Eye for an Eye, an (Heroes of Quantico Book #2): A Novel (21 page)

“Steve? Carl again. We checked out Edwards’s place. He lives on about ten acres of land, and the guys did spot a couple of cows in a pasture. No one answered the door, and the garage was empty.”

From his concealed position, Steve shifted the BlackBerry against his ear and squinted toward the duplex where the suspect was holed up. “That doesn’t help us a whole lot.”

“No. But this might. They also talked to a neighbor, who said Edwards recently lost both his wife and teenage son. The son committed suicide and the wife died a few weeks later of a heart attack. They’ve seen him around the house at odd hours in the past week or so, and wondered if he’d lost his job on top of everything else. And they mentioned seeing a strange car turn in his driveway a few nights ago.”

“Those kinds of losses could precipitate a breakdown. But that wouldn’t give him a motive for attacking Mark or Dr. Lawson.”

“There could be pieces we haven’t discovered yet that would complete the picture.”

“True. One of our agents called me with some basic background on Edwards.” He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open, keeping one eye on the apartment building. “He’s a long-term employee at Aiken Concrete. If he’s been let go, it’s a very recent development. Wife, Ruth, son, Bryan.

Age fifty-nine. No brushes with the law. He’s lived in Labadie for twenty-plus years. Excellent credit rating, pays his taxes on schedule, churchgoing. He sounds like a model citizen.”

“Put enough stress on anyone, and they can break. You know, it could come down to Mark and Dr. Lawson being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They might have been random targets after all.”

“My gut tells me that’s not the case.”

Carl’s sigh came over the line. “Mine does too.”

As the agents dressed as firefighters stepped into sight in front of the duplex, Steve shifted position for a better view. “Carl, I’ll be in touch. We’re about to move on the arrest.”

At seven o’clock, Dale called Emily Lawson’s exchange. Less than five minutes later she returned the call.

“Mr. Smith, Dr. Lawson. How can I be of help?”

“You said I could call if I wanted to talk. I was wondering if you might be able to meet me somewhere. Maybe a Starbucks? I was going to wait to call you until tomorrow, but I . . . I need to talk to someone tonight. That is, if you don’t have other plans.”

There was a brief moment of silence. “I don’t usually meet patients on Sunday . . . but I can make an exception today. Which Starbucks would be convenient?”

He’d already scoped out a small mall near her condo. The large parking lot would serve his purposes very well, and it was only about a mile from the church where he’d parked on his first attempt. And where he intended to finish the job tonight.

It would be easy to walk back to the mall when he was done.

He gave her the address.

“Believe it or not, that’s very close to me. When would you like to get together?”

“Would fifteen minutes be okay?”

“Fine. I’ll meet you there.”

As she severed the connection, Dale smiled.

Things were going exactly as he’d planned.

The arrest of the third suspect hadn’t gone as smoothly as they’d hoped, but at least it was over, Mark thought in relief.

The woman and two of her kids had come out after agents masquerading as firefighters warned that the gas leak might cause an explosion, but at the last minute the suspect had gotten suspicious, grabbed the third kid, and slammed the door shut. However, once he realized the place was swarming with police and federal agents, he’d agreed to talk to a negotiator. An hour later, he’d surrendered.

As the SWAT team members stripped off their stifling gear, Steve touched his shoulder.

“Let’s find some shade.” The supervisor tipped his head toward a scraggly, lone maple tree as the suspect was led out of the house in handcuffs while police officers tried to manage a growing crowd of spectators.

As Steve told him about the match and Oakdale’s unsuccessful attempt to contact Dale Edwards, Mark frowned. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. Did you run it by Emily again?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll call her. Do we have any intel on Edwards?”

“He’s clean. But he’s had some recent trauma that could be making him unstable. Neighbors think he may have lost his job.

And his wife and son died recently.”

“An accident?”

“No. The teenage son committed suicide and the wife died of a heart attack soon after.”

Despite the oppressive heat, a cold knot formed in Mark’s stomach and he felt some of the color drain from his face.

“What’s wrong?” Steve’s eyes narrowed.

