by Irene Hannon
Nothing I’ve tried has filled it. Thanks to some of the conversations we’ve been having, though, I’m thinking God may be what’s missing. I guess you could say I’m a seeker. Who knows? Maybe I’ll find some answers in church, at that renewal ceremony.”
As far as she was concerned, Mark’s attitude was a huge step forward from the skeptical reception her faith-related comments had generated two weeks ago.
“I hope so, Mark. And it should be a lovely evening.”
“Any evening with you would be lovely.” He reached out to play with a few strands of her hair. As he leaned toward her, two sharp raps sounded on the door, followed by a pause and a third knock.
“Mark. We’re clear.”
His lips hovered close to hers, his breath a warm whisper against her mouth, his regret obvious. “I’m going to have to talk to my partner about his timing.” With a resigned sigh, he straightened and touched her cheek. “We’ll pick this up another time, okay?”
Without waiting for her to respond, Mark turned away and swung the door open.
Was it okay? Emily wondered as she followed him out. She wasn’t sure. About that—and a lot of things.
But as she walked toward the car, Mark’s hand in the small of her back, she was sure about one thing.
When all this was over, she didn’t want the man at her side to disappear from her life again as he had twenty years before.
14
Hope House surprised Mark.
“This is it?” He inspected the large, well-maintained home as Coop pulled into the driveway and followed it to the small parking lot in the rear of the residential property. The shelter was nothing like the institutional-looking structure in a less-than-desirable district that he’d imagined. And Nick hadn’t enlightened him after he’d escorted Emily here the week before.
He’d simply commented that security was good.
“Yes. What did you expect?” Emily settled the strap of her purse on her shoulder and picked up her briefcase.
“Something more . . . official looking.”
“Some of the shelters do look like that. But this is a safe house—an emergency haven for women and children in need of immediate refuge. It can accommodate eight women, or four women and their children. Women only stay here a few days, until they decide what they want to do next.”
While Emily was speaking, Coop had exited the car and done a sweep of the area. At his nod, Mark helped Emily out, taking the briefcase from her hand.
“Nick said it was secure.” Mark looked around as they strode toward the back entrance. The small yard was enclosed by a six-foot privacy fence, and there was a peephole in the steel door. Prominent stickers on the windows and a sign stuck in the ground near the entrance alerted visitors that the building was equipped with an alarm system.
“It has to be. You’d understand why if you heard some of the stories these women tell.”
She rang the back bell. Sixty seconds ticked by before the door was opened by a gray-haired woman with a merry smile.
“Hello, Emily. Sorry for the delay. I’m still adjusting to your new schedule. It’s odd to see you here on a Friday.”
“It feels odd to me too. You know what a creature of habit I am. Margaret, this is Mark Sanders and Coop . . . Evan Cooper.
Margaret Adams.”
“My, you do have good taste in men.” The older woman shook their hands, her eyes twinkling. “I liked the one you brought last week too. So handsome and well-mannered.”
Mark raised an eyebrow, and Emily grinned as she dropped her purse on the large table in the cheery kitchen. “Yes. Nick’s quite a guy. But these two aren’t bad, either.”
“Thanks a lot,” Mark said.
Margaret chuckled. “You two feel free to help yourselves to cake and coffee while you wait.” She gestured toward the counter.
“Anyone lined up for me today, Margaret? Or am I doing a walk-through?”
“Two of our guests signed up to speak with you. I’ll let them know you’re here. Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.”
As she pushed through the door toward the front of the house, she came close to colliding with a woman carrying a baby. The young mother’s black eye and split lip identified her as a Hope House guest.
“Oh, Denise. I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t see you.” Margaret looked back at Mark and Coop as she put an arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “I’ll alert the rest of the guests that we have visitors. You won’t be disturbed.” Turning, she cooed at the baby.
“Now come along, dear, and let’s get this little one down for his nap.”
The woman took one nervous look at the two powerful men who dominated the kitchen and hastily backed through the door, followed by Emily.
For several moments, only the hum of the refrigerator broke the silence.
“Guys who do that should be behind bars.” A muscle clenched in Mark’s jaw.
“Yeah.” Coop let out a slow breath. “I bet Emily gets an earful. I don’t know how she does it. She talks to people with problems all day at her office, and instead of having fun in her free time, she puts herself through those emotional sessions with teens and listens to the stories these women have to tell. And we think we have a tough job.” He shook his head. “How does she do it?”
The question was rhetorical, and Coop didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he moved to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee.
Yet the comment lingered in Mark’s mind. While Emily’s faith gave her obvious spiritual comfort, he suspected her emotional needs went unmet. He was no psychologist, but it seemed to him she filled the empty places in her life with a lot of stuff that tapped her emotional reservoir dry. As a result, she had nothing left to give at the end of the day. Which was probably a good thing from her viewpoint. If she had nothing left to give, she wouldn’t notice there was no one to give anything to.
