Eye for an Eye, an (Heroes of Quantico Book #2): A Novel (13 page)

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.

One more thing that hadn’t changed through the years.

He considered speaking, but he had a feeling the words would get stuck in his throat. Instead, he tugged her gently toward him, taking care to avoid her injured arm as he enfolded her in a tender embrace.

She was trembling too, he discovered. More than he was. Her simple step into his arms had been a quantum leap forward in their relationship. And it was scary. While the terrain was familiar, in many ways it was like visiting a favorite place from childhood after decades had passed. Often, the present reality didn’t live up to the fond memories treasured—and often embellished—through the passage of years. That could happen tonight, and they both knew it.

But there was no turning back.

As the soft jazz washed over them, Mark did nothing more than hold her, giving them both a chance to adjust to the closeness, to get comfortable with the step they were taking. There was no need to rush. He’d learned to pace things through the years, to tune in to nuances and subtle messages. A skill he’d been woefully lacking during their first romantic encounter, he recalled.

After two decades, memories of how he’d botched their first kiss at Wren Lake still had the power to embarrass him. He’d been a bundle of gawky adolescent nerves driven by unruly hormones, his technique zero on a ten-point scale. Their embrace had been clumsy, at best. He hadn’t known what to do with his hands, which had suddenly felt twice as big as usual. His aim for the kiss had been off, resulting in an off-center collision of lips.

And somehow his watch had gotten snagged on the front of her sweater in the most embarrassing possible place. It had been a pathetic, inept romantic debut, and he’d been mortified by his fumbling of what he’d hoped would be a memorable moment.

He’d learned a few things since then. Yet all at once he felt just like that awkward adolescent of twenty years ago.

However, now, as then, Emily put them both at ease by focusing on her deficits rather than his.

“I haven’t done this in a long time, Mark. I’m a bit rusty.” Her unsteady voice whispered against the front of his shirt, and he recalled how she had been the one who’d apologized on that lazy summer day years ago, blaming her lack of experience for his klutzy handling of the embrace. He was as grateful to her now for taking the pressure off of him as he had been two decades before.

Relaxing a bit, he rested his cheek against her hair and inhaled her fresh, floral scent. “It’s like riding a bicycle.”

“That’s not much of a comfort. Grant told me the same thing before we went bike riding on our honeymoon. I promptly fell off, spraining my wrist and skinning both knees. It was not a pretty picture.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he stroked her hair. “I promise this will be less painful.” Drawing back a bit, he searched her eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since that first day in the park.”

“I know.”

“It was inevitable.”

“I know.”

She was shaking harder now, and he touched her cheek.

“You’re not sure about this, are you?”

“No. But I haven’t been sure about much of anything in the past ten days. I guess I’m afraid this could be a mistake, Mark.

For both of us. I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship.”

“It’s survived a twenty-year separation. I think it should be able to survive one kiss.”

Despite her nervousness, she managed a smile. “I don’t remember us talking about all the ramifications the first time we kissed.”

He breathed out a soft laugh. “We’re older now. And wiser.”

“Not to mention more wary.”

“That too.” He stroked a finger down the side of her jaw, his touch feather light. “But you know something? I’m done talking.” With that, he lowered his mouth to hers.

And this time, his aim was right on target.

As Mark tasted her remembered sweetness, Emily’s lips stirred beneath his, responding with an eagerness and abandon that surprised—and delighted—him. He deepened the kiss, cupping her head with one hand, his fingers tangled in her soft hair.

In the years since he’d left Tennessee, he’d kissed his share of women, many of them far more sophisticated and experienced than his first love. But he’d never enjoyed a kiss more. Nor felt such a strong sense of homecoming. Or connectedness. Or rightness.

During that long-ago summer, Mark had been convinced Emily belonged in his arms for always. As the years passed, however, he’d come to look upon that conviction as nothing more than a starry-eyed reaction to a first love. Now, he had an odd feeling his seventeen-year-old heart might not have been off base after all. Emily was as appealing as she’d been two decades ago. Perhaps more so. And not merely in terms of physical beauty. Everything he’d once loved about her remained, deeper and richer and more captivating than ever—her sharp intellect, her innate kindness and unselfishness, her delightful sense of humor, and her rock-solid strength. All of these gave her dimension and character. If her adult-like maturity as a teen had intrigued him, the effect was compounded now that she’d grown into it.

Mark stretched the kiss out as long as he dared, but eventually his well-honed sense of discipline kicked in. The last thing he wanted to do was rush Emily. She was already skittish about letting their friendship escalate. And he suspected she had well-defined ground rules for relationships and intimacy—much as she had in their Wren Lake days. He respected those now, as he had years ago. Tonight he’d tested the waters. And liked her response. But he didn’t intend to push his luck.

With an effort, he broke contact and drew back, keeping her within the circle of his arms.

After a few seconds, Emily opened her eyes. “Wow! You’ve been practicing. That was quite an upgrade from our Wren Lake days.”

He chuckled. “I have a lot to make up for, as I recall. And you weren’t too shabby tonight yourself.”

Smiling, she toyed with the button on his shirt. “I hope we won’t regret . . .”

“Hey.” He lifted her chin with a gentle finger. “No second thoughts, okay? Let’s just enjoy the moment. And the movie.”

He guided her toward the living room, put the DVD in, and joined her on the couch. He draped his arm around her shoulders, and she scooted closer, tucking herself beside him. At first she seemed tense, but as the movie progressed he felt her relax.

