Eye for an Eye, an (Heroes of Quantico Book #2): A Novel (22 page)

“Huh?”

“Just keep watching, Eric. You cover the far exit; I’ll watch the one where the guy turned in.”

“What are we watching for?”

“Anything that looks weird.”

“But what if we actually see something weird?” Eric sounded nervous now.

“I’ll tell my dad.”

“Okay. Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

David knew that would appease Eric. Passing the buck to adults was always the easy way out of a sticky situation. All they had to do was become kids again and leave problems to the grown-ups to sort out.

But if the information they uncovered helped those FBI guys, they might pay David another visit.

And if they did, he might even invite Eric to come over and meet them.

Maybe.

If he felt really generous.

Getting Emily from the mall parking lot to the church had been a piece of cake. The ease of it convinced Dale that God looked with favor on his plan.

He glanced at Emily. Her eyes were open, but she was slumped in the corner of the front seat, unmoving. The drug had worked exactly as the article had said it would. Once it had taken effect, she’d offered no resistance. And she’d understood why she was being punished. Her comment about vengeance had told him that. He hoped there was enough awareness left in her brain that she’d know she was dying. And that she couldn’t do a thing to stop it. That was important.

As he turned into the parking lot he’d visited three weeks ago, he scanned the street. It was a stifling night. None of the residents were sitting on their front porches witnessing his clandestine visit. That was a sad thing, how no one sat on front porches anymore. When he was a boy, the family had congregated there every night in the summer. He and Ruthie had followed that practice too, when they were first married.

But then things changed. People had gotten soft with air-conditioning. Nobody wanted to sweat anymore. The boob tube had replaced porch-sitting and conversation. That was one of the reasons he and Ruthie had moved to the country. They might not have had any close neighbors, but the air was fresh and clean, and they’d had each other to sit with on the front porch each night. It had been a good life.

Until a couple of months ago.

His face hardened as he drove toward the far corner of the lot and backed the car into the shadows of the surrounding woods, up against the underbrush. If he was lucky, no one would notice the car until morning. But he didn’t need that long. It would all be over in an hour, perhaps much less. By the time anyone got suspicious, Emily Lawson would be dead.

Reaching up, he flipped off the dome light, then released the trunk. The latex gloves he’d pulled on when he’d retrieved his tote bag from his car back at the mall would preserve his identity this time, just as they had on his first visit here, he thought in satisfaction.

After removing the tote bag from the backseat, he withdrew the screwdriver and punched out the trunk light.

Dale had walked through the steps dozens of times at home, much as he’d done for the shooting. He knew exactly what he needed to do, and he knew precisely how long it would take.

He laid his bag in the trunk and went to work, his movements careful and methodical.

First, he used the cordless drill to create a hole in the bottom of the trunk, on the right side. Quickly. The less noise the better.

After that, he worked the pipe through the hole and twisted it until he had a smooth opening. Next, he inserted one end of the hose into the tailpipe and secured it with duct tape, taking care to ensure a tight seal. Finally, he threaded the hose through the hole he’d created in the trunk and taped it down inside, sealing the hole with more tape. He replaced all of the tools in the bag and set it beside the car, leaving the duct tape on top.

Pushing past the low-hanging branches of the trees, he opened the passenger side door. The good doctor almost fell out, and he bent to catch her. Hoisting her in his arms, he eased the door shut with his hip, making as little noise as possible.

She didn’t weigh much, he discovered as her head lolled against his shoulder. Or maybe he was stronger than he knew. Living in the country, working the land, reading the Good Book—those all created strong muscles and a strong mind. He wished he could have convinced Bryan of that. And John.

All at once his vision blurred, and he stumbled. But this wasn’t the time for tears, he reminded himself. Later, when the job was done, when justice had been meted out, he could grieve. It would be appropriate then. The grief of the just. And the avenged.

He lowered Emily into the trunk, positioning her head away from the hose. He didn’t want this to be over too fast. She watched him, her eyes glazed and confused, her body limp.

Amazing. The drug had rendered her completely helpless. But on the off chance she figured out what was going on and tried to yank the hose free, he pulled her hands behind her back and crossed them at the wrists, binding them with duct tape.

Depositing the roll of tape in his bag, he took out the baseball cap and glasses and put them on. As he grasped the trunk lid, he regarded his quarry. The woman who had ruined his life.