He also suspected that his reappearance had upset the delicate balance she’d created in her life. Forced her to acknowledge that she did have unaddressed emotional needs, just as her discussions of faith had forced him to acknowledge the spiritual vacuum in his life. It hadn’t been a comfortable experience for him, and he suspected the same was true for her. Pleasant as their reunion had been, it had also highlighted the fact that they both had issues to grapple with and fears to address.
In some ways, life had been easier for both of them before their paths had crossed in the park. Yet he didn’t regret their reunion. And he hoped Emily felt the same way.
But it didn’t really matter.
Because there was no turning back.
“Where’s Nick?” Mark stepped into his host’s home gym, the one room in the house mercifully free of drywall dust. He’d figured his partner would be in here. Tossing a towel on the treadmill, he headed toward the elliptical machine.
“At the office.” Coop grunted from his spot on the combo bench and lowered the weights he was hefting. “I don’t know why he went to the expense of putting in a home gym when there’s a well-equipped facility at the office.”
“Convenience. At least that’s what he told me.”
“He’s down there all the time, anyway.” Coop wiped a towel down his face as he watched Mark warm up. “The leg’s looking good.”
“I’d say it’s at 98 percent.”
“That may be as good as it gets.”
“I’ll take it. Did Nick say what he was working on? It’s Friday night.”
“Nope. But between you and me, I think he’s brown nosing.” “Nick?” Mark snorted and shook his head. “That’s the last thing he’d do. He doesn’t play office politics.”
“He might join in the game if he’s angling for the SWAT team job.”
Mark stopped warming up and turned to Coop. “You know about that?”
“We work for an intelligence organization. Our job is uncovering information. How long did you think Dave’s retirement would stay a secret?”
“True.” Mark propped a fist on
his hip. “To be honest, I’ve known about it for a while. And there’s more to the story.”
When he paused, Coop swung his leg over the bench and faced his partner. “Okay. You have my undivided attention.”
“Steve offered me the job.”
Silence descended as Coop scrutinized Mark. “I didn’t think you were planning to leave the HRT yet.”
“I wasn’t. The offer came out of the blue. My first inclination was to turn it down immediately, but for some reason I didn’t.” He raked his fingers through his hair, puzzled. “I’ve been trying to sort through it myself before I said anything, but I’m not any closer to understanding my reaction now than I was when Steve brought it up. You know me as well as anyone. Any insights?”
“You want the truth?”
“Yeah.”
“You may not like it.”
“Has that ever stopped you before?”
“Can’t say that it has.” Coop chuckled and draped the towel around his shoulders. “If you didn’t say no, my guess is the HRT is beginning to lose some of its luster for you. That’s what happened to me. It was a great gig, but I’ve done everything I wanted to do on the team. Plus, my priorities have shifted now that I have Monica and a baby on the way. I don’t need the excitement of high-risk missions like I once did. Nor do I feel the need to prove myself by pushing my body to the edge of human endurance in training. I have something better to fill my days.”
He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs, clasping his hands between his knees. “I still love the work, which is why I’m staying with the Bureau in a teaching role. But I’m ready for a life where I know I can go home at night instead of wondering whether I’ll be called up without warning and sent thousands of miles away for a mission of unknown duration.”
“In other words, you want a more predictable life.” The kind Emily preferred, Mark thought.
“Bingo.”
A feeling of melancholy washed over Mark. As Coop had said, the HRT had been a good gig. But he’d always known it wouldn’t last forever. That at some point his partnership with Coop would come to an end. Situations changed. People changed. Sometimes by choice, sometimes by circumstance. Coop had made his choice. Now the ball was in his court.
“Why do I suddenly feel old?”
“I prefer to think of it as maturity,” Coop countered with a grin.
“Emily might agree with you on that.”
“Speaking of the good doctor—I suspect she has a lot to do with your response to Steve too. Quantico is a long way from St. Louis. And you’ve put in enough years to get an office-of-preference transfer.”
“That’s a one-time shot.” Mark had always expected, near the end of his career, to use the discretionary, permanent relocation option available to senior agents and settle in Tennessee. “What if things don’t work out with Emily?”
“It is a bit of a gamble, I’ll grant you that. But if you want my opinion, the lady seems worth it.” Rising, Coop grabbed the ends of the towel around his shoulders in a tight grip. “You know, if you’re looking for better guidance than I can give, you might try praying.”
That advice from his partner shocked Mark. He knew Coop had made his peace with God when he and Monica were dating. But as with all subjects that involved the heart, Coop had avoided talking about it. This was the first time he’d ever mentioned prayer in Mark’s presence.
“I wish I had a picture of your face.” Coop grinned at him.
“I can’t believe you’re suggesting that I pray.”
“Like I said, maturity.” He snapped the towel at him, as if to dispel any such notion. “You better get moving or we’ll be late picking up your lovely date for that anniversary thing.”
As Coop exited, Mark wandered over to the window and stared through the slanted mini-blinds, overwhelmed by the sudden complexity of his life. A year ago, he’d been content to train hard and carry out missions. The HRT had been the center of his existence.
