Toby had determined that the locked closet housed the M-16 rifles noted by the FBI. The other walls were lined with shelves and a workbench with tools displayed above it. Sergeant Ackerman kept “Supply” as neat and tidy as any facility in the military. Thanks to the cat, any rodents that might have taken up residence were long gone. As Ackerman located the goods they would need, Lt. Ashby tore a terrycloth towel into strips and thrust one at Toby.
“I want every fleck of paint scrubbed off this vehicle before supper,” he thundered quietly.
They returned to the yard to tackle the monumental task. Pink clouds streaked the sky as they labored, and the air turned sharply colder. The smell of stir-fried beef wafting from the house prompted Toby’s stomach to rumble. After an hour, they’d managed to remove all but the most tenacious acrylic. The Suburban’s already lackluster paintjob now looked patchy, but at least the words were gone.
The screen door thumped shut, and Toby lost his focus as Dylan made her way toward them. She’d changed into cargo pants and a gray sweater, and had let her hair down. Even as tense as she had to be feeling, she moved with lithe grace.
“Not bad,” she said, assessing their progress. “Here, try this acetone on those stubborn spots.” As she handed Lt. Ashby a bottle of nail polish remover, her pale eyes flickered toward Toby. “Walk with me, Sergeant Burke,” she ordered, unexpectedly. “I want to hear what you accomplished today.”
Pleased to be singled out, Toby gave Morrison the rag he was using and fell into step beside her as she turned to follow the running course.
“You cut me slack on the run this morning,” she accused.
“Nah, I was sore,” he lied, matching his step to hers. “Couldn’t keep up.”
“Liar.” Leaves from the trees swirled around them, crunching under their feet and muffling the voices of the others as they continued down the hill toward the tree line. In another thirty minutes, it would be dark. The multi-hued sky and the sweet aromas of grass and leaves evoked a romantic atmosphere. Toby felt like reaching for her hand.
“Seriously, I was sore. I’ll beat you on the run tomorrow, though.” He sent her a challenging smile.
“Tomorrow’s the CPX,” she reminded him. “You won’t be racing me. You’ll be running with the soldiers, inspiring them to keep up.”
“Ah.” He looked forward to it, to seeing her interactions with the civilian soldiers. What did they see when they looked at her?
“So, tell me what you did today to assess our strengths and weaknesses.”
He’d assumed she would get the details from her XO and not skip over the chain of command, but this was better. It afforded them a moment alone together. He quickly summarized each NCOs’ capabilities in regards to military strategy and technique.
“Assuming we perform the classic L-shaped ambush, I would put myself and Morrison in the assault group,” he suggested, “with Lt. Ashby and Sergeant Lee in the position of support fire. Ackerman shouldn’t interface with anybody, so I’d keep him in an observational capacity. Of course, you’ll want to change your radio frequency for the ambush.”
Dylan gave an earnest nod. “Yes, good. This is exactly the kind of input I need.”
Toby seized his chance to learn more. “It’s only a broad stroke,” he argued. “I need more details so I can plan accordingly. I don’t even know who we’re ambushing or where.”
“I told you.” Her voice hardened subtly. “You’ll have that information soon enough, and it won’t change a thing. An L-shaped ambush is ideal. Your designations are spot on.”
“Okay, then.” Her tone informed him that he’d get nowhere by pressing her. If she hadn’t brought him along to hash out details, then why’d she ask him to walk with her at all?
Silence fell between them, and the sky darkened to mauve, seeming to reflect Dylan’s somber mood. Studying her profile, Toby glimpsed an expression of unguarded sorrow on her face. And it occurred to him, with an unexpected wave of pity, that she’d brought him along for comfort—not that she would ever admit it.
He snuck a peak over his other shoulder. They’d arrived at the tree line and followed the running course, so that the house now blocked them from the inquisitive eyes of her men. There was no better time to work his magic, as his team lead called it. Catching Dylan’s elbow in a light grip, he swung her around to look at him.