“Emily told me about a new patient she saw this week with the same background. An EAP referral. But she’d have recognized the name if it was on the Eight List.”

“Maybe not. There were almost three hundred people on there.”

Mark raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, I need to call her. Can someone track Edwards’s boss and find out if he was referred to his company’s EAP?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“What are the names of the wife and son? I’ll run them by Emily.”

“Ruth and Bryan.”

“Bryan.” Mark repeated the name. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it.

“Does that mean something to you?”

“Maybe. It will come to me. But first let me call Emily.” He punched in her number. After four rings, the answering machine kicked in. “Emily, if you’re there, pick up.” He waited, but when there was no response, a flicker of panic licked at his gut.

“I’m heading out there.” He slid the phone back in its holder.

“Who can you spare?”

As the lead case agent, Nick needed to deal with follow-up interviews as soon as possible and coordinate the scene search.

Mark knew he wouldn’t be available.

Scanning the crowd, Steve motioned for Kevin Shaughnessy, one of the senior agents, to join them. Mark apprised him of the situation as they headed for his car at a trot.

Once they were underway, Mark tried Emily’s number again.

Still no answer. On a whim, he punched in directory assistance.

At the prompt, he gave the name Evelyn Martelli, praying Emily’s neighbor didn’t have an unlisted number. He breathed a sigh of relief as the call went through—and a bigger one when she answered.

“Mrs. Martelli, this is Mark Sanders with the FBI. We met on a few occasions when I was visiting Emily.”

“I remember you very well, young man. What can I do for you?”

“Put my mind at rest, I hope. I’ve been trying to call Emily, and there’s been no answer. I assume she’s gone out, and wondered if you might have seen her leave.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. About half an hour ago. I was watering my begonias on the front porch, and we chatted for a minute.”

“Did she by any chance say where she was going?”

“No, I’m afraid not. All she said was that she had to meet a patient. I teased her about breaking her no-work-on-Sunday rule, but she smiled and said there are always exceptions.”

The knot in Mark’s stomach tightened, and he had to struggle to keep his tone neutral. “Thank you, Mrs. Martelli. You’ve been very helpful.”

Mark punched in Steve’s number, noting the tremor in his hand. When his boss answered, he dispensed with a greeting.

“According to Emily’s neighbor, she left a few minutes ago to meet a patient. Steve, it’s got to be Dale Edwards.”

“Let’s slow down a little. Assuming Edwards is the shooter, we know he’s a good marksman. If he wanted to take her out, why not use the rifle again, from a distance, and keep it anonymous? He was careful on the first attempt . . . why would he take chances now?”

“I don’t know. But stress can do strange things to people. And he’s had more than his share. He could be starting to crack, to make mistakes.”

“Okay. I’ll put out an alert on both their cars. But Edwards’s neighbors said they saw an unfamiliar car pulling into his place the other night, so he may be driving a different vehicle.”

“We can only go with what we have. Let me know as soon as you reach Edwards’s boss. I’m going to track down Emily’s office manager and find out the name of her new EAP patient.”

Once again, Mark severed the connection and punched in directory assistance. Maria’s last name was Fernandez, but he had no idea what her husband’s first name was. And according to the live operator who eventually came on the line, there were more than a hundred listings in the St. Louis area for Fernandez. Two minutes later, he was back on the phone with Evelyn.

“Raul,” she supplied. “Nice man. Emily has Maria and Raul and me over to dinner on occasion. And that young man from the radio station, Andy.”

At the mention of the radio station, the name Bryan fell into place with an ominous click.

The distraught young man who had called Emily several times, the one she’d told him she’d worried about, had been named Bryan.

Edwards’s son, Bryan, had committed suicide.

Was Bryan the link between Emily and Edwards?

But if he was, it still didn’t explain why Edwards would go after Emily.

“Mr. Sanders, is Emily all right?”

With an effort, he pulled himself back to the conversation.

“I hope so, Mrs. Martelli. Another agent and I are about ten minutes away. Do you have a key to Emily’s condo?”

“Yes.”

“We’d like to take a look around. She may have left some clue about where she was going.”

“Of course. I’ll be waiting for you. And I believe I’ll say a few prayers.”

