The Enforcer (26 page)

He held his hand out, palm up, entreating her forgiveness.
“I would never hurt you, Dylan. You have to know that’s true.”

She staggered backward, her shock and horror utterly apparent.
“You kept this a secret from me?” she demanded of Cal, all the while eying Toby like she’d never seen him before.

The click of a 9 mm pistol froze Toby
’s blood. He looked over to see Fallon staring down his sights at him, pistol aimed at Toby’s chest. “He promised he would defend you,” the sheriff explained through his teeth, “but that was obviously a lie. Drop it,” he warned.

Reluctantly, seeing no way out of his predicament, Toby set the rifle at his feet.

Fallon approached him and kicked it out of the way. With identical looks of incredulity and betrayal, Morrison, Ackerman, and Lee closed a noose around Toby as Fallon circled him. “Down on your stomach. Now,” the sheriff commanded, his aim steady. 

Following her initial outburst, Dylan fell mute.

Slowly, with a sardonic twist of his lips, Toby complied. Lying face-down on the cold earth, he wished he’d just bitten the bullet and told Dylan the truth the night before, back when he’d had the chance. If only she hadn’t had so damn much to deal with already. If only he hadn’t wanted to bask in her devotion a little longer.

Fallon
’s knee gouged his spine, sending shards of pain to his extremities. Sparing himself the indignity of being outnumbered, Toby let the sheriff cuff him roughly. Steel circlets bit into his wrists before he was yanked upright, back on his feet.

A disturbance on the fringes of the group announced Lt. Ashby
’s arrival. He had made his way off the porch and down the slope to join them. With a cry of consternation, Dylan rushed over to bolster up her friend, putting her shoulder under his free arm.

Lt. Ashby
’s dark, pain-glazed eyes alighted on Toby as he weaved on his crutch. “Is this true?” he demanded, laboring to catch his breath. “You work for the FBI?” he huffed with incredulity.

“
Not exactly,” Toby muttered, ashamed to cause the sick man any anguish. “I’m with a counterterrorist taskforce group that operates in support of Homeland Security.”  

“
He’s an informant,” Fallon interjected giving the cuffs a yank.

“
You think we’re terrorists?” Ashby demanded with a visible shudder. 

Toby let his gaze convey his deep regret.
“No, of course not,” he said gently.

“
What do we do with him?” Ackerman asked, eyeing Tobias with malicious anticipation.

Lt. Ashby looked at Dylan, who stared down at the grass with a frozen expression.
“What do you think?” the XO asked her.

She shook her head, unable to speak, unable to bring herself to even look at Toby. He knew he
’d get no reprieve from her—not today, maybe never.

“
I say we hold him hostage,” Fallon suggested. “And we refuse to release him unless the Feds drop their charges against our leader.”

A rousing huzzah followed Fallon
’s suggestion.

Toby looked back at Terrence Ashby, hoping to appeal to his common sense.
“You’ll have a war on your hands if you do that,” he predicted. “A massacre along the lines of Waco. Just let me go. I can be a liaison between the local authorities and the FBI. I can help prove Dylan’s innocence.”

“
We’ve trained for this,” Cal Fallon continued as if Toby hadn’t spoken at all. He spoke to the militia at large. “Are we going to let the Feds trespass on our leader’s property?”

“
No!”

“
Strip her of her inalienable rights and arrest her for crimes she didn’t commit?”

“
No!”

“
You know what I think?” Ackerman piped up, pinning Toby with a tightlipped glare. “I think the Feds faked General Treyburn’s death just so they could frame Captain Connelly and shut us down. We’re a threat to their tyranny!”

“
Yeah!” Several in the crowd cheered Ackerman’s paranoid conclusions while others like Dylan and Lt. Ashby just looked at him with their eyebrows raised.

At last, Dylan
’s brittle, disillusioned voice cut through the rabble rousing. “We’re not taking anyone hostage,” she declared, and Toby released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“
Ivan, collect Burke’s possessions from the attic and his dog from the house,” she said, removing the hair-trigger Ackerman from the scene. “Sheriff Fallon, kindly escort Burke off my property.” Her voice wobbled slightly. She cut a concerned glance at the man leaning heavily on her shoulders before addressing her soldiers as a body. “If you all wish to keep the FBI from coming back, I give you permission to defend my property,” she added. “But no one, and I mean
no one
, shoots to kill. Do I make myself clear?”