Her eyes widened with wariness. “What?”
“You want to talk about who did that to your car?”
Startled silence answered his question. “Not really.” Her voice was stilted, unreceptive.
“You must have some idea,” he persisted. “Was it that doctor you had issues with, the one who almost killed Morrison with all those meds?”
She drew an audible breath. “How do you know about that?”
“You mentioned him the other day. Plus Morrison can talk,” he added with a wry smile. He peered at her more closely. “You sure you’re okay? You have every right to be shaken, you know. That was a pretty personal attack.”
“I’m fine.” She tried maintaining eye contact and failed. “I’ve already talked to someone, and…I’m fine,” she repeated. Coiling her arms around her body, she drew a sharp breath. “Why are we discussing this?”
“I’m sorry.” She had to be freezing. “Here take my jacket.” He started to unzip it.
“No, keep it. I’m warm enough.” But her gaze had caught on the bit of T-shirt he exposed. “Does your shirt say something today?” she asked before he could zip it back up.
With a sheepish grin, he parted the halves of his jacket.
She leaned in, squinting through the shadows to see. “Let me drop everything and work on your problem,” she quoted. Her jaw dropped and her eyes flashed with indignation. “You wore that because of me!” The accusation was fraught with amazement.
“I hope you’re not offended.”
The corners of her mouth twitched as she waffled between amusement and annoyance. Amusement won out and she laughed. “I can’t believe you own a shirt for every occasion. It’s insane.”
As before, on the deck at Private Quinn’s pub, her smile transformed her face completely. Suddenly she was young and lovely. “I wish you’d do that more,” he commented.
“Do what more?”
“Smile.”
The corners of her mouth fell even as her eyes widened.
He didn’t give her time to backpedal. “Do you know what I see when you smile?”
“What?”
He stepped closer, holding her gaze captive. “I see who you really are.” Amazingly, he didn’t have to work hard to find the words to sweet-talk her. They rolled effortlessly off his tongue, probably since he was being completely honest, for a change.
In the stunned silence that followed, he could hear a cricket chirping in the grass beneath their feet. A bird twittered in the trees behind them.
“Sorry.” He grimaced and shoved his fingers into the pockets of his jacket. “I don’t know where that came from. I’m not trying to be insubordinate or anything, but you work so hard to hold everyone else together. What about you? What about your happiness?”
Bravo. Suddenly, it was like he was standing off to one side watching his own performance, along with Dylan’s reaction.
Damn, you’re good, Toby. Judging by the look on her face, his remark had struck gold. You manipulative son of a bitch.
Dylan couldn’t find her voice. Protocol demanded she rebuke Tobias for his impertinence. How dare he speak to her on such a personal level? But his words had stripped off her façade as militia leader, and, for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to slap it back on.
“Don’t get me wrong.” He bent toward her, pitching his voice lower. The velvety timbre soothed the pinpricks of agitation needling her skin. “I think what you’ve done for the soldiers here is a good thing. You’ve given them a sense of purpose, someone to lean on. But who’s taking care of you?”
Where was he going with this? “Why would I n
eed taking care of?”
“Come on, now,” he chided her with a wry and sympathetic smile. “I know from Morrison that you used to retrieve the fallen. Let me tell you what. You wouldn’t be human if the things you’ve seen didn’t get to you sometimes.”
A lump swelled in Dylan’s throat, lodging her cool retort as a vision of her boys lying broken in their coffins panned across her mind.
Tobias’s hands came out of his pockets. Stepping closer, he lifted them slowly, cautiously to her face. The breath evaporated from her lungs as his warm and lightly callused hands cupped her cheeks.
“It’s okay to lean on people.” His dark gaze, nearly the same color as the cobalt sky, searched her face before sliding toward her mouth. “If you want to lean on me from time to time, that’s okay, too.” In the next instant, he lowered his head, startling her with a swift, sweet kiss that left her lips tingling.
