The Enforcer

by Marliss Melton

  She’d loved every second of her stolen interlude with Tobias—loved it far too much. Her reliance on him was fast becoming an emotional need—an addiction even more unhealthy than her love of coffee.

  On Church Street, they parted company with Corbin. By the time they arrived back at the train station, Dylan had arrived at a painful decision. As appealing as Tobias was, as much as his presence made her feel alive and joyous again, her reliance on him for her emotional well-being posed a danger to her.

  Yes, he had come back tonight, which gave her hope that he might agree to be her new XO, when Terrence’s illness forced him to step down.

  But, in her heart of hearts, she knew Tobias Burke had not returned out of a sense of commitment to the SAM, or even to her. So, why had he returned at all?

  From the day they’d met, he’d been harder to read than most people, and that was still the case. He didn’t need her the way the others did. He might claim to require a service dog for his PTSD, but she’d never seen him display signs of that disorder. According to Morrison, who’d talked at length with him, Tobias had earned a college degree, which meant that he could go anywhere, do anything.

  For now, he had chosen to play war with her militia and to help them to be better soldiers. But how long would that last? The novelty of being in a militia was bound to fade, and when it did, Tobias would head off for the next adventure awaiting him.

  She’d spent a year putting the pieces of her shattered self back together. How stupid could she be, putting her faith in someone who was bound to walk away?

  Dylan, you idiot.

  She’d lost her boys in one fell swoop. She was going to lose Terrence Ashby sometime soon. Tobias’s departure might just be the straw that broke the camel’s back. She’d hovered too close to losing her mind not to realize that the point of no return lay closer than she cared to admit.

  For her sanity’s sake, she had to think of him as just another one of her NCOs. He could stay for as long as he chose, but she would keep him at arm’s distance or pay the consequences later.

  Something had happened, and he had no idea what.

  Toby studied Dylan as she drove them home. Apart from Milly’s panting, silence filled the interior of the vehicle. Dylan’s grip on the wheel and the firm line of her mouth suggested that she was having second thoughts about what had almost transpired up there on Jefferson’s rock.

  Well, damn.

  Ike’s demands that he figure her out had made him push too hard, too fast. And now she was regretting it. The demands of his job were eating at him, too. Torn between the need to pick Dylan’s brain and defend her radical philosophies, he’d downed one too many beers which, in turn, had skewed his judgment. If she changed her mind about letting him get closer, it could only be his fault.

  “You okay?” he asked, a tad worried now. If she shut him out completely, he would fail the Taskforce, meaning—if she really was a terrorist—she would get away with murder a little longer.

  The wheels of the SUV jiggled through a pothole she didn’t see. “Fine,” she answered.

  But she obviously wasn’t. Several seconds ticked by and the silence thickened.

  At last, she cleared her throat. “Sergeant Burke,” she said, addressing him in the voice she used when speaking to her soldiers, “I have to ask you never to kiss me again. In fact, in the future, when you speak to me, kindly do so with company present.”

  Double damn. He’d really screwed up. “Look, if I said or did something wrong, I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s not you,” she assured him, her tone thawing slightly. “It’s me. I’m not … I’m not able to involve myself. I can’t—” She shook her head, unable to finish.

  Well, shit. He sat back in his seat and stared at the dark, winding road ahead of them. The emptiness he was feeling had nothing to do with failing to meet Ike’s expectations. He’d preyed on Dylan’s vulnerabilities and now he felt bad about it. Emotional frailty like hers required a protective barrier and he’d crashed right through it, leaving her no choice but to pull away.

  And if she pulled away, he might never determine whether she had masterminded Nolan’s death or not.

  “I understand,” he said wearily, knowing he would have to double his efforts just to get back to where they’d been the night before.

  At his words, he noticed Dylan’s grip on the steering wheel slowly relax. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Was that regret lacing her tone? God, he hoped so, and not just because the Taskforce was counting on him. He enjoyed getting to know her better. The more layers he peeled back, the more layers he discovered, the more interesting she became. He didn’t want to have to back off now.

  Chapter Eight

  Dylan slit her eyes at the sound of the bugle squawking.

  Was it morning already? The sleeping pills Dr. Richardson had prescribed for her made her feel as though she’d just closed her eyes. She would rather tumble back into the dream still fresh and warm within her mind of Tobias making love to her on Jefferson’s Rock. With a throb of regret, she reconsidered her decision to distance herself emotionally.

  Yes, it was the wisest thing to do. She couldn’t rely on a drifter for her happiness, not after putting herself back together again, piece by little piece. Terrence’s impending decline was enough of a horror to face without worrying that Tobias Burke would break her heart.

  Kicking off her covers, she rolled out of bed to prepare for morning PT. For her own welfare and for the good of the militia, this was how it had to be.

  ****

  Toby came to a horrified halt as he entered the kitchen. The scent of June Lee’s specialty, Korean ribs, wafted from the oven, but