The Enforcer (18 page)

Possession
. There was no other word for it, Dylan reflected as he surged into her.

He pistoned his hips, riding her with such intent that she had to bite her lip to keep from uttering unladylike encouragement. In spite of her efforts, a word broke from her lips.

He stilled in amazement. “God
damn
you are hot,” he commented.

“
Don’t use God’s name in vain,” she scolded.

“
You’re right. Sorry.” He withdrew from her suddenly, prompting a gasp of regret. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, shifting his weight. “We’re not nearly done yet.”

Goosebumps rippled up the backs of her thighs.

“Up on your knees,” he instructed. “Face the headboard.”

Following his directions, she was rewarded by the feel of his hands on her waist, his magical lips on her shoulders. Kissing the sprinkling of freckles there, he nuzzled her neck until she hummed in pleasure.

“Hands here and here,” he said, lifting them to the top of the mahogany headboard, placing them well apart. “How old is this bed?”

She could scarcely think.
“Like a hundred years.” Her heart galloped with anticipation.

“
Hope we don’t break it.” He scooted up behind her. The hair on his chest tickled her back. She arched her spine, inviting him nearer, turning her head to send him a pleading look. 

He slanted his mouth across hers in the same instant that he entered her. The bed creaked as their bodies came together. The headboard groaned as they pushed and pulled in a mindless quest to get deeper, closer. Dylan wished herself nowhere else in the world but where she was, being claimed by the one man who
’d brought her back to life.

Their joining became feverish, desperate. The headboard clanked.

Tobias released one of her hands to reach between her thighs. As he had the other night, he brought her quickly to crisis. His sensual touch, paired with his hips ramming her from behind, hurtled into an unprecedented climax. His final retreat and plunge seemed to wring pleasure from her very soul.

The first sound she made when she could catch her breath again was a sob. They collapsed onto the pillows in a tangle of limbs. Tobias lifted his head so he could search her face.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, as tears blurred her vision.

The endearment only magnified the feeling that she
’d just been reborn.

“
Nothing.” She shook her head, afraid that if she said another word she would start weeping and not be able to stop. 

She
’d never considered herself a sentimental person. Anger and fear—those were her bosom companions. Those were the emotions she grappled with on a daily basis, not tenderness or wonder or this terrifying sense of fragility. Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes, embarrassing her by leaking out to slide down her face.

“
Hey,” he crooned as he carefully separated their lower bodies, sweeping aside the used condom. He rolled her toward him, so that they lay face-to-face, sharing the same pillow. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He gathered her protectively against him.

She shook her head vehemently.
“No. It’s not that.” But she couldn’t have said what it was.

His expression struck her as uncharacteristically grave, almost….tortured.

“I’m fine,” she assured him.

A moment of silence fell between them, an opportunity for words to be spoken, if she knew what to say.

Tobias was the first to break it. “I want you to know something.”

“
What?” Her imagination caught fire.

“
I’ve never known anyone like you,” he said, straight-faced.

Her heart trembled, but she sought to make light of his remark.
“Really? And you’ve been with—” she shrugged, “hundreds of women, so that’s really saying something, huh?” she teased.

“
Dozens,” he corrected with a leer. “But, yes, that is saying something.”

Dylan broke eye contact lest the happy glow inside her became too apparent. A man like Tobias would run the other way if he felt in the least bit smothered. The thought of him leaving gutted her.

“So,” she said, desperate to change the subject, “do you think we woke up Terrence with the ruckus we made?”  

Tobias grimaced.
“I think I might have ruined your reputation, Captain.”

Her face flooded with heat.
“I don’t think he’d mind too much,” she assured him. “He doesn’t show it, but I think he likes you.”

“
I like him, too,” Tobias admitted, lowering his gaze. “He’s a good guy.”

A lump swelled in Dylan
’s throat giving rise to fresh tears. She blinked them back.

“
How much longer does he have?”

She regarded him in amazement.
“You never tiptoe around forbidden topics, do you?”

“
Don’t see the point,” he said with a shrug. “How long?”

She swallowed hard.
“I don’t know. A month, maybe a little more, maybe less.”

Tobias
’s jaw jumped. “Okay,” he said sadly.

The sound of the front door thumping shut and the thud of footfalls in the entryway made them freeze. Milly pushed up off the floor and looked at the door. Dylan tightened her hold on Tobias.