He had the opposite reaction, however. Her soft curves pressed against the hard planes of his body reminded him how vulnerable she was. And how much he wanted to protect her.

Yet the reality was chilling.

No matter how many agents were assigned to this case, and no matter how many precautions they took, until the unknown gunman was identified and apprehended, safety was only an illusion.

“Dale, George would like to see you in his office after you finish lunch.”

Surprised, Dale looked over at Cindy, George Aiken’s secretary. In twenty-four years on the job, he couldn’t recall ever being called into the owner’s office. They knew each other, of course. Aiken Concrete wasn’t that large of an operation. But Red always handled official business with his crew, unless it was a very serious matter. Like when Ralph got fired a year ago for selling leftover concrete on the side to pad his wallet.

That hadn’t been smart. Or honest. Much as he’d liked Ralph, Dale hadn’t been able to feel sorry for the man. An honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay, Dale’s father had taught him. And never take what isn’t yours. Dale had followed that advice all his life.

“Dale?” Cindy gave him an impatient look.

“Okay. I’ll go see him now.”

With a nod, she exited.

There was no reason to be nervous, Dale told himself as he headed down the hall toward the office suite at the front of the main building. He was a good worker. Red knew that. Had complimented him on countless occasions, in fact. This summons couldn’t be anything bad.

But when he knocked on George’s door and stepped inside, his heart missed a beat. Red was there too, and he didn’t like the uncomfortable, apologetic look on his boss’s face.

“Come in, Dale.” George held out his hand, giving Dale a too-hearty shake. “Can I get you some water? Coffee?”

“No, sir. Thank you. I just had lunch.”

“It is about that time, isn’t it? Funny how the day can get away from you. Well, have a seat.” He motioned to the chair beside Red.

He settled on the edge of the seat, and George leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk. “When was your last vacation, Dale?”

The question surprised him, and he glanced at Red. His boss’s bland demeanor offered no clue about where this conversation was headed.

“Last October. My son was playing in a soccer tournament in Ohio, and Ruth and I went down to watch, then stayed a few days afterward to do a little sightseeing.”

“Nice place, Ohio.” George picked up a pen and balanced it in his fingers. “Red and I are thinking it might be good if you took a little vacation now, Dale. You’ve had a lot to deal with these past two or three months. A man needs some time to work through those kinds of losses.”

“I’ve taken a few days off here and there.”

“But it might be good to have an extended stretch off. You can’t regroup in a day or two.”

“I’m doing okay, Mr. Aiken. I don’t need any time off.”

Turning to Red, George passed him the baton with a slight dip of his head.

Red shifted in his seat, and his complexion grew ruddier. “The thing is, Dale, there’ve been a couple of mistakes recently. I’ve worked with you long enough to know they weren’t caused by carelessness or negligence. I just figure you’ve got a lot of stuff to work through. Taking a little vacation might help you do that.”

“What kind of mistakes?” Dale sent the foreman a skeptical look. He was always careful. He didn’t make mistakes.

“One of your trucks had a bad batch of concrete two weeks ago. Too much water in the mix. We were lucky the driver caught it at the site when he checked the slump, or we’d have had a mess.”

“Are you certain it was one of my trucks?”

“Yeah.” Red looked at George and shoved his stubby fingers through his thick white hair. “Like I said, I know you have a lot to deal with. Losing your wife and son in a matter of weeks . . .that’s a tough thing, pal. So I cut you some slack. You’ve been a great worker all these years. And a man’s entitled to a few mistakes. But the thing is, it happened again on Monday.”

Shocked, Dale stared at his boss. Was it possible he’d messed up twice? He knew he was a little distracted. He had a lot on his mind, a mission to plan and carry out. But he’d thought he’d been focused on his job when he was at work.

Yet he’d made mistakes.

And if he’d made mistakes here, had he made others as well?

The thought chilled him.

“Anyway, we think it might be a good idea for you to take some time off,” Red continued.

“And it might help to talk things out with someone too,”

George added. “We’d like you to stop in and see Marla in HR after we’re finished here. She can recommend someone to you.”

A psychologist. That’s what George meant. They’d decided he needed a shrink.

That stunned him more than anything else they’d said.

He didn’t believe in shrinks. Never had. All that psychobabble confused people more than it helped them. And in light of what had happened with Bryan, it added insult to injury to suggest he see one.

When Dale didn’t respond, Red exchanged another look with George.

“You know about our EAP program, Dale. We’ve sent plenty of materials to employees, and we’ve discussed it in meetings here,” George said.

That was true. But Dale had tuned out in the meetings and thrown out the material unopened. It was the one thing on which he and Ruthie had disagreed. She’d been convinced the program might help Bryan. He’d been adamant they could solve their own problems.

In the end, he’d won. Or he thought he had. But his son’s best friend had confided to him at the funeral that Bryan had found a way around his father’s directive. And he’d discovered Ruthie had known about it. The ensuing argument had been the most stressful and prolonged in their marriage. Three weeks after they buried their son, she’d suffered a fatal heart attack.

“Anyway, Marla will give you the name of the counselor at the EAP office. Set up an appointment, Dale. It might help you over the hump. Okay?”

It wasn’t a request. Dale knew that. He was backed into a corner because of two stupid mistakes. At least the guy was just a “counselor” versus a shrink, he consoled himself. And if he played it right, Dale was certain he could convince him he was okay and end the charade in one visit.