Eye for an Eye, an (Heroes of Quantico Book #2): A Novel (23 page)

“How’s she doing?”

Lifting his head out of his hands, Mark raised bleary eyes to find Nick standing above him. “Holding her own. That’s what they tell me, anyway. They’ve been working on her ever since we got here. They’ve only let me stick my head in twice.” He checked his watch, surprised to find it wasn’t quite eleven o’clock yet. He felt as if he’d been in the ER waiting room for ten hours. “Why aren’t you home sleeping?”

“The adrenaline’s still pumping from the arrests.” Nick dropped into the chair beside Mark.

That was a lie. Nick had to be dead on his feet, considering all the hours he’d been putting in on the bank case. It spoke volumes about their friendship that he’d shown up to offer moral support.

“Thanks.” The word came out hoarse and barely there.

“No problem.”

“Any news on Edwards?”

“No.”

That was the answer he’d expected. Steve would have called if there were any breaks.

“Mr. Sanders?”

A nurse stood on the threshold of the waiting room, and Mark vaulted to his feet, his heart thudding against his ribcage.

“Yes?”

“Dr. Lawson is beginning to say a few words. Would you like to go in?”

“Yes.” He turned toward Nick. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

When they reached Emily’s curtained cubicle, the nurse turned to him. “The doctor will be by in a few minutes. He’d like to speak with you.” She held the curtain aside for him to enter.

From his youngest days, Mark had never liked hospitals. And his distaste for them had grown through the years. They were too often the source of bad news.

But not at the moment. On Mark’s last visit, Emily had been awake but unresponsive. This time, as he moved toward the bed and entered her peripheral vision, she turned her head toward him. And somehow managed a sleepy smile. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he smiled back.

“Hi.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over her forehead above the oxygen mask, grasping her cool hand in his.

“Take the job, Mark.”

“What?” He frowned and backed up to look at her face. Her muffled voice was weak, her words slurred, and he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.

“Take the job here.”

Not quite willing to believe what he thought she was implying, he entwined his fingers with hers. “We can talk about that later.”

“I love you.” Her eyelids drifted closed as she whispered the words.

There was no doubt about the meaning of
that
statement. But she’d also been drugged and poisoned. He’d have to wait until she was more coherent to accept it as truth. Yet he couldn’t stop the surge of hope that filled him with warmth.

“I love you too, Em,” he whispered. If he’d had any doubts about the depth of his own feelings, they’d evaporated in the past several hours as he’d faced the possibility he might lose her.

“I hurt,” she mumbled, giving no indication she’d heard his declaration.

“Where?”

“Everywhere. My head.”

“Mr. Sanders?”

He turned to find a white-coated figure at his elbow. The doctor was dark-haired and fortyish, and the shadows under his eyes spoke of sleep deprivation or dedication. Probably both.

“She says she hurts.”

“I’m not surprised. But we’d rather not put any more drugs into her body. May I speak with you for a minute?” He motioned to a spot outside of Emily’s curtained alcove.

Relinquishing Emily’s fingers, Mark joined the doctor.

“Brendon O’Neal.” The man held out his hand, and Mark returned his firm grip. “You came in with Dr. Lawson, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry it took me so long to catch up with you. Crazy night.

I understand you filled out a lot of the paperwork when she arrived.”

“Yes.”

“Are you a relative?”

“No.”

“Do you have medical power of attorney?”

A wave of panic washed over him. “No. Her pastor does. I can get his name for you. Is there a problem? One of the paramedics mentioned cerebral edema.” His voice choked on the last word.

“I see nothing to indicate any major trauma as a result of the CO poisoning, and she’s responding well to oxygen therapy. I’m more concerned about the drug that was used to subdue her.

We sent the blood samples the paramedics took to toxicology, and at their suggestion we ran some tests for GHB, rohypnol, and ketamine hydrochloride. A good decision, because those drugs only remain in the bloodstream in a measurable amount for a few hours. The test came back positive for GHB.”

“GHB.” Mark repeated the name. It had been a long day, and his brain wasn’t clicking on all cylinders anymore.

“Gamma hydroxy butyrate. On the street it goes by a variety of names, including Easy Lay, Liquid Ecstasy, Clear X, and Liquid X, among others.”

Shock rippled through Mark. “He gave Emily a date rape drug?”

“Yes. As you may know, victims of those drugs suffer antero-grade amnesia, meaning they have little or no memory of what occurred while the drug was active in their system. Dr. Lawson will never be able to give us a coherent account of what happened. After examining her, I think the drug was used strictly to immobilize her. But it would be prudent to confirm that.”

It took a couple of seconds for the doctor’s meaning to sink in, and when it did, Mark felt sick to his stomach. Surely Dale Edwards hadn’t . . . He tried to swallow past the bile that rose in his throat.

“I realize she’s already been through a lot of trauma today,” the doctor continued. “But the effects of the drug are just beginning to wear off, and she’ll remember little of the next few hours. We’ll check her out as quickly and painlessly as possible. If you’ll get me the name of her pastor, we’ll clear the procedure.”