“Sleep with me tonight,” she whispered, risking rejection by baring her need for him. “As long as you’re the first one up, which you always are, who’s going to know?” she reasoned.

“
Tomorrow’s church,” he retorted with a devilish smile. “If I stay here tonight, you’re going to have a lot to repent for.”

Her extremities tingled at the sensual warning. She lifted her lips to his.
“You promise?” she whispered.

“
Swear.” He squeezed her backside. “Let me get rid of this condom and I’ll be right back.”

With a sigh of contentment, she let him go.

Toby stepped into the adjoining bathroom and quietly shut the door. He took a look around. Dylan
’s bathroom was all porcelain fixtures and outdated floral wallpaper. It smelled like her—like clean linen. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror, he dropped the used condom into the toilet, flushed it and ran a washcloth under hot water. He didn’t have to see the look on his face to know that something profound had just happened.

He
’d become deeply emotionally involved with the FBI’s top suspect in the Nolan murder.
Way to go, bro.
Using the washcloth, he wiped himself clean.

In his own defense, he hadn
’t been able to help himself. Dylan was a one-of-a-kind woman, a truly unique and complicated soul. She’d intrigued him from the start. Whatever she did or said seemed to touch him somewhere deep down, in a place where he’d never been touched before. No woman—suspect or otherwise—had
ever
made him feel this way.

If he thought about why that might be true, it would send him into some dark, tortuous maze from which he would emerge with his thoughts completely tangled. The best thing to do was not to think at all, but just clap on blinders and get back into the bed with Dylan, letting himself enjoy more mind-blowing, spine-tingling sensations without over-analyzing them.

He rinsed out the towel, dried his hands, and went to do just that.

Chapter
Twelve

A muffled voice announcing that the metro train had stopped in West Falls Church roused Toby from a sound sleep. Milly was licking his hand, trying to tell him something. It took him a minute to recollect where he was and what he was doing. And then he realized they’d arrived at their destination, and she was telling him to get off. Toby leapt to his feet, snatched up his duffle bag, and headed for the open doors with Milly fighting to keep up. 

The cold air on the outdoor platform brought him more sharply awake. As he urged Milly to climb the unmoving escalator, Toby reconsidered his upcoming meeting with the Taskforce lead. What could he say to convince Ike that Dylan was being framed when all evidence suggested otherwise? If the culprit responsible for the bombing succeeded in framing her, then—God forbid—Dylan might disappear into some prison or hospital somewhere, never to emerge again.

Every cell in his body rebelled at the thought. He simply couldn’t let that happen.

Crossing the covered walkway spanning the tracks, he emerged on the other side, only to be assailed by the sense that he was being watched—the same as last week.

He scanned the area, seeing nothing but a quiet drop-off zone and a virtually empty parking garage, all standing under a damp, cloud-covered sky. What the hell was going on? He couldn’t see a soul paying any attention to him, so why was his sixth sense jangling?

Remaining vigilant, he waved one of the three taxis out of the queue, ordered Milly into the back seat, and dove in after her. He supplied the driver with the address to the NCTC and sat back, keeping an eye on every window for signs of a tail.

Great Falls Street, which became a four-lane highway, conveyed only a few cars toward McLean this Sunday morning. The handful of drivers appeared to be headed to and from church. Glancing over his shoulder, Toby noticed a taxi pacing them at a distance. It followed them two and a half miles, all the way to the turn-off to the NCTC, only to continue past when Toby’s taxi turned in.   

“
This is good.” Toby paid the driver and got out at the head of Tysons-McLean Drive. He stood a moment on the shoulder, shivering in the cold, waiting to see if the taxi retraced its route and came back. When it didn’t, he shrugged and walked up the short, curved road to the National Counterterrorism Center.

As with the previous week, analysts inside the Operations Center greeted Milly, ignoring Toby, as they passed along the back of the room toward the elevators. Toby hit the button for the second floor and checked his watch. Today, he was five minutes early. Dylan had trained him well.

Regardless of his timely arrival, the Taskforce lead and Special Agents Maddox and Hamilton had
still
managed to beat him to the boardroom. All three looked up from the long table as Toby pushed his way inside. “Morning,” he called, unable to summon a smile.

Jackson
’s astute gaze didn’t waver. His old friend couldn’t tell just by looking at Toby that he was sleeping in Dylan’s bed, could he?