“
Yes, ma’am!” 

Look at me, beautiful
, Toby willed, attempting to catch Dylan’s eye.
I’m so sorry
.
I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.

But she studiously avoided his gaze.  

As Ackerman stormed off to the house to collect Toby’s things, Fallon swung Toby around and shoved him to get him moving. “Walk,” he growled when Toby resisted.

He was hoping Dylan would look at him, just one more time, so he could convey his remorse with his eyes. But she turned her back deliberately to assist Lt. Ashby in making the long trek back to the house. Just like that, she had dismissed him from her thoughts, her life, her future.

With what felt like a gaping wound in his heart, Toby let himself be prodded toward the yard. A contingent of soldiers followed them. As they passed the front of the house, Milly burst through the screen door and streaked across the yard to join him, tail wagging, oblivious to his plight. Toby, with his hands cuffed behind his back, signaled awkwardly for her to heel. She flanked him as he and Fallon started down the long driveway. 

“
I’ve got it from here, fellas,” Fallon told the stunned soldiers that still followed them. “Return to your NCOs to receive your orders. It’s going to take all of us to hold off the OpFor.”

In the distance, Toby could hear Morrison and Lee barking out orders to secure the
perimeter, which would be all four corners of Dylan’s vast property. For as long as the militia had been in existence, it had trained to deflect an invasion by oppositional forces. Today, in their minds, training had transitioned into reality.

Each man in the militia carried a three-day supply of rations; after that, they would have to rely on whatever Dylan
’s pantry had in store to keep them fed. Within a week, they’d all be hungry and tired and ready to go back to their real lives.

“
Keep walking,” Cal growled, shoving Toby to get him moving.

Every muscle in Toby
’s body balked at leaving. If only he could turn back the hands of time, he would tell Dylan about the amazing woman he had met on his undercover assignment. She wasn’t the lunatic the government had made her out to be. She had done her best to turn her emotional anguish into something positive for others. She’d led the militia to uphold tradition and to combat her PTSD. She’d given both herself and others a sense of purpose. Dylan had integrity and compassion, and he admired the hell out of her.

He would tell her that, whether she forgave him or not, he would do whatever it took to keep her out of jail. Whoever the cold-hearted bastard was that was trying to frame her,
that
asshole was going to account for what he’d done.

Speaking of assholes, he could hear Ackerman running down the driveway to catch up to them, wheezing under the weight of Toby
’s duffle bag.

“
Wait,” Ivan called, and Cal Fallon jerked Toby to a stop.

“
I ain’t gonna carry his bag any further,” Ivan declared, slowing his step. He threw the duffle bag at Toby, just like Toby knew he would. Of course, with his hands cuffed behind his back, it bounced off his chest and hit the ground. Startled, Milly scuttled out of the way.

“
Love you, too, man,” Toby said, just like he had the day Ackerman had lobbed his bedroll at him.

“
Man, fuck you,” Ivan countered, predictably.

Toby just rolled his eyes and then he started to grin as Cal Fallon shifted his aim so that he was pointing his gun at Sergeant Ackerman instead of at him.

“Pick it up and carry it to the head of the driveway,” the sheriff ordered.

“
What?”

“
You heard me. If you don’t want me telling the others that you lied about your past, then you’ll do as I say.”

When Ackerman blanched, Toby swung his gaze back and forth between them.
“What do you mean, he lied about his past?”

Fallon curled his lip and mocked,
“Figure it out yourself, wise guy.”

With darting eyes, Ivan Ackerman snatched up Toby
’s duffle bag. Clutching it to his chest, he ran ahead of them with his awkward, loping gait. As Cal prodded Toby into motion again, he watched Ackerman drop his bag by the mailbox, send one last fearful glance in their direction, then hightail it through the orchard. 

Well, I
’ll be damned
, Toby thought, wondering what fact Fallon had unearthed and why he hadn’t shared his information with Toby earlier.

Once Ackerman was out of sight, Cal Fallon shoved his pistol in his holster and started to take off Toby
’s handcuffs.