Who had pretended to be God, thinking she could save troubled souls when only the Almighty could do that. But she’d inflict no more damage.

“Good-bye, Dr. Lawson.” The title came out in a sneer. “I now commend you to the righteous wrath of the Lord.”

He lowered the trunk lid, exerting pressure until the lock caught with a quiet click. Returning to the driver’s seat, he slipped inside and took the remote locking mechanism off her key ring. After ripping out the notebook pages she’d written in during their conversation, he inserted the key in the ignition.

Once the engine purred to life, he got out, locked the door, and stripped off his gloves. Stuffing them into the tote bag along with the notes and locking mechanism he would dispose of later, he set off across the parking lot without a backward look.

It was done.

“Somebody’s coming from behind the church!”

“I can see that.” David kept his binoculars fixed on the solitary figure carrying a small bag. He was as keyed up as Eric, but he didn’t think it was good to let that show. FBI agents and detectives would always stay cool on the outside even if they were nervous on the inside.

The eight-year-olds watched in silence as the man turned away from them and strode down the street.

Lowering his binoculars, Eric turned to David. “That’s weird.

Where’s his car? And that lady?”

“She didn’t drive out the other end of the parking lot, did she?

You were supposed to be watching that side.”

“I was.” Eric bristled, his tone defensive. “Nobody came out down there. I just happened to look away for a minute. That’s why I saw the guy. So whaddya wanna do?”

David turned around and sat with his back against the railing to ponder the situation. It was good to think things through.

That’s what the cops and FBI agents always did in the books he’d read.

Okay. Let’s see. He and Eric could go over to the church parking lot and see if the car was still there. But if his father found out he’d left the yard at night without permission, he’d be grounded for, like, forever.

Besides, not that he’d tell Eric this, but he wasn’t all that thrilled about the idea of wandering around the back of that church at night. All those dark woods would be spooky.

He could tell his dad. But what if it was nothing? What if he and Eric made a big deal out of this and found out it was just some guy dropping his wife or daughter off, and she was in the church at some quilting meeting or something? They’d feel like idiots.

Except . . . they hadn’t seen any other cars turn into the lot, and they’d been watching the place for an hour. There were no lights on in the church, or in the basement, as far as he could tell. And why had the guy turned his lights off as he drove down their street?

“David.” Eric prodded him with his elbow. “What are we gonna do?”

With sudden decision, he stood. “We’re going to tell my dad.”

22

Nothing.

Emily had left nothing in her condo to indicate where she was going. There were no voice mail messages on her answering machine, no jotted notes, no address book lying open that might offer a clue about her destination.

His anxiety mushrooming, Mark propped his fists on his hips and took one more look around her kitchen. Short of aimlessly trolling the streets and hoping to spot her car somewhere, there was little he could do to track her down. Except pray some law enforcement officer somewhere would spot her car and link it to the alert.

But the odds diminished as the minutes passed and the field of search broadened. According to Evelyn, she’d left—he checked his watch—an hour ago. She could already be fifty miles away.

Or gone forever.

He didn’t want to think about that possibility. Tried not to. But it was there, and he couldn’t ignore it. Edwards had tried to kill her once. And come very, very close. A second attempt would be carried out with as much care as the first—if not more—to ensure he didn’t fail again.

As a result, there was a high likelihood he would succeed.

Intellectually, Mark knew that. You couldn’t deal with the dregs of society for as many years as he had without knowing the odds in a situation like this. Realism turned to pessimism fast in the world he inhabited. If she’d been missing for an hour, the chances of finding her alive weren’t good.

But his heart wouldn’t accept that.

What kind of cruel twist of fate would allow him to reconnect with her after all these years, then snatch her away? God wouldn’t let that happen.

Would he?

Mark’s BlackBerry began to vibrate, and he whipped it out, trying to steady the tremor in his hands. “Yes?”

“We’ve got her car.” It was Steve.

The terse statement slammed him like a body punch. “Where?”

A single word was all he could manage. He was already moving toward the door as he spoke, gesturing to Kevin.

“The same church parking lot he used as a staging area for the first attempt.”

He sucked in a sharp breath at the frightening, perverted logic of the location. The guy was finishing the job where he’d started it. A rising swell of panic threatened to swamp him, and he broke into a sprint.