A good idea, Mark thought somberly as he slipped the Black-Berry back onto his belt. A very good idea.

“Joe Smith. But that is not his real name.”

Maria’s response to Mark’s question confirmed his growing suspicion. Dale Edwards had seen Emily as a patient, using an assumed name.

Closing his eyes, Mark tightened his grip on his BlackBerry and tried to rein in his escalating panic as Kevin sped toward Emily’s condo. “Are you sure, Maria?”

“Yes. Randy Miller, the EAP rep, told me. He said the guy didn’t want anyone to know he was going to counseling. Loco, huh?” There was a brief pause, followed by a worried question.

“Emily . . . she is in trouble, sí?”

“I hope not. We’re checking it out now. What companies does Miller represent?”

She reeled off several—including Aiken Concrete.

Suspicion became probability.

“Maria, I’ve got another call coming in. I’ll be in touch later.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, he switched lines.

“Sanders.”

“It’s Steve. We reached Aiken, and through him the EAP rep.

Edwards saw Dr. Lawson last week under the name Joe Smith.”

Probability became certainty.

“We’re pulling up in front of her condo now. I’ll get back to you.”

“I’ll put some agents on standby. And I’ll alert Carl. We’ll find her, Mark.”

“Yeah. I know.”

There was no question in his mind about that.

He only hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

21

The light was fading quickly, but Emily spotted Joe Smith as soon as she pulled into the parking lot. He was leaning against his car, a drink in each hand. He lifted one cup in greeting when he saw her, and she swung into the empty space beside him.

As she gathered up her purse, she was glad she’d exchanged the dress she’d worn to church for a jean skirt and knit top. She hoped the casual attire would be less intimidating to her skittish patient than her typical office garb had been a few days ago.

But the change of clothes had left her rushing to get to their rendezvous in the allotted fifteen minutes, and she’d forgotten to retrieve her cell phone from the recharger. She knew Mark would worry if he called and got no answer, considering she hadn’t ventured out alone in the evening since the shooting incident.

But he was tied up with the bank robbery arrests. In all likelihood, she’d be back long before he had a chance to call. Besides, she didn’t need to bother him with this. He had enough on his mind. And the situation was straightforward. She was meeting a patient, in a public place, with lots of people around. What could be safer?

With the setting of the sun, the heat was dissipating, but the steamy weather had taken a toll on the older man, Emily concluded as she joined him beside his car. His cotton shirt was limp, his slacks wrinkled, his hair matted down with sweat.

“Thank you for coming. The place is crowded, though, and I’d rather not talk about personal things in there. So I got us each a drink and hoped we could visit in your car. Double chocolate chip frappuccino, right?” He held up one of the cups.

“That’s right.” She’d never conducted a counseling session in her car, but if it put her patient at ease, she was willing to give it a try. “Sure, we can talk out here.” She reached for the cup, but he withdrew his hand.

“I’ll hold it until you get in.”

Acceding with a nod, she moved to the passenger side of her car and opened the door for him. Once he was seated, she closed it, circled the hood, and slid behind the wheel. Flipping up the covers on the cup holders, she took her frappuccino.

“A perfect drink for a hot night.” She took a sip and opened her notebook. “I’m glad you called, Mr. Smith. I’ve been thinking about you. When people experience a great deal of stress, it’s easy for them to lose perspective. Often talking to friends, or a third party, can be very helpful. Have you talked about what happened with anyone?”

“No. It’s hard to find the words.”

“I understand.” She took another sip of the cold drink and set it in the holder. “When bad things happen, our feelings are often confused and muddled. It can be difficult to sort them out. That’s why counselors can help. We’re able to look at the situation more impartially and can offer guidance to help people work through their feelings and get their life back on track. I’d like to help you do that, if you’ll let me.”

“I think that’s what Mr. Miller had in mind when he recommended you. He said you were very good at what you do.” He glanced down at her cup. “Your frappuccino is melting.”

“If you do the talking, it will give me a chance to drink it.” She smiled at him and picked up her cup again.

“Deal.” He waited while she took a sip. “I thought I might tell you about my brother, John.”

“Okay.”

