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.”
“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 pretended 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.”