“We’re on our way. Is Emily there?” It was the hardest question he’d ever had to ask—and he braced for Steve’s response as Kevin slid behind the wheel.

“The car’s locked and appears to be empty. But the engine is running. The call came in from Frank Purnell. The same guy whose kid gave us the tip that resulted in the Eight List. His son saw the car turn in with a driver and a female passenger. Ten minutes ago the man walked out alone. The boy told his dad, and Purnell went over to check out the car, then called 911.

Oakdale is enroute.”

Mark gestured for Kevin to take the next left. “We’re two minutes away. I’ll call you when we have news.”

The next 120 seconds were the longest Mark had ever endured. Far worse than the brief HRT fire training exercise in Zthe three-story tower known as the hot house. Pitch dark, filled with caustic smoke that clawed at his lungs and heat that seared his eyes, the concrete inferno had left a lasting impression on him. Those few minutes had been as close to hell as he’d ever wanted to get.

Until now.

As they turned the corner onto the street where the church was located, he saw an Oakdale police car converging from the other direction. He and Kevin got there first and swung into the lot, the police close behind.

“In the corner.” Mark pointed to the far end. He recognized Emily’s car. Frank Purnell stood beside it.

Without waiting for the car to come to a complete stop, Mark pushed open the door and hit the ground running.

“Tell me what you know.” Mark grabbed the man’s flashlight and clicked it on as he swung the beam around the interior, then began to circle the car, Frank on his heels.

“Ever since you and your colleagues came to the house, David’s been into this surveillance thing. He and a friend have been watching the street from his tree house, hoping to spot that car we saw the day we left on vacation. I told him it was a long shot, but that didn’t stop him. Anyway, that’s why they were up there tonight and noticed that the driver turned off his lights when he pulled onto our street. At first, I thought it was their overactive imagination, but when they kept pushing I decided to come over and check it out. I’m still not convinced that—”

Mark’s sudden, explosive oath cut Frank off midsentence.

Kevin was beside him in two strides, pushing past the undergrowth around the rear of the car. Mark tossed him the flashlight as he bent down to yank at the hose that had been fed into the floor of the trunk.

“Either get a door open in the next ten seconds or smash a window,” Mark snapped at the cop who’d followed Kevin over.

“And radio for an ambulance.”

Two more police cars arrived, but Mark didn’t even notice.

He was focused on the trunk. “Emily? Can you hear me?” He leaned close, willing her to answer. But there was only silence.

The sound of shattering glass suddenly sliced through the darkness. A few seconds later, the trunk release clicked.

Mark yanked up the lid—and fought down a wave of panic as he caught his first glimpse of Emily.

Her hands were bound behind her with duct tape, her eyes were closed—and she didn’t seem to be breathing.

Fear coursing through his veins, Mark pressed his fingers against her neck, as he’d done three weeks ago just a few hundred yards from this spot. Her pulse that day had been steady, if a bit faint. Now, in addition to being faint, it was rapid and irregular. But at least it was there.

Sliding his arms under her knees and shoulders, he lifted her gently out of the trunk. One of the cops had already retrieved a blanket from his car and had spread it on the ground. Another produced a pair of scissors from his first aid kit. Mark reached for them, but Kevin intervened.

“Let me.”

Mark didn’t argue. Considering how badly his hands were shaking, he’d do more harm than good if he tried to use them.

Dropping to one knee, Kevin carefully cut through the tape, freeing Emily as the ambulance turned into the parking lot and pulled to the rear of the building.

Mark knelt beside her and took her hand, brushing the hair back from her forehead. “Hang in there, Em.” The hoarse entreaty was all he could manage.

“What do we have?”

The paramedics joined him, and he moved aside to give them room to work.

“Carbon monoxide poisoning.”

The two technicians went into action.

“Put her on 100 percent oxygen while I get her vitals.” The first technician pulled on a pair of latex gloves as he talked.

“Then get a blood sample. Let’s be prepared to intubate. And start a drip.”

A hand settled on Mark’s shoulder, and he looked up to find Steve at his side.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m the boss. I don’t have to do cleanup duty after an arrest.”

He dropped down beside him to balance on the balls of his feet.

“How is she?”

“Alive. Beyond that, I have no idea.”

“We’d better be ready for seizures.” The first technician pulled the stethoscope out of his ears. “And let’s get an EKG.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

At Mark’s question, the man turned. “Carbon monoxide poisoning is tricky. Any idea how long she was in the car?”