“You asked me if there was any history of depression in our family. Well, my older brother lost his wife four years ago. After that, he wasn’t the same. He lived down in Arkansas. I always wished he was closer, but I called him two, three times a week.

And I tried to get him to go to church, to read the Bible. But he kept slipping further and further away.”

“Did he seek any professional help?” She kept sipping, keeping up her end of the bargain.

“Yes, ma’am. He went to a psychologist. Things got worse after that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was he on any medication?”

“Yes. It didn’t help. I told him he should put everything in the hands of the Lord, but he didn’t listen. He was a strong believer before his wife died. After that, he kind of fell away. Looked to the world for answers, instead of to the Lord. Like Bryan did.”

“Bryan?”

“My son.” He pulled a photo out of his pocket and held it out for her to see. “This is a picture of him with my wife, Ruth.”

That was an odd coincidence, Emily reflected as she peered at the photo in the fading light, trying to focus. The troubled young caller on her teen show a couple of months ago had also been named Bryan.

“He was a very handsome young man, Mr. Smith. And your wife was lovely.”

“Thank you.”

Without prompting, he launched into a lengthy story about how he and his wife had met. Considering his reticence during their first session, she was surprised—but pleased. Perhaps, now that he seemed more willing to talk, he’d open up about deeper issues too.

As he finished his story, she drained the last of her drink and set the cup in the holder. Or tried to. She missed on the first attempt, blinking in surprise. Must be the twilight shadows, she decided, taking more care with her aim on the second attempt. “You mentioned your brother earlier, Mr. Smith. What happened to him?”

“He took his own life.”

Jolted, she stared at him. Two suicides in one family. That could indicate a pattern. Couldn’t it? For some reason, she was having difficulty organizing her thoughts.

“I told Bryan to give it to the Lord, but he didn’t listen, either.” “Is that what you think you should do too?” The last few words came out slurred. Frowning, she took a deep breath. Maybe the heat was affecting her.

“I know the Lord is with me.”

A wave of dizziness took her by surprise, and she grabbed the wheel, curling her fingers around the rim as her pen dropped, unnoticed and soundless, to the floor.

“Are you all right?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” She tried to fight down a sudden surge of nausea.

“You don’t look very well. Why don’t you let me drive you home? I can take a taxi back here to pick up my car.”

Before she could respond, he stepped out of the car. A few seconds later, he pulled her door open and extended a hand.

“Look . . . I’ll just . . . call someone.” She frowned. Why were her words garbled?

“No need. I’m happy to help.” He tugged her from the car.

Despite his assistance, she staggered when she tried to stand and had to lean on him heavily as he propelled her around to the passenger side of his vehicle.

She wanted to protest as he eased her into the seat and shut the door, but she couldn’t get the words out. Letting her head drop back against the seat, she heard the back door open. Shut.

Then the driver side door opened and he slid behind the wheel.

The engine rumbled to life, and he put the car in gear.

“I need to . . . give you . . . my address.”

“We’re not going there.”

His response sounded distorted to Emily, but she understood its meaning. Or she thought she did. Confused, she turned to him, trying hard to focus on his blurry profile. Hadn’t he said he was going to take her home?

In truth, however, she was beginning to think she needed to go to an emergency room. There was something very wrong with her. Her muscles weren’t responding to her brain’s commands.

And she was having difficulty processing information.

“Bryan should never have called you.”

She tried to concentrate. Bryan was his son. No, wait, that was wrong. Bryan was the name of the distressed teen she’d spoken with several times. The one she’d worried about, who had stopped calling. But wasn’t Bryan also the name of Joe’s son?

“I told him not to,” Joe continued as she tried to keep up. “But I found out later, after he hung himself, that he kept calling you anyway. He wouldn’t have died if he’d listened to me instead of going behind my back. You misled him, Emily. The same way that therapist misled John. And you’re responsible for Ruthie’s death too. She wouldn’t have had that heart attack if Bryan hadn’t killed himself.”

He flipped his signal and stopped speaking long enough to complete a turn and switch on his lights in the deepening dusk.