Taking in her stunned response, he slowly dipped his head again, giving her time to pull away before his lips settled snugly over hers, thawing her from her frozen state with a deft, warm, unthreatening kiss.
Like melting wax, Dylan’s lips softened then parted, allowing his tongue to glide against hers, filling her with an intimate knowledge of his taste, his texture. He intrigued. He intoxicated. Parting her lips wider, Dylan sought more, rolling up on her toes in a tribute to the woman buried deep inside.
Fill me. She coiled her arms around his neck and kissed him until her head swam. Fill me with your light and warmth and laughter.
And he did, kissing her with such gentle skill that it stripped away her captain’s guise and left her nothing but a woman utterly at the mercy of her own desire.
So this was how it felt to be alive. She’d forgotten. The bloodbath that had ended her career had robbed her of the memory. But it rose in her anew, like a resurrected Lazarus. She reached for the quenching beauty with all her heart, wanting to hold it close.
Her pebbled nipples grazed the sturdy fabric of his jacket. Desire traveled in a slow burn along her neural pathways. She ached to touch his skin, but his jacket and clothing formed a frustrating barrier.
Slowly, lingeringly, Tobias lifted his head and ended the magic. Fresh air cleared Dylan’s head. The reality of their embrace speared her consciousness, and she guiltily jumped back.
“My fault.” He was quick to take the blame but sounded not at all repentant.
Dylan wedged her tingling hands under her crossed arms, whirled away, and stalked blindly along the path skirting the tree line.
What just happened?
Her mind scrambled to make sense of that kiss. Sergeant Burke had crossed the line, but so had she. Worse than that, she’d sucked him in like a black hole. God, how humiliating!
Glancing back, she ascertained that he was following. Yes, and much closer than she’d thought, not having heard his footsteps. Adrenaline spiked her pulse. She’d almost forgotten that he used to be Special Forces. He must have been a stealthy fighter, a masterful tactician.
“You don’t have to worry that I’ll say anything.”
His softly spoken promise was meant to reassure her, but to Dylan it sounded smug. She spun around to face him. “I am your commanding officer,” she bit out, swiping her own hair out of her eyes. “What just happened between us was a complete breach of protocol. It cannot happen again.”
Her firm reproach would have made any of her other soldiers back away.
Tobias looked down at his boots. A devilish glitter twinkled in his eyes when he looked up again. “Well,” he drawled, clearly measuring his words, “if we were actually in the service, ma’am, I’d have to agree with you. But we’re not. No matter how much you pretend for the sake of the others, you’re as much a civilian as I am.”
His logic undermined her authority completely. At the same time, a weight seemed to lift off her shoulders. She was a civilian. For a second time in just minutes, he’d left her with nothing to say.
“I don’t see anything wrong with us getting to know each other better.” He sent her an appreciative and appraising look.
Squelching the pleasure evoked by his words and his obvious interest in her, Dylan clung to her righteous anger. “Our discussion is over, Sergeant Burke. Kindly go back and help the others,” she commanded.
He tipped her a disappointed-looking nod and turned away, but his stride remained confident.
Watching him walk away, Dylan’s knees shook. She would never accept his offer to lean on him. To do so would make her appear weak to the others. Yet there was a certain truth to what he’d said. She was human, and the gruesome atrocities she’d seen did get to her sometimes.
When he disappeared from view, she turned and walked blindly toward the light poring out of the kitchen.
Alive. A fragment of her earlier exhilaration clung to her, still, lightening her step as she approached the rear entrance.
Hidden behind a spruce tree at the corner of the house, Toby paused a moment to compose himself before rejoining the men.
Dylan’s clean cotton scent, the memory of her unexpected passion left him fully aroused. He’d been right about their chemistry. For the first time on any of his undercover assignments, his body hummed with the anticipation of deepening their relationship. He wouldn’t have to pretend with this one.
At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before Dylan divulged all her secrets. He had that effect on women, whether he found them attractive or not. Women confided in him. It was a gift he had, not that he actively exploited it, but he found it extremely useful in his line of work. And until now, he’d never felt a lick of guilt for leading them on, not when the information he gleaned took arms dealers and drug smugglers off the streets. Not when he rarely followed through with his flirtations.
