An Eye for an Eye

by Irene Hannon

  In a case like this, a sniper was only supposed to shoot if a life was threatened. But Mark decided it couldn’t hurt to remind him. As the agent turned toward the car to retrieve his rifle, Mark spoke again, honoring his promise to Emily. “We’re going to try to do this without taking the guy out.”

  The other agent gave him a steady look. “Always.”

  While Brett moved aside to insert the earpiece for his voice activated radio and load his rifle, Nick discussed the ops plan with Mark, Kurt, and Bill Montgomery from Oakdale.

  “Bill, let’s have you stick close to Edwards’s car. Mark, you cover the front entrance. You should be able to get behind that equipment shed near the gate without being seen. And remember . . . you’re only there for insurance. If any shots have to be fired, we’ll fire them. Kurt, you and I can circle around the back.

  We can use those larger monuments on either side of Edwards as cover. I’ll give you a hand signal before I let him know he has company.”

  When Brett rejoined them, Nick filled him in on the plan as he worked his own earpiece into position. “Okay, we’re set.

  Let’s do it.”

  With a nod, Brett moved toward a ridge closer to the cemetery while the rest of the group headed down the hill.

  Fifteen minutes later, from his position behind the equipment shed, Mark had a good view of Edwards. The man hadn’t moved a muscle. He was dressed in a cotton shirt and brown slacks, and if he had a gun it was well-concealed. But Mark’s instincts told him the man was unarmed.

  He watched as Kurt and Nick silently moved into position, guns drawn. In order to avoid being seen, they’d had to give the cemetery a wide berth as they headed around the fence to approach from behind. Brett would be in position by now too, his crosshairs trained on Edwards.

  As Mark drew his gun, he recalled Emily’s request. And was beginning to better understand it. It was hard to reconcile the older man thirty yards away with the person who had meticulously planned and executed two murder attempts. This guy didn’t look like some cold-blooded killer who placed zero value on life. He looked more like a shattered, grief-stricken husband and father who’d simply reached the end of his emotional endurance and snapped.

  All at once, Nick gave the signal.

  “Mr. Edwards, FBI. You’re under arrest. Stand up and raise your hands above your head.” Nick’s clipped command reverberated in the quiet air.

  Edwards didn’t move.

  “Mr. Edwards, stand up.” Nick tried again, raising his volume.

  After several moments of silence, the man slowly lifted his head. His eyes were glazed, and at the utter desolation on his face, an unwanted twinge of sympathy tugged at Mark’s heart.

  “Stand up,” Nick repeated a third time, his tone more forceful. Edwards rose stiffly, using the top of the rounded headstone for support.

  “Raise your hands above your head.”

  Instead of complying, Edwards turned toward his car and lurched forward, half stumbling as he took a few halting steps.

  Now that the man was facing him, Mark confirmed that the small flat object in his hand wasn’t a weapon. But as Edwards moved unsteadily toward him and reached up to put the item in his shirt pocket, Mark sucked in a sharp breath. The three other agents had only a back view. And from behind, it would appear Edwards was reaching for a weapon. Brett’s trigger finger would be poised, ready with a subtle shift in pressure to take him out.

  A surge of adrenaline shot through Mark, and he stepped from behind the equipment shed, his Glock aimed at the older man.

  “Nick!” The urgency in his voice cut through the quiet air.

  “Tell Brett to hold his fire! He’s not reaching for a gun.”

  The sharp command startled Edwards, and he looked toward Mark in confusion, his step faltering.

  “Mr. Edwards, put your hands above your head.” Mark issued the instruction slowly and deliberately as his gaze locked on the older man.

  This time, after a brief hesitation, Edwards complied.

  Nick and Kurt moved in. Kurt cuffed him and did a pat-down. “He’s clean.”

  As Nick read Edwards his rights, Mark reached over and withdrew the flat object the man had slipped into his pocket. It was a dog-eared photo of a smiling teen and pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman.