“
Sorry about the rough treatment,” he apologized, “but I did tell you I’d make your life a living hell if you let Dylan take the rap for Nolan’s murder. And now there’s this new case in which she’s the suspect.”

“
You did warn me,” Toby conceded, shaking out his arms. “And I intend to keep my promise. But you damn well didn’t need to pull the rug out from under her feet that way,” he railed, his resentment bubbling anew.

Cal
’s facial muscles flexed with sudden self-doubt. “Well, don’t just stand there, bitching me out. Call your buddies in the FBI and tell them to pick you up. I know you’ve got some way to reach them.”

The impulse to tackle Fallon to the ground and punish him for destroying whatever slim chance he and Dylan might have had tempted Toby briefly.

But in Cal’s defense, he’d been protecting Dylan in the same way that Toby had been trying to protect her. Ultimately they were on the same team, only the sheriff didn’t believe it yet.

“
She’s more vulnerable than ever without me. Just so you know, we love each other—or at least she did love me until you screwed that up. If she hurts herself now, then that’s on you,” Toby declared.

Snatching his duffle bag off the ground, he called Milly after him and turned his back on Dylan
’s farm, aware that he was leaving his heart behind him. The phone call could wait. He needed time to collect his mixed emotions—remorse, worry, anger, and loss—before calling anyone to pick him up.

Besides, if the FBI came anywhere close to Dylan
’s property right now, another Civil War just might break out.

Chapter
Sixteen

By the nightlight plugged into the socket, Dylan kept an eye on the rise and fall of her dear friend’s chest as he slept. Outside his window, she could hear the occasional snippet of conversation as soldiers tramped across the dark yard. They’d been trained to rotate shifts every four hours, thus preventing boredom or risking the chance of anyone falling asleep on watch. Her radio, set to a new frequency every four hours, crackled softly on the bureau, its volume lowered so as not to interfere with Terrence’s rest.

His confrontation with the FBI today had sapped what little remained of his strength. He
’d refused to eat, to take his pain pills, to do anything but retreat into silence. Dylan knew he blamed himself for insisting that Burke join the SAM, only to have him turn out to be a traitor.

For the hundredth time that day, she closed her eyes and rubbed her aching temples. Her world—this carefully constructed reality that she had pieced together to give her life direction—was crumbling. It was just a matter of time, a week at most, before her soldiers weakened in the face of hunger, tedium, and the pressures of loved ones. Soon after that, they
’d surrender their rifles and go home. And then the FBI would swoop back in to arrest her.

All that she could hope for was to be here at Terrence
’s side when his spirit went to rest. The prospect of him dying alone and miserable, while she languished in jail, was simply unacceptable.

The clock next to the bed blinked as the minutes turned to zero and a new day began. Time was running out already.

Get some rest, Dylan.
The echo of Toby’s advice sounded in her head, prompting such a sharp pang in the region of her heart that made her gasp out loud. She pressed her knuckles to her lips to stifle the sounds.

How could she have been so blind not to have realized who he was? The truth, in retrospect, was so terribly obvious. Tobias Burke had sought her out shortly after the FBI had questioned her in connection with Secretary Nolan
’s murder. Now she knew why she hadn’t been able to get a read on him at their very first meeting: He’d been lying.

Frame by frame, she relived the previous three weeks with him in her home.
If you want to lean on me from time to time, that’s okay, too
, he’d said the night Hendrix had covered her car in spray paint, and then he’d kissed her. And just a few nights later, he’d slipped into her room and brought her to a shattering climax in what amounted to magic for her, a calculated seduction for him. Her face flamed with furious chagrin.

Then there
’d been that interlude on Jefferson’s Rock when he’d sung to her so sweetly and freed the pins from her hair, saying,
This is who you really are
. He had blinded her with his smile, with the warmth of his gaze and the deep rumbling sound of his laughter. He had pried her broken heart wide open and sucked out her very soul.

Bitterness launched her out of the chair. She snatched up the radio and stalked from Terrence
’s room, leaving his door ajar just in case. Moving down the dark hallway toward her bedroom, she remembered how Tobias had sat outside her door the night that Terrence’s condition worsened. Remorse burned like acid in her stomach as she recalled how she’d wept in his arms; how he’d held her so tenderly.
Don’t apologize to me,
he’d growled when she’d told him she was sorry.