“
Have a seat,” Ike said, nodding at the chair that Toby had occupied the previous week. “We were just reviewing a report forwarded to us by the Department of Cyberspace. At their request, the Russians surrendered satellite images of Dylan Connelly’s Suburban parked one block from the site where Secretary Nolan’s car exploded.”

Toby
’s stomach dropped. How could that be? “How can they tell for certain that it’s her car?”

Ike Calhoun leaned back in his own seat and raised a silver eyebrow at him.
“The rear fender is bent. The images don’t lie.”

“
That doesn’t mean she drove it there. People close to her have access to the keys,” Toby insisted, though he’d never seen anyone but Dylan drive her vehicle. He’d intended to lay the groundwork for his suspicions first, not toss them out there right away, but Ike had put him on the defensive. “I think she’s being framed,” he blurted unceremoniously.

When a weighty silence followed his declaration, Toby sucked in a deep breath and plowed ahead.
“Think about the pipe found on her property,” he said. “According to the supply sergeant, it was lying in the yard one day and he just stuck it in the shed, thinking it could come in handy later. If you consider the number of civilian soldiers who drop by on a weekly basis, any one of them could have tossed the pipe out the window of his car. Plus, there’s something else that doesn’t add up. Dylan denies ever having written any anti-war essays, and I believe she’s telling the truth.”

The team lead
’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure her memory is intact?”

Anger flickered in Toby briefly.
“There’s nothing wrong with her memory,” he said through his teeth. “She’s emotionally damaged from a tragedy she witnessed and took part in, but she’s not insane.”

Ike
’s measuring look informed Toby that he’d taken note of his defensive tone. He glanced at Jackson. “Make a note to research her essays further. We ought to be able to pull up a domain name that tells us where those essays were uploaded.” He looked back at Toby. “Who would frame her?” he demanded.

Toby exhaled. At least Ike seemed to be considering his theory.
“Anyone who wants to avert suspicion. The militia already has an anti-government reputation. Add to that Dylan’s emotional instability, and you’ve got yourself a readymade suspect.”

Not even a glimmer of Calhoun
’s private thoughts showed in his expression. “Any idea who you might be talking about?” he paraphrased.

Is he mocking me?
Toby deliberately held his gaze. “No, sir. Have you researched the priest?”

Calhoun looked pointedly at Jackson, who thumbed through his notes and said,
“Arthur Alan Nesbit, born in 1943 left seminary in 1968 to serve as an Army chaplain. He worked in mobile hospitals in the Vietnam War for the next five years, during which time he earned two purple hearts for valor under fire.” Jackson glanced up. “Looks like he came by his anti-war sentiment honestly. I asked several former parishioners if they thought him capable of killing for his beliefs, and they all said no. There’s nothing in his record to suggest otherwise—no history of arrests, no protest marches, no bombing of abortion clinics, nothing of any radical nature whatsoever.”

Toby wasn
’t so sure. Sitting in church that morning next to a sleepy Dylan, he had listened to Nesbit preach a sermon on grace while letting his imagination run amok. The only good thing about Nesbit
not
being a suspect was that Dylan adored the man. It would be a true blow to learn that the priest was using her to conceal his actions.

Almost as bad as finding out that the man sleeping in her bed was, in fact, a federal agent
, noted the voice of his conscience.

Ike caught his eye.
“Director Bloomberg wants to make the arrest,” he announced.

Toby
’s heart stopped beating. “What? No.” He shook his head.

“
He thinks the evidence is sufficient to convict her.”

Toby pictured Dylan
’s reaction to finding herself under arrest for a crime she didn’t commit. Something like that might send her off the deep end. “Give me one more week,” he implored. “Let me find out who would frame her like this. I swear to you, someone with a political agenda is hiding behind her militia.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Ike broke eye contact to consider the report under his hand. He drummed his fingertips on the tabletop.
“We’ll take a vote,” he decided. “Who’s for giving Burke another week?”

Jackson Maddox and TJ Hamilton both raised their hands. Ike
’s eyebrows climbed, but he shrugged in acceptance of being overruled. “All right,” he said, shutting the folder of the latest report and freeing Toby to breathe again. “You’ve got one week.”

Despite his relief, Toby
’s stomach remained knotted. If he couldn’t prove Dylan’s innocence, she would be arrested and sent to trial. God knew how she’d handle something that traumatic.