  “That was my family.”

  Edwards’s voice, as raw as a festering wound, pierced the professional detachment Mark had been struggling to hold on to. The two people in the photo had represented this man’s world. A world that had ended with their deaths.

  When Emily had spoken of Edwards with compassion, Mark had been less than sympathetic. But as he looked at the photo and at the shell-shocked husband and father standing two feet away from him and considered how he’d felt last night when he’d been afraid they wouldn’t find Emily in time, he began to understand how a man could break when the people he built his life around—the people he loved—were abruptly taken from him. And he also understood why Emily had been so reluctant to take a second chance on love—and loss.

  “I was doing God’s work.”

  Jolted, Mark stared at Edwards.

  “He told me to avenge their deaths. I followed his instructions, just like Abraham did with Isaac. But it doesn’t bring them back. Or make the pain go away.” Tears began to leak out of the corners of his eyes.

  A quick exchange of glances among the agents assured Mark he wasn’t the only one feeling off balance. This was like no arrest he’d ever made. Yes, Dale Edwards was homicidal. But he was also misguided. Delusional. Sick. Broken.

  All along, Mark had fought to contain a growing hatred for the man who had wreaked havoc on his and Emily’s lives for the past three weeks. Who had come close to killing the woman he loved. Twice.

  Now, he was shocked to find the hate evaporating, much as the mist in the quiet cemetery was vanishing under the warmth of the rising sun.

  Dale Edwards was a man to be pitied, not hated.

  Holstering his gun, he leaned over and gently tucked the photo back into the man’s shirt pocket.

  As Nick and Kurt led him away, Mark followed, weaving his way among the graves while a variation of a familiar phrase echoed in his mind. And in his heart.

  Have mercy on him, Father, for he knows not what he did.

  “David Purnell and his friend must be thrilled.” Emily handed Mark the folded-back Wednesday edition of the Post-Dispatch and sat beside him on her couch.

  “I’m sure they are.” Taking the paper, Mark examined the photo of Carl and Steve with the two boys, who were proudly displaying honorary badges from the Oakdale PD and letters of commendation from the FBI.

  “Who knows? They could be future FBI agents or detectives in the making.”

  “Or, at the very least, responsible citizens who aren’t afraid to get involved.” He set the paper aside and angled toward her, dropping an arm around her shoulders as he played with her hair. “How’s the hangover?”

  “Improving. The headache’s fading, I can stand without the room tilting, and my appetite is kicking back in.”

  He tipped his head and scrutinized her face. “Honest?”

  “Cross my heart.” She traced an X on her chest. “Since leaving the hospital, I’ve had thirty-six hours in my own house to recuperate, with the shades up and sunlight spilling in. And didn’t I eat more than my share of that gourmet meal you provided tonight?” She tried to tease away the lines of worry on his face.

  To her relief, they eased slightly.

  “Yeah. You even pilfered part of my dessert.”

  “All’s fair when it comes to chocolate.”

  Chuckling, he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I talked to Coop again today.”

  Emily tried not to be distracted by his touch. “Didn’t you talk to him on Monday too?”

  “Yeah.” One corner of his mouth hitched up. “He claimed to be a bit peeved about missing all the excitement.”

  “Let’s see . . .” Emily preten
ded to give Coop’s complaint serious consideration. “Spending your first anniversary with your wife or chasing around in sweltering weather after a murder suspect. Why do I think he wasn’t all that upset?”

  “I told him the same thing. He didn’t argue much.”

  “Speaking of a murder suspect . . .” Her tone grew serious.

  “I appreciate whatever you did to see that Dale Edwards was taken unharmed.”

  “I didn’t have to do anything. There was no call for force.You were right, Em. He’s a very sick man. At least now he’ll get some help.”

  “I hope so.” She was silent for a few moments. Then she forced herself to switch gears. “Why did you talk to Coop today?”