“Ten or fifteen minutes. In the trunk.”

The man winced as he turned back to prep Emily for the EKG. “High levels of CO can be fatal within minutes. I’m guessing you got to her just in time. Is there any chance this was a suicide attempt?”

“No.”

At Mark’s cold tone, the man shot an apologetic look over his shoulder. “Sorry. Most of these cases are.”

With an effort, Mark curbed his anger. The guy didn’t know Emily. Otherwise, he’d understand that suicide would be the last thing she’d ever contemplate. No matter how bad things got.

“Her wrists were bound,” Mark told him.

“But not her feet?”

“No.”

The paramedic glanced down at her hands, lifting one to examine it. “Odd that there’s no chafing on her wrists. You’d expect some if she’d tried to free herself.” He laid her hand down and gave the rest of her body a quick scan. “And there’s no visible trauma to indicate resistance or struggle. The unbound feet bother me too.” He refocused on the EKG. “She may have been drugged.”

“Does that complicate things?” The quiet question came from Steve.

“It can. It would help if we knew what was used.” He looked over at his partner. “Get some blood samples for toxicology.”

“Is that Frank Purnell?” Steve touched Mark’s shoulder again and inclined his head toward the man standing in the shadows nearby.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to talk to him. And his son.”

He should be doing that, Mark knew. No one wanted the guy who’d done this caught more than he did. And he and Coop had taken the lead on the case up until now. But he couldn’t leave Emily. And Steve didn’t seem to expect him to.

The paramedic checked the data being generated by the EKG, and Mark watched over his shoulder. It was gibberish to him.

“Is her heart okay?”

“So far, so good. I’m more worried about cerebral edema.”

“Give me that in English.”

“Swelling of the brain. It’s a common result of severe carbon monoxide poisoning. They’ll monitor for that at the hospital.”

He looked at his partner. “You ready to transport?”

“Yes.”

As they lifted the gurney and wheeled Emily toward the ambulance, Kevin joined Mark.

“I’m going with her.” Mark watched as they maneuvered the gurney into the vehicle.

“That’s what I figured.”

“Tell Steve I want to be there when we bring this guy down.”

“I’ll pass that on.”

Without waiting for a response, Mark headed toward the ambulance. He trusted the other agents to give this case their full attention.

Right now, Emily needed him more.

And once she was awake enough to understand his words, he was going to do his best to convince her she needed him for a lot longer than that.

Like forever.

Dale signed the tab for the rental car, lifted his tote bag, and headed toward the bus at Lambert International Airport that would take him to long-term parking.

His mission was over.

He hoped God was pleased.

But his own emotions were a confusing jumble. He’d expected to feel a sense of righteousness after he’d finished his task. Of completion.

Instead, he felt depleted.

And empty.

Since Ruthie’s death, his life had been filled with purpose as he’d focused on the mission God had given him. Now, God was silent, leaving him directionless.

What would fill his days in the weeks and months and years ahead? His work was meaningless. The home he’d loved was empty and silent. His family was gone.

Nothing mattered anymore.

All at once, the grief he’d held at bay for the past two months struck with sudden, sharp force. It was like a physical blow, and he stumbled as he boarded the bus. He’d have fallen if someone hadn’t reached from behind and grasped his arm to steady him.

“Careful there. That’s a tricky step. You okay?”

He looked over his shoulder at the thirtysomething man in a business suit, briefcase in his hand. Perhaps a hotshot salesman returning after a long day of travel, anxious to get home to his wife and family. There’d probably be a light left on for him, welcoming him back, and maybe a plate of food warming in the oven.

Ruthie had done that for him, on the nights he’d worked late.

But there was no one waiting for him now. The two people he loved most in the world were buried six feet under the parched ground. There’d be no light on for him, no plate set aside. The house would be dark and empty and silent. Tonight, and for all the nights to come.

Resuming his ascent, he shuffled down the narrow aisle and chose a seat in the back of the bus. The young man who’d assisted him sent a concerned look his direction, but he averted his head. He didn’t want the man’s sympathy. He wanted Ruthie and Bryan.

The bus jolted forward, and he gripped the bag in his lap as he stared out into the darkness, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. He couldn’t go back to the house yet. He needed to be with Ruthie and Bryan.

It was time to say a proper good-bye.