Turning to look at Emily through the gap in the curtain, Mark took a deep breath. If Edwards had touched her, the prosecution would want to know. And there were health implications to consider as well. “I’ll have it for you in five minutes.”

The doctor nodded. “Will you be staying around?”

“Yes.”

“There’s coffee in the waiting room.”

“Thanks.”

He waited until the doctor left, then returned to Emily’s cubicle. She was sleeping again, her long lashes sweeping against her pale cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest reassuring in its steadiness. Beneath the sleeve of her hospital gown, he caught a glimpse of the scar on her left arm, and he reached over to trace it with a gentle finger.

She’d been through so much. Too much.

When this was over, if she’d meant the words she’d said a few minutes ago, he made a silent, fervent vow to do his best to protect her every day for as long as he lived.

Because he could no longer imagine his life without her.

“Mr. Sanders?”

Much to his surprise, Mark had dozed off in the waiting room.

Nick had too, he noted with a quick glance. But he came awake instantly when Dr. O’Neal addressed him.

“I have two pieces of good news,” the man told him. “First, the drug was used for one purpose. To immobilize. Period. Second, Dr. Lawson is awake and responsive, and she’s asking for you.

We’re about to move her to a regular room.”

Mark closed his eyes and drew a long, slow breath.
Thank you, Lord
.

Three minutes later, when Mark stepped into Emily’s curtained cube, he was astonished at the change in her. She looked much more alert, and the oxygen mask had been removed.

She reached out a hand as he approached, and he drew it to his lips.

“We have to stop meeting like this, you know.”

“I think I’ve heard that line before.” His lips quirked into a smile.

“You have. And I hope I never have to use it again.”

“Amen to that.” Perching on the edge of her bed, he assessed her. Her color was better and her eyes were focused. But he saw the strain in her features. Leaning over, he traced the faint twin furrows on her brow.

“Headache?”

“Yes. Thanks to the drug I was given, the doctor says I could have hangover symptoms for the next two or three days. That will be a new experience for me.” She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles and searched his face. “Did you find him?”

“Not yet. But we will.” His jaw settled into a determined line.

“Promise me something, Mark.” Her grip on his hand tightened. He hesitated, feeling her urgency, sensing he wasn’t going to like her request. “I’ll try.”

“Don’t hurt him.”

“Emily, the man tried to kill you. Twice.”

“He’s very troubled, Mark. And ill. He needs help. Please don’t let anyone hurt him.”

As far as he was concerned, the world would be better off without Dale Edwards. “If he pulls a gun on us, there’s nothing I can do to protect him.”

She gave a slow nod. “I understand that. But if he doesn’t?”

It was impossible to ignore the plea in her eyes. “I’ll do what I can.” It was the best he could offer.

“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand. “Now go home and get some sleep. You’ve got to be running on pure adrenaline. It’s one o’clock in the morning.”

“I’ll wait until you’re settled in your room.”

“That could be hours.”

“She’s right.” O’Neal joined them. “She’s out of danger. And the best thing for her to do is rest. I think she’ll find that easier to do if she knows you’re at home sleeping. You and your friend look dead on your feet.”

“Friend?” Emily sent Mark a questioning look.

“Nick’s here with me.”

Her face softened. “Thank him for me. And take him home.”

“Good advice. I’ll see you before they move you upstairs,”the doctor told her.

As he disappeared, Emily reached for Mark’s hand again. “Go home and crash. Just promise you’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Try and keep me away.” Leaning over, he brushed his lips across hers. There really wasn’t any reason for him to stay. An Oakdale cop was close by—and would remain that way until Edwards was arrested. Not that Emily needed to know that.

She’d had enough stress for one day. For one
lifetime
.

“You can do better than that.” She put her arms around his neck as he attempted to pull away. “I know that for a fact.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He chuckled and rubbed his cheek against her temple. Easing back a bit, he framed her face with his hands.

“Get well first.”

She touched his chin, now sporting a scratchy stubble. “I kind of like this bad-boy look.”

He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Stop that.”

With an exaggerated sigh, she retrieved her hand. “I guess I’ve lost my woman-in-jeopardy allure.”

“Trust me, Em. Your allure hasn’t faded.” And leaning over, he claimed her lips in a brief but intense kiss designed to erase any doubt from her mind. “Still worried?”

With a contented smile, she shook her head.

“Good. But if you need convincing again tomorrow, I’ll be happy to comply.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

And with that promise echoing in his ears, he knew he would sleep better tonight than he had in weeks.

23

Mark always set his BlackBerry on audible alert at night and left it beside his bed. In general, its piercing beep brought him instantly awake.

But on Monday morning, when it went off in the early dawn hours, he had to struggle back to consciousness. He could function on three hours of sleep for brief periods. And he’d had missions where he hadn’t slept more than an hour or two at a stretch for four days. But after the stress of the past forty-eight grueling hours, his body craved rest. And its lethargic response to the rude early morning summons let him know that in no uncertain terms. Must be a sign of age, he conceded as he groped across the top of the nightstand in the dim light.

