaper, he scanned the story. Until now, neither of the victims had been identified. But today’s article listed one by name and the other by profession—FBI Special Agent Mark Sanders and a prominent local psychologist. According to the piece, the investigators were focusing on Sanders as the target because of a high-profile shooting in which he’d been involved.

Looking up from the newspaper, his gaze fell on the employee bulletin board next to the refrigerator. He’d already read the note from George Aiken, general manager, about a new Missouri Department of Transportation project the company had been awarded. And he’d read the letter next to it from big-time builder

Mike Evans, commending the team at Aiken for its work on his latest housing development. The man had even personalized it with some handwritten kudos at the bottom.

He’d worked on that project. Done a good job too.

As he considered Evans’s note, he suddenly realized that the tools to further deflect attention from his real target were staring at him.

It was like a message from above.

And once everyone was focused on protecting the FBI agent, it would be much easier to finish his job.

The next time, Emily Lawson would die.

10

Signaling to the waitress, Mark pulled out his wallet to pay for the late lunch he and Coop had wolfed down after spending a long Thursday morning following up on some leads for Nick’s bank robbery case. As it turned out, those had been far more productive than the ones they’d pursued for the shooting. And now, after five days, the latter had dried up. The news story in yesterday’s paper identifying Mark as one of the targets had produced two calls, but both had been dead ends.

“Let me get this.” Coop reached for the bill as the waitress set it down.

“Nope. My treat. It’s the least I can do for keeping you and Monica apart.”

“True.” Coop retracted his hand with a grin.

“However, you must be getting used to these separations by now.”

His grin faded. “As a matter of fact, I’m not. And imminent fatherhood isn’t making them any easier.”

Surprised by Coop’s candidness and serious demeanor, Mark looked at him. In all the years they’d worked together, his partner had rarely talked about personal issues. And he reserved serious discussion for job-related topics. Everything else got the glib, irreverent treatment.

“How does Monica feel?” Mark decided to test the waters, open the door if Coop wanted to talk.

“The same.”

Coop played with his coffee mug, and Mark sensed a sudden tension in the air. Instinctively, he braced.

Grasping the mug with both hands, Coop looked over at him.

“I’m leaving the HRT, Mark.”

For an instant, Mark stopped breathing. For four years, he and Coop had spent most of their waking hours together. They’d trusted each other with their lives on numerous occasions, suffered together through long, uncomfortable missions, pushed each other to do their best during countless training simulations.

They’d covered each other’s backs and put their lives on the line for one another more times than Mark cared to count. They shared a bond born of mutual dependence—and respect—that few ever experienced.

And now their partnership was coming to an end.

Because of Monica. And a baby.

Resentment clawed at Mark’s gut. “I guess this is why I never got married.”

“I had a feeling you’d look at it that way. And marriage was one factor in my decision. But not the only one.” Coop pushed his mug aside and leveled a direct gaze at his partner. “I’m thirty-nine, Mark. I’ve been on the HRT for five years. There are only two operators from my class left on the team. You know as well as I do that four or five years is the average tenure. And we both know this is a job for younger men. It’s time for me to go. With or without Monica and the baby.”

Struggling to control his roiling emotions, Mark considered Coop’s words. Everything he’d said was true. Most HRT operators lasted four years, max. And the job was designed for younger bodies. The intense training and often-difficult working conditions took a physical toll. Mark didn’t bounce back as quickly from injuries as he had in the past, and some had caused permanent damage. Coop had suffered a broken leg three years ago during a mission, and Mark knew he continued to fight the lingering pain and effects—and that the grueling training often aggravated the old injury.

Logic told Mark that Coop’s decision was a good one. But it didn’t make him feel any better about it. He was losing a partner. He was losing a part of himself. And life would never be the same again.

“When are you leaving?” Mark managed to ask the question with reasonable calm.

“The end of September.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ve lined up a teaching job at the academy.”

At least he was staying with the FBI. Meaning their paths would continue to cross. It wasn’t much of a consolation, but it helped.

“It sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“I have. It wasn’t an easy decision, Mark. But it’s the right one.”

Taking a sip of his tepid coffee, Mark tried to smile. “I guess that means I’ll have to break in a new partner. Maybe I’ll luck out and get one who doesn’t snore.”

“I probably should have warned Monica about that, huh?”

Coop grinned.

“I could always tell her my secret for making you stop.”

“A jab in the ribs with a blunt instrument? Forget it. Besides, she has a different technique. And it’s far less painful.” A slow, lazy smile lifted his lips.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to expound on that.” Mark quirked an eyebrow.

“Not a chance.”

“That’s what I figured.” Mark withdrew a credit card from his wallet and waved it at the waitress, who took it as she passed.

“Seriously, Coop, I wish you well. I understand your reasons for leaving, but it won’t be the same without you. It’s been a . . .we’ve had a good run.”

“Yeah. We have.” Coop drained his cup and cleared his throat. “But you’re not rid of me yet. We still have a shooter to find.”

“I’m not too hopeful on that score.”

“If he tries again, we may have another chance.”

“Much as I hate loose ends, I’d prefer that to risking a life just to catch this guy.”

“Agreed. However, given the planning that went into the first attempt, the guy strikes me as determined.”

“True. The most frustrating part is not knowing why he’s determined or who he’s after. The one good thing is that it’s looking less and less like he’s after Emily now that Jack Hanley is out of the running as a suspect and none of our shelter interviews turned up anything suspicious.”

“Depends on how you define good. If he’s not after her, that puts you in his crosshairs.”

“Better me than her. I’ve got you watching my back.”

“No pressure there.” Coop gave him a dry look.