But this was different.
Dylan wasn’t like the conniving hustlers who looked out for their own interests first and screwed everyone else over, even their own families. Dylan did what—in her own quixotic mind—seemed right. In that sense, she was honorable.
And possibly the most vulnerable woman he had ever known.
What’s more, he was starting to like her—a circumstance that privately concerned him. Because, chances were, he would be called to testify against her when her case went to trial. And, damn, he would feel like shit for using her confessions against, her especially if he did find his way into her bed, which was where their connection was leading. For once, the prospect thrilled him.
Chapter Six
Fog blanketed the landscape on the morning of the CPX.
The pearly veil was so dense at zero seven hundred hours that Toby could scarcely make out the cars and pickups lumbering onto Dylan’s property and parking on either side of the driveway. The sheer number of civilian soldiers tramping toward the front yard suggested that every one of Dylan’s sixty-odd members promised to be in attendance.
Given the business and confusion, Toby opted to keep Milly in the house and out of harm’s way. Wearing the camouflaged gear that he’d been issued the previous night—woodland patterned BDUs, a large pack, and an olive-colored beret with a red patch that went over the forehead—he made his way to Supply, where Second Amendment Militia soldiers scribbled their names on the attendance ledger. Helping himself to a steaming cup of coffee from the dispenser provided by June Lee, Toby watched Gil Morrison issue M-16s from the unlocked closet. Every soldier received two spare clips.
Toby blew on his scalding coffee to cool it off. That’s a lot of ammo. In the hands of sixty-some soldiers, it was enough to cause some very serious damage.
He glanced at the ledger, waiting for the opportunity to snap a picture of it—not with his cell-phone, which would remain buried in the lining of his jacket, but with a tiny digital camera disguised to resemble an Army Rangers Regiment pin. He’d affixed the pin to the collar of his jacket this morning, counting on Dylan to view it as a symbol of his prowess, not as a violation of dress code. The Taskforce wanted the names and faces of her civilian soldiers to
run through their terrorist database on the off chance that they’d find a match.
At last, Morrison stepped away from the table for a moment. Toby laid his coffee down, leaned over the ledger and, with a pinch of his finger, snapped several photos of the entries in it. Then he tossed back his coffee, crushed the cup, and pitched it in the trash on his way to the yard.
Given her irrational plan for people like Hendrix who failed to share her point of view, Dylan was bound to end up in jail sooner or later. He needed to accept that probability and live with it. Using his thumbnail, he switched the pin from camera to video mode while approaching the throng in the yard. An atmosphere of merriment hung over the crowd as they milled about, waiting for the officers to join them.
Made up of predominantly young and middle-aged men, plus a few tough-looking women, the militia vied for standing room. Greeting one another with good-natured humor and slaps on the back, they struck Toby as little more than grownups looking for an excuse to play war.
He approached the nearest knot of soldiers and introduced himself. Receiving words of welcome, he moved to the next group to receive more of the same. The sense that he was being watched had him scanning the crowd until his gaze intersected with that of a steely-eyed loner. Taking in the man’s square jaw and the scar hashing his upper lip, Toby ventured toward him. This man wasn’t like the others.
“Morning.” Toby tipped him a nod. “I’m Tobias Burke, the new senior operations sergeant.”
“Cal Fallon, Sheriff of Harpers Ferry.” The sheriff stuck out a hand.
“Of course.” They shook, one hard clasp and a quick release.
Toby made certain the pin on his lapel had an unobstructed view of the man’s face, scar and all. “Captain Connelly said there was another sheriff in the militia.” He glanced around. “Where is he?” The thick fog concealed several of the soldiers standing at the back of the yard.
“Hooper? He’s around here somewhere.” But Fallon kept his attention fixed on Toby, and when Toby looked back, he found the sheriff studying his pin.
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