Half an hour later, he exited the mammoth building with a heavy step. As if in response to his worsening mood, the sky had darkened and was now spitting cold flecks of rain. A gust of wind had him pulling up the collar of his army jacket as he led Milly past the clanging flagpole toward the parking lot. His gaze locked in disbelief on a man sitting on one of the cement blocks in front of the building. Recognizing the hawk-like features of the Sheriff of Harpers Ferry, Toby
’s blood abruptly thinned.

The sheriff caught sight of him, stood, and headed directly toward him. Toby slowed his step. He felt suddenly like prey.

Oh, shit.

Cal Fallon approached with his hands in his pockets and a snarl on his scarred lip. For several seconds, they assessed each other in electrical silence.

“You followed me,” Toby accused.

“
You lied to us, you son of a bitch,” Fallon said at the same time.

Envisioning the entire investigation swirling down the drain, not to mention Dylan
’s deep disillusionment when she learned from the sheriff who Sergeant Burke really was, Toby opted to be fully honest with the lawman. “You need to know that Dylan Connelly is a suspect in the Defense Secretary’s murder.”

Fallon
’s expression grew thunderous. “Tell me something I don’t know. But if you think Dylan’s a murderer, then you don’t know her like we do.”

“
Relax,” Toby countered. “I
know
she didn’t do that. Unfortunately, there’s evidence that suggests otherwise.” He glanced around, relieved to find that they were still alone.

“
What kind of evidence?” Fallon demanded.

“
That’s classified. The bottom line is if I can’t figure out who is framing her, she’s going to face trial for a crime she didn’t commit.”

The scar on Fallon
’s lip turned bone white. “Who would frame her?” he demanded.

“
I was hoping you’d know that.” Briefly, Toby considered whether the sheriff himself might be the culprit. At the moment, he didn’t have much choice about including the man in his investigation. “Look, someone’s using Dylan to cover up their own agenda, and I can’t protect her unless I’m on the inside. Please. I need you to protect my identity. She’ll discover the truth sooner or later.” He quailed at the thought. “You don’t need to be the one to destroy her faith in me.”

Steely gray eyes drilled into Toby
’s. “All right.” Fallon folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll keep your business to myself for now.” His eyes narrowed. “But if you Feds try to pin a crime on her that she didn’t commit, I swear to God, you’ll wish you never crossed my path. I will raise holy hell on national television. I will personally ruin you for fucking up her life any more than it’s already fucked up.”

Clint Eastwood in
Dirty Harry
had nothing on this guy. Toby felt a grin coming. “I’ll hold you to that, Sheriff,” he replied. Noticing the taxi lurking at the far side of the lot he asked, “Is that your ride?”

Fallon followed his gaze.
“Yep.”

“
Do you have an hour or two? I’d like to pick your brain some. How about lunch?”

Fallon looked like he
’d rather dine with the devil than with him.

“
You know better than I do who Dylan’s enemies are,” Toby explained.

Fallon
’s mouth curled with scorn. “Good luck there, son. Pretty much every filthy politician and legislator despises her.”

“
Maybe together we can whittle down the list. Finding the culprit may be our only way to keep her out of jail.”

At the mention of jail, Fallon seemed to blanch.
“Fine,” he muttered, waving at the distant taxi. As it started slowly toward them, he added, “Just so I make this clear, I’m doing this for Dylan, whose father was a well-respected man in our town. I don’t like Feds and I never will.”

Toby had to hold back a smile.
“I appreciate your candidness,” he replied. He’d take honesty like Fallon’s over the backstabbing habits of government agents any day.

***

“Why, Dylan!” Father Nesbit’s face lit up with pleasure as he opened his kitchen door. She stood on the stoop of the rectory in a cold drizzle. “Come in, please. What brings you to my humble abode in such inclement weather?”

Dylan slipped into his warm kitchen with relief. The familiar smells of chamomile tea and burnt toast assailed her nostrils.
“I’m picking up Sergeant Burke at the station at seventeen thirty,” she said, shaking out of her army-issue trench coat. “I thought I’d drop by and visit you first.”

“
I’m so glad you did,” he insisted, taking her coat and draping it over a chair. “Let me make you some tea.”

“
No, that’s okay. I don’t have much time. I’d rather just talk.”

His brow creased with concern.
“Well, of course, my dear. Take a seat, then.”