  “To tell him I decided to accept Steve’s offer.”

  Happiness bubbled up inside her. “You’re staying?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He continued to play with her hair, but his intent gaze was fixed on her eyes. “Do you remember anything about that first night in the hospital?”

  “Not much.” She tried to read his expression. “Why?”

  “You told me to take the job.”

  Her pulse skipped a beat. She had no memory of that exchange. In fact, her total mental shutdown was the most frustrating thing about the whole experience. From the time the full effects of the drug kicked in until the early hours of Monday morning, she could remember nothing.

  But she did recall that Mark had dominated her thoughts as she began to lose awareness. And she remembered thinking how ironic it was that she was the one who seemed poised to die when all along she’d worried that Mark might be taken from her, as Grant had been.

  She also remembered feeling regret. And thinking that if she had it to do over again, she’d live each day fully and without fear.

  Those were her last coherent memories.

  Over the past couple of days, as she’d rested and regrouped, she’d reflected on her final thoughts as she’d prepared to die.

  And she’d reaffirmed the decision she’d made Sunday night as consciousness faded—that given another chance, she’d move forward with Mark.

  But she hadn’t realized she’d voiced it.

  Nor had she found a suitable opportunity to bring up the subject. Mark had been busy at the office with paperwork, his visits had been brief, and she’d been feeling out of sorts. And it wasn’t a subject she’d wanted to talk about over the phone.

  “You were pretty disoriented on Sunday night. I understand you might not have meant what you were implying.” Mark took her hand and wove their fingers together, picking up the conversation when she remained silent. “It was the other thing you said that convinced me to take the job.”

  “What other thing?” She gave him a wary look.

  “You said you loved me.”

  Warmth suffused her cheeks, but before she could respond he continued. “I’m sure you have no memory of that, either. But I hoped it reflected what was in your heart, even if your mind hadn’t quite accepted it yet.”

  “You were willing to take that chance?” A sense of wonder filled her.

  “Yes. Because I love you.”

  Fireworks began to go off somewhere in the region of her heart. “I don’t remember saying that to you. But your instincts were right.”

  He went absolutely still. “You want to spell that out for me?”

  It was time to take the leap. Time to take the lessons the experience of the past few weeks had taught her and put them into practice.

  It was time to let trust replace fear.

  “I love you too.”

  His lips were on hers in an instant, his hands framing her face as he told her in the silent, eloquent language of love how much her declaration meant to him. The kiss played havoc with her pulse, and when he pulled her close, she couldn’t tell if the thudding against her chest was his heart or hers. Or both.

  “I want to marry you, Emily.”

  “I think I’d like that.” A slow smile curved her lips, and as she pulled back far enough to trace the outline of his strong jaw she felt a muscle twitch beneath her fingertip.

  “When?”

  “We’ve been back together for less than a month. We probably shouldn’t rush things.”

  “So next week would be too soon?”

  He grinned, but she could tell he was more than half serious. “Maybe a bit. Besides, you have to go back to Quantico for a while. How about a Christmas wedding?”

  “That’s four months away.”

  “It will give us a chance to plan.”

  “I already have plans.” He leaned down and nibbled at her lips.

  “If you keep that up, you’ll wear me down,” she murmured.

  “That’s the plan. Remember?”

  Chuckling, she drew back. “Where is your patience, Agent Sanders?”

  “I think I lost is somewhere in those green eyes of yours.”

  “Look at it this way. We’ll have time to arrange a wonderful honeymoon.”

  “Do you have any place in particular in mind?” He gave her a lazy smile.

  “I was kind of thinking about a nice, secluded cabin at Wren Lake.”

  “How come I already knew that?”

  “Because I’m predictable?”

  “In a good way.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Predictable can also mean boring.”

  Chuckling, he pulled her close. “Trust me, Em. You are never boring.”

  “I think I’ll make proving that to you a priority at Wren Lake.”