The waitress returned with Mark’s card, and after he signed the check and pocketed the receipt, he stood and faced his partner. “I’m not worried. You’re the best. And I trust you with my life.”

Emotion had no place on the HRT. Nor did sentiment. And he and Coop had avoided both, on the job—and off. The closest they’d ever come to acknowledging their feelings for each other had been when Coop asked Mark to be the best man at his wedding, choosing his partner over his brother.

Until now.

Though Mark’s comment reflected his professional opinion of Coop, both men knew it resonated with deeper meaning.

Rising, Coop held out his hand. “You can count on me, Mark.

Always.”

As they left the restaurant, Mark felt a little less depressed.

He’d miss Coop. No one could ever take his place as an HRT partner. But he was confident that on another level, their partnership would continue long after Coop moved on to other things.

“This is the best Chinese food I’ve ever eaten.” Mark helped himself to another scoop of chicken broccoli.

“I discovered this place when I was in college, and I still stop and get takeout on a regular basis.” Emily leaned over to grab a few paper napkins from the center of her kitchen table.

“I hope you guys don’t mind eating in. I thought it would be faster, since I have to be at the studio by 7:15. And it has to be easier from a security standpoint for us to eat here than in a restaurant.”

“Much.” Coop took the last crab rangoon.

“What’s the plan for tonight?” Mark polished off a spear of broccoli.

“Once I arrive, we’ll do a few sound checks. The program goes live at 7:30. We’re on for an hour.”

“Let’s get there by seven. I want to take a look around first,”

Coop said.

Glancing at her watch, Emily rose. “In that case, let me run a comb through my hair and touch up my makeup.”

“I thought it was a radio program,” Mark said.

“I still like to look nice.”

“You always look nice. With or without makeup.” He grinned.

She rolled her eyes, matching his light tone. “Help him work on his lines, would you, Coop?”

Chuckling, Coop wiped his hands on some paper napkins.

“I’ve tried, Emily. He’s a lost cause.”

“I’ll have you know that most ladies like my lines.” Mark gave them both an indignant look, enjoying the repartee.

“Not too discriminating, are we?” Emily countered.

Coop tried to hide his laugh behind a cough.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, gentlemen.”

As Emily exited, Coop turned to Mark with a grin. “I like her.”

“So do I.” The whisper of a smile twitched at Mark’s lips.

“I know.”

At his partner’s amused expression, Mark narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “This isn’t going anywhere, Coop.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s not. My work is in Quantico. Emily’s practice is here.

Besides, she’s not interested in a relationship with a man in a high-risk profession. She’s been down that road once, and I got the distinct impression she doesn’t want to travel it again.”

“Love changes things.”

Taken aback, Mark eyed Coop. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought I was speaking English.”

“I haven’t seen Emily in twenty years. And she’s only been back in my life for five days. Love doesn’t happen that quickly.”

“Maybe it was there all along.”

Mark shot him a skeptical look. “We were sixteen and seventeen. She came to visit her grandmother one summer for six weeks. We clicked. We had a great time. She left. End of story.”

“Sorry. Don’t buy it. You guys obviously had chemistry twenty years ago. And trust me, you still do.”

“Since when did you become an expert on love?”

“Ask Monica.” He gave Mark a smug smile.

“Oh, give me a break.”

“All I’m saying is that as someone who found himself in that state in the not-too-distant past, I recognize it in other people.

Or the potential for it, anyway.”

“I’m not in the market for a serious relationship.”

“Tough. They show up when you least expect them.”

Mark gave up. It was clear he wasn’t going to change his partner’s mind. “Okay, fine, believe whatever you want. But do me a favor, okay? Don’t share your theories with Emily. She’s already nervous enough when the two of us are alone together.”

“I rest my case.”

An hour later, as Coop did another walk-through in the small studio, Mark leaned back in the sound booth and watched as the headphone-wearing technician fielded incoming calls and patched them through to Emily, who was visible through a glass window in front of the control panel.

“Hi, Lauren. What can I do for you tonight?”

Speakers in the sound booth allowed Mark to listen in on the chat session, and he’d been impressed with Emily’s deft handling of the teen callers. Her advice had been sound, her empathy real, her candor sincere. She had an amazing ability to connect with the teenagers, and quite a few were repeat callers, taking her up on her invitation to let her know how they’d fared in their attempts to resolve whatever sticky situation they’d talked with her about on a previous program.

Lauren’s problem involved pressure from her boyfriend to “prove” how much she cared for him. He was pushing her toward higher and higher levels of intimacy. Curious how Emily would respond, Mark gave the conversation his full attention, analyzing her comments as she spoke.

“Adam sounds like a nice guy, Lauren.”
She didn’t dis the boyfriend and risk raising Lauren’s defensiveness. Smart
. “And it’s normal not to want to express your feelings in a physical way if you care about someone.”
She acknowledged the validity of the girl’s emotions
. “What you have to decide is whether you’re ready for that kind of commitment. And it’s good you’re asking yourself that question.”
She let Lauren know her concerns were legitimate, and that she had choices
. “The thing is, sometimes even people who care about us want us to do things that will make them happy, but maybe won’t make us happy in the long run.”
She was subtly instilling a doubt about the boyfriend’s motives
. “It can help to ask ourselves how we’ll feel about this down the road. Let’s say you and Adam break up in three months. How will you feel then if you go along with what he wants you to do?”
She was asking Lauren to evaluate long-term consequences
.

As Emily went on to discuss options and strategies with Lauren, Mark’s respect for her abilities mushroomed. She was masterful. When at last Lauren hung up, with a promise to call back next week and give Emily an update, it was clear the teen was having serious second thoughts about giving in to the pressure from her boyfriend.