Then Coop had gotten married, and the dynamics had changed. The two of them still hung out in off hours on occasion, but it was usually just long enough to grab a quick pizza rather than an evening at a local bar perusing the eligible women. And more often than not when they got together, it was a threesome. Not that Mark minded. He liked Monica. A lot. She called them the three musketeers and did her best to keep Mark from feeling like the odd man out. Yet as inclusive as she and Coop were, they shared such a powerful bond that Mark felt more alone in their presence than he did when he was by himself.
The convenience store tragedy had messed with his head too.
Caused him to question his judgment and his abilities, introduced uncertainty where once absolute conviction and confidence had reigned. And needed to reign. In his line of work, a nanosecond of hesitation could mean the difference between life and death. He’d lost that confidence for a while, but in the past few weeks it had returned as he’d come to accept that his decisions that day had been sound. That his tactical response had been appropriate and necessary. In terms of decisiveness, he felt ready to rejoin the HRT.
As for the guilt . . . that wasn’t as easy to deal with. Despite his exoneration by the review board, a heavy sense of culpability weighed down his soul. It was what had driven him to write a letter to the boy’s parents, against the advice of the Bureau’s attorneys. What clawed at his gut every day as he slid his gun into the holster on his belt. What kept him awake at night, yearning for absolution. And he suspected it was also one of the factors driving his search for God.
And if all that wasn’t enough, the past two weeks had been fraught with challenges and complications. He’d reconnected with Emily after twenty years. She’d been shot and almost died. An assassin was still after one of them. Coop was leaving the HRT. Steve had offered him a job. He was falling in love all over again with his teenage sweetheart.
Suddenly weary, Mark propped one shoulder against the wall and took a long, slow breath. There was too much on his plate.
He’d been taught to handle volatile situations, had run close-quarter-battle routes day after day. But the survival skills he’d mastered in the field were of little use in personal decisions or matters of the heart. Those situations weren’t covered in CQB training.
Mark could think of only one source to turn to for help. The same source he’d considered turning to in the park as Emily lay bleeding in his arms.
He hadn’t asked for God’s help that day. But a lot had changed since then. He’d changed. It was time to reach out to the Almighty. Test the waters. As he’d done with Emily.
Bypassing formal prayer, he simply spoke from the heart in a silent plea.
Lord, I need guidance. And forgiveness. If you can help me out with either of those, I’d be grateful. And thank you for the gift of Emily’s presence in my life. I don’t know where that will lead, but I know she puts her trust in you. Please help me do the same.
The renewal of vows had been far more moving than Mark expected. The couple had appeared serene and happy, and the sermon by the minister had been inspiring.
As the service concluded with an instrumental meditation piece on the harp, Mark glanced at Emily. She looked gorgeous tonight, in a short-sleeved, peach-colored silk suit that was simple but elegant. Her hair took on a burnished luster in the candlelight, and a faint smile hovered at her soft lips as she looked toward the couple being honored.
After two weeks, she bore little physical evidence of the trauma that had nearly taken her life, Mark noted in relief. The bruise on her temple was gone, the remnants of the abrasion on her cheek masked by makeup. While the bandage on her arm remained, peeking below the edge of her sleeve, the bulk had been reduced to Band-Aid thickness. In another few days it would be gone.
And in two weeks, so would he. For good. Unless he chose to stay.
Tonight, the minister had talked of courage and commitment. Mark had always thought he possessed those qualities in abundance. In fact, he was called upon to use them ev
ery day in the HRT.
But they took on a whole different meaning when applied to his personal life. And in that realm, he wasn’t at all certain his supply was adequate.
“Mark? It’s over.”
At Emily’s soft comment, he looked up. She had risen, and the other guests were moving toward the exit. Standing, he took her arm as they left the pew. “Sorry. I was lost in thought.”
She smiled and tucked her arm in his. “That’s what a meditation is for.”
Coop was waiting for them in the vestibule. “Nice service.”
“I’m sorry you couldn’t sit with us,” Emily told him.
“I had a better view of the interior from the back.”
At the subtle reminder of the reason for his presence, Emily’s brightness dimmed a bit. “This has to be getting old for you.
Not to mention boring.”
“Boring is good in this case,” Mark interjected.
“You know, considering how quiet it’s been, you guys are going to have to let me start going places alone again soon,”
Emily told them.
“We’ll talk about that in a few days,” Mark said.
“Is that a stall tactic?” Emily directed her question to Coop.
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss tactical issues.” He winked at her.
“I should have known you two would stick together. Okay, I’ll let it go for tonight. But this subject isn’t closed. Will you join us for dinner, Coop? Mary said you’d be welcome.”
“I appreciate that. But after sitting through that ceremony, I’m in the mood to call Monica. It reminded me of our wedding. I think I’ll hover in the background and chat with my wife.”
“That’s right. Your first anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?” With all that had happened, the date had slipped Mark’s mind.
“Next Sunday.”
“You need to be there.”
“Tell that to Les.” As Mark frowned, Coop laid his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Monica knew the odds were good I’d be away on some assignment. And she’d rather have me here than in a lot of places I could be.” He looked around the vestibule and motioned to a side door. “Wait there and I’ll bring the car up.”