  She gave him an impish grin, and his eyes deepened in color.

  “Then I heartily second the motion for Wren Lake.”

  His BlackBerry began to vibrate against her hip, and she gave him a questioning look when he hesitated.

  Making no attempt to hide his irritation, he finally pulled it off his belt and glanced at the caller ID. Sliding it back into its holder, he reached for her again. “Now where were we?”

  “Do you need to take that?”

  “No. It was just Coop. I’ll call him later.”

  She snuggled beside him. “Do you think he’ll be surprised about our news?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Why not?”

  “He had me pegged two days after the shooting. And a few days after that, he started dropping hints about the two of us. When I explained that our very different lives weren’t conducive to romance, he responded with three words.”

  “Which were . . . ?”

  “Love changes things.”

  “Hmm.” She considered that. “I suppose he’s right. But it’s a good change, isn’t it?”

  Smiling, Mark drew her into the circle of his arms. And in the instant before his mouth once again claimed hers, his response whispered against her lips.

  “The best. For always.”

  Acknowledgments

  Although this is book 2 in my Heroes of Quantico series, it’s actually the first one I wrote. And when the idea began to percolate in my mind, I was more than a bit intimidated by the amount of research I would need to do to ensure that my book accurately portrayed police and FBI procedure.

  Many people assisted me along the way, and I’d like to offer my thanks to a few who went above and beyond.

  To twenty-one-year FBI veteran Tom Becker, now chief of police in Frontenac, Missouri, who offered me great insights—with great patience. Not only did he answer my many questions (and follow-up questions!), he also agreed to read my manuscript.

  And his diligence in doing so put the final polish of authenticity on this book. What a trouper! An Eye for an Eye wouldn’t have come together as well as it did without his gracious and generous assistance.

  To Captain Ed Nestor from the detective division of the Chesterfield, Missouri, Police Department, who gave me a thorough behind-the-scenes tour (that convinced me I never want to be arrested!) and spent hours answering my questions. His input was invaluable.

  To Captain Craig Koehler of the Illinois State Police, who read the final manuscript w
ith a fresh eye. His perceptive comments and suggestions greatly enhanced the story.

  To fellow author and nurse Patricia Davids, who reviewed and tweaked the medical sections of the book.

  To all those who organize and present at the Citizen Police Academy I attended. I came away from that experience with a renewed appreciation for the dedication and courage of police officers.

  To the fabulous folks at Revell—Jennifer Leep, Kristin Kornoelje, Twila Bennett, Cheryl Van Andel, Michele Misiak, Car-men Pease, Claudia Marsh, Deonne Beron, Janelle Mahlmann— and so many more who have helped bring this book to market. You are a great team, and I feel blessed to work with you.

  And of course, to my agent, Chip MacGregor of MacGregor Literary, who persevered until he found the perfect home for this series.

  On a personal note, my love and thanks go to my husband Tom, who has shared in the excitement of my suspense debut every step of the way, and to my mom and dad, whose parenting skills are worthy of the hall of fame.

  Finally, a caveat. Readers familiar with the world of law enforcement may notice that in a few cases I took a bit of dramatic license with protocols. But beyond those situations, I have tried to be as true to police and FBI procedure as possible.

  Irene Hannon, who writes both romance and romantic suspense, is the bestselling author of more than thirty novels. Her books have been honored with the coveted RITA Award from Romance Writers of America (the “Oscar” of romantic fiction), the HOLT Medallion, and a Reviewer’s Choice Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine. A former corporate communications executive with a Fortune 500 company, Irene now writes full time. In her spare time, she enjoys singing, long walks, cooking, gardening, traveling, and spending time with family. She and her husband make their home in Missouri.

  To learn more about Irene and her books, visit www.irene hannon.com.

  Watch for Nick’s story, In Harm’s Way,

  coming April 2010!

  And be sure to read Coop’s story,

  Against All Odds,

  available now at your favorite bookstore!