His fingers closed around the device, and he squinted at the text message.

We’ve got Edwards under surveillance. Call me.

It was from Steve.

Suddenly wide awake, he swung his legs to the floor and punched in the squad supervisor’s number.

“It’s Mark. Where is he?”

As Steve relayed the location, Mark’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Someone spotted the car an hour ago and got suspicious, considering few people visit there in the daylight, let alone at night. We’ve got two agents on surveillance now, and Oakdale is on the way. Franklin County is giving us backup. I heard you want to be on hand for the arrest.”

“Yeah.” He snagged his jeans off the floor where he’d dropped them the night before. “How long will it take me to get there?”

“Twenty-five or thirty minutes, at best, from Nick’s place.”

Steve paused. “Considering your personal involvement in this case, your presence isn’t protocol, Mark.”

“I know that. I won’t do anything stupid.”

Silence.

“Look, I’ll keep a low profile, okay?” Mark shoved his second leg into the jeans and held his breath for several eternal seconds before Steve responded.

“Consider that an order. Let me give you the directions.”

Relieved, Mark opened the notebook on his nightstand and jotted down cryptic notes as Steve spoke.

“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” Ending the call, Mark reached for his Glock and tucked it into the holster on his belt. He’d do his best to see that Emily’s wishes were honored, but he wouldn’t lose much sleep if Edwards had to be taken down.

When he stepped into the hall, he found Nick waiting.

“I heard your BlackBerry. What’s up?”

“They found Edwards.”

“Give me three minutes.”

“I thought you were taking the day off?”

“Not when there’s a job to finish,” Nick called over his shoulder as he jogged down the hall.

Before Mark could protest, Nick disappeared through his bedroom door. Once again, Mark was grateful for his support.

Last night, during the long hours in the emergency room, Nick hadn’t said much. But his presence had spoken volumes then, as it did now.

Two and a half minutes later, Nick joined him in the kitchen.

“Let’s roll.”

Light was just beginning to tinge the sky pink as they headed west. Mark craved a cup of coffee, needing the jolt of caffeine to clear the cobwebs from his brain. He suspected Nick did too.

But he didn’t want to waste precious minutes with a stop. And since he was behind the wheel this time, he decided for both of them. No coffee.

They drove the first fifteen minutes without talking, the pink-tinged sky giving way to pale blue as the sun rose behind them.

Finally Mark broke the silence.

“Believe it or not, Emily’s worried about Edwards.”

Nick looked toward him. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“She thinks he’s got major psychological problems. And she made me promise to do my best not to let him get hurt.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, either.”

“Take the lead on this, okay?” Mark flexed his fingers on the wheel, keeping his gaze fixed on the road. “We both know I shouldn’t even be there. And I promised Steve I’d stay in the background.”

“Okay.”

They lapsed into silence again.

Twelve minutes later they joined their fellow agents and a detective from Oakdale, who were parked on a side road in the rural area. Their vantage point atop a small hill offered a good view of the landscape below from behind a thick, concealing screen of foliage.

One of the agents came to meet them while the other kept his binoculars trained on a location out of their sight. Nick stepped forward.

“Morning, Kurt. Where is he?”

“About four hundred yards past the crest of the hill. His car’s at the entrance. There’s only one road in and out, and deputies from Franklin County have both ends covered.” He nodded to a patrol car off to one side.

“Does Edwards know you’re here?”

“If he does, he hasn’t given any indication of it. And he doesn’t appear to be armed.”

“Don’t count on it.” Mark spoke for the first time. “And trust me—the guy’s a good shot.”

“Understood. You want to take a look?”

“Yes.”

When they reached the top of the hill, Mark recognized the other agent as a sniper from the SWAT team. The man handed his binoculars to Mark. “He’s in the top right quadrant. Crazy place to make an arrest, isn’t it?”

Without responding, Mark lifted the binoculars to his eyes and surveyed the scene below.

Holy Cross Cemetery was tucked into a small, sheltered valley in the rolling landscape and surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. A slight mist hung over the headstones, giving the place an ethereal quality. The two-acre plot was peaceful and serene, the stillness broken only by the morning song of birds as they greeted the new day. A silver four-door Toyota Camry was parked at the entrance gate.

It took Mark mere seconds to spot Dale Edwards. The gray-haired man was sitting with his back against a granite headstone, his head lowered against his raised knees, his shoulders slumped. He was holding something, but it didn’t look like a weapon.

“He hasn’t moved since we arrived,” Kurt told them.

Despite his antipathy toward Edwards, the dejection and defeat in the man’s posture as he kept solitary vigil at the grave Mark assumed held the remains of his wife and son almost made him feel sorry for the man.

Almost.

But that didn’t mean he was any less committed to bringing him to justice.

Handing the binoculars to Nick, he stepped back and waited for his friend to look the terrain over and call the shots.

“Okay.” Nick turned to the SWAT team member. “Brett, pick a spot and alert me once you’re in position.”

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.”