Confused by the memory, Dylan pushed into her room. Keeping her gaze averted from the bed they
’d shared, she stormed to the window to search the dark terrain outside for signs of her loyal soldiers. The reflective tape on someone’s uniform glimmered in the orchard. A flashlight winked on the horizon and turned off again. She pictured her followers huddled up for warmth on the cold ground and pitied them for their pointless efforts.

Protect them, Father
, she prayed. It would be the saddest of ironies if a skirmish between federal forces and her militia broke out because of her. Her future meant nothing now. Her brief hope, her dream of starting a new life had been snatched away by an FBI informant, who’d resurrected her heart, only to murder it again.

Leaving the window sash raised, she turned blindly toward her bed and sprawled across it with her eyes tightly shut. Tobias
’s unique scent still clung to the sheets, bearing with it memories of unsurpassed pleasure, of tenderness, and of intimacy.

Don
’t cry
, she commanded herself.
It wasn’t real
.

But the floodgates parted, and the sobs that broke free shook her entire frame.

She’d loved him, more than she had ever loved any man. To think that he had aroused her passions and aroused her affections—not because he had genuinely wanted to—but because he was being paid to do it! Beyond his deceit and outright lies, that betrayal stung the most.

God help me
, she thought,
but I will never, ever forgive him
.

***

The Quality Hotel and Conference Center, situated two miles from historic Harpers Ferry, served a complimentary breakfast.

Tobias, who was used to waking up at the crack of dawn and couldn
’t sleep worth shit in a soft, queen-sized bed without holding the woman he loved, was the first patron to sample the breakfast items. Milly followed him down the food line, sniffing appreciatively, as he dished up scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, and poured himself a tall mug of coffee. He sat down at one of the many empty tables, and Milly flopped down next to his chair, sighing hopelessly. Only Dylan ever snuck her people food.

Toby sampled the fare on his plate and tried not to think of what might go wrong in the stand-off between the SAM and the Feds. Fiascos like the siege at Ruby Ridge and the one at Waco had changed the way law enforcement handled extremists, which meant that Palmer and the superiors directing him from headquarters would proceed with patience rather than physical force. Dylan, who had not been seen since she
’d escorted Terrence into the house, would not get hurt, he assured himself. Maybe if he kept telling himself that, it would turn out to be true. If he could just shake the foreboding that kept his shoulder muscles tense.

“
This seat taken?”

The whip-crack syllables could not have been uttered by anyone other than Ike Calhoun. Toby glanced up with surprise. He
’d neither heard nor seen Ike coming; in fact, he didn’t even know the man had left D.C. He swallowed all the food in his mouth in one gulp. “Why don’t you grab a plate first?”

“
In a minute.” Ike took the chair across from him, sat down, and stared at him hard.

It was all Toby could do not to squirm.
“Is Hamilton here, too?”

“
Exercising.”

“
Ah.” The healthy color in Ike’s own face suggested that he and TJ Hamilton had hit the gym together, something Toby probably should have done, considering how restless he felt.

“
What’s your frame of mind, Burke?”

Ike
’s unexpected words had Toby wanting to push his chair out and leave. He stared back at Ike, speechless.
Like I’m going to spill out my guts to a man with no feelings
.

But Ike was persistent.
“Do you still believe that the suspect is being framed?”

Toby narrowed his eyes.
“You mean Dylan?” Why did Ike continue to call her the suspect?

Ike
’s gaze dropped to the message on Toby’s T-shirt. In a fighting mood this morning, he was glad he’d put it on. MY ANGER MANAGEMENT CLASS PISSES ME OFF.

Ike
’s mouth twitched. “I mean Dylan,” he amended. “You still think she’s innocent.” It wasn’t a question this time.

Toby wondered if he was imagining the subtle softening around Ike
’s acid-green eyes. “I know she is,” he asserted. 

The team lead gave a nod.
“Okay, then.”

Toby searched the man
’s enigmatic face. “Okay what?”

“
Let’s clear her name.”

Toby set his napkin slowly on the table and looked around. The place was still empty. He could feel his eyebrows creeping toward his hairline.
“Won’t that pit us against the FBI director?” he practically whispered.