“I made a mistake with you in the park. Shooting was too quick. God wants you to know why you’re going to die. So he showed me a better way. A slower way. He wants you to think about dying, like John and Bryan did as the life slipped out of their bodies. You go to church. You might know that passage from Psalms: ‘The Lord is known by the judgment which he executeth: the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands.’

It’s time for your sentence to be carried out, Emily. An eye for an eye, like it says in Exodus. A life for a life. Except it’s just one life for three. Not exactly a fair trade. But it will have to do.”

As Emily fought a losing battle to hang on to awareness, his words registered in her mind. Followed by a horrifying realization. Joe Smith—her newest client—was the shooter.

Even under the best conditions, she knew reasoning with a sick, delusional person wasn’t likely to have much effect. And she was at a distinct disadvantage. There was no strength in her body, thanks to whatever he must have slipped into her drink.

Her muscles had simply stopped responding to her brain’s commands. And what little control she could still exert on her mind was slipping fast. But she had to try.

“The Lord said that . . . vengeance was his.” Her whispered words were barely audible.

He turned to her. “And I am his instrument.”

His steady calmness, and the absolute conviction in his tone, told her with terrifying certainty she wasn’t going to be able to dissuade him from his mission.

As her brain began to succumb to the fog swirling around it, Emily’s thoughts turned to Mark. All along, she’d been afraid to consider a commitment to him, fearing he would leave her alone, as Grant had.

Now, she was about to leave him.

The irony of it cut deep.

Regret pooled in her heart. If she had it to do over again, she’d make a different choice. She’d acknowledge that everyone’s hold on life was tenuous, at best. That each day was a gift to be cherished and fully lived, without fear, as Mark had told her not long ago. She’d remind herself often of a saying she’d once read: “Yesterday’s the past, tomorrow’s the future, but today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.”

Lord, I’ve been foolish. I should have embraced the gift Mark was offering. I can’t help myself now. I put my life in your hands.But if it’s your will, please give me another chance. And if today is the day you call me home, please give Mark the courage to accept it without turning away from you.

“Hey, David, look at that!”

The excitement in his friend’s whispered comment caught David’s attention. Ever since those FBI agents and that detective had visited his house, his friend Eric had been a whole lot less bossy. And when David had recruited him for surveillance, Eric hadn’t argued about who was going to be in charge, using his six-month age advantage as rationale, the way he usually did. They both knew the optimal place to keep an eye on the street was from David’s tree house—now known as their command post. Besides, it was logical for David to be in charge of this mission.

He’d talked to the FBI.

“What do you have?” David scooted over to Eric and peered into the darkness.

“Look at that car. The driver turned off the lights as soon as he came around the corner.”

Lifting his binoculars, David studied the car, wondering if it might be the same one the FBI agents and detective had asked about. But no. This was a different make. And it was a dark color.

There weren’t any eights in the license plate, either. Shoot. He’d been hoping to spot the car the police were looking for.

Still . . . it was kind of weird that the guy would turn his lights off. At least, he was pretty sure it was a guy. It was kind of hard to tell in the dark. And there was someone with him. He couldn’t see the person’s face, but from the longer hair he figured it was a lady. Her head was twisted kind of funny, though. Like she might be using the corner of the seat to prop it up, the same way he did when he wanted to sleep on long car trips.

“What do you think?”

Eric was asking his opinion, he realized. Way cool!

Instead of answering, David watched as the car turned into the church parking lot and disappeared. It might not be the same car he’d seen that Saturday they left on vacation, but it had some connection with the church. Like that other car did.

Goose bumps broke out on his arm despite the heat. Something was going on here. Maybe something big.

“David! Did you see that? He turned in at the church! What should we do?” Eric was growing more agitated by the second. It was time for an executive decision, David decided. He’d heard his dad use that term at dinner, when he was telling David’s mom about something he’d decided at work. David figured it meant he’d taken charge. And that’s what he was going to do.

“We wait.”

“Wait?” Eric sounded confused. “What for?”

He had no idea. But he wasn’t about to let Eric know that.

Swatting at a mosquito, he propped his elbows on the wooden railing of the rustic tree house and glued the binoculars to his eyes. “We’ll know when we see it.”