Ike shrugged.
“Does that bother you?”

Toby just looked at him. He had never cared much for Ike in the past, but at the moment, he was tempted to lunge across the table and kiss the man. 

“Just tell me where you think we should start,” Ike invited.

Where to start?
Toby’s thoughts ran in a dozen different directions. There were multiple mysteries at play. In what way had Ivan Ackerman lied about his past? Who had published the anti-war articles in Dylan’s name? Who had drugged her on Halloween night? “We need to research the backgrounds of some of her colleagues and question them in person.” He started to list all the persons of suspicion, ticking them off his fingers. “There’s Sergeant Ackerman, Father Nesbit, the Director of the VA Medical Center, Dylan’s colleagues—”

“
Today’s Sunday,” Ike reminded him. “Her colleagues won’t be working today, and her priest will be busy leading mass.”

Toby reined in his expectations.
“Then we research today and interview tomorrow,” he amended.

A commotion in the hotel lobby drew their attention to the swarm of FBI agents pouring in from the parking lot, including Special Agent in Charge Palmer. The weary slump of that man
’s shoulders and his heavy eyelids connoted that he’d spent all night watching Dylan’s property. As they headed for the breakfast counter, Ike got up to share a word with them.

Toby picked up his muffin and peeled off the wrapper.

Ike came back with a single mug of black coffee and resumed his seat. “The press rolled in at the crack of dawn this morning,” he reported.

Toby groaned.

“A command headquarters has been set up at the new Customs and Border Protection Training Center just up the road. First meeting is at noon. We’ll be there.”

“
Yes, sir.” The respectful term came out of Toby’s mouth before he could stop it. Apparently, there really
was
a first time for everything.

“
We’ll hold our own meeting in two hours. See you in room 312 at o’ eight hundred. Bring Jackson with you.” With that, Ike got up and headed toward the buffet.

Toby stacked his silverware on his plate and left the table. Having a plan beat the hell out of moping around feeling helpless. He never thought he
’d say this about Ike, but the man was looking out for him. With a grateful glance in his direction, he gestured for Milly to follow, and hurried back to his room to wake up Jackson and share the news: Fatherhood had improved Ike, after all. 

***

“Ma’am?” Sergeant Morrison hovered just outside of Dylan’s open bedroom door, distracting her from the phone call she was about to make. The time had come to call her priest.

She looked up at him in exasperation.
“Yes, Sergeant?”

With fifty plus troops wandering around outside and the NCOs swarming in and out of her home to direct them, privacy had become a luxury of the past. The stand-off between the Second Amendment Militia and federal forces was barely twenty-four hours old, and she was already weary of the bustle and confusion taking place around her. At least morale was high. The troops had plenty of their own provisions, but Dylan got no pleasure out of knowing they risked their lives and their reputations by keeping her out of the FBI
’s grasp.

She
’d made up her mind. As soon as Terrence passed away—and, sadly, it would not be long now—she would quietly surrender.

“
I can’t find Sergeant Ackerman anywhere. He didn’t sleep in his bed last night. His squad members say they haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

And why wasn
’t she surprised to hear it? Dylan sent Morrison a bitter smile. After all she’d done for Ackerman, he was the first to turn tail and flee. “Looks like we’ve had our first desertion,” she replied. And it probably wouldn’t be their last. “Kindly assign the members of his squad to other NCOs.” Sheriff Fallon had stepped into Burke’s shoes as operations sergeant, so that even without Ackerman present, she still had three reliable NCOs to call upon.

“
Well, good riddance,” Gil Morrison declared looking like he might spit right there on the hardwood floor. “If I may be so bold, I never did like the man, regardless of what happened to him. He was a—”

Dylan cut him off.
“If you don’t mind, Sergeant, I was about to make a phone call.”

“
Oh. Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

“
Carry on, Sergeant.”

Morrison scuttled out of sight, and Dylan drew a bracing breath. Lifting the receiver, she tapped out a number she had known all her life. It was only seven-thirty in the morning—funny how she
’d already stopped thinking in military time. Her priest was probably heading toward the church right now to prepare for the eight o’clock service. She’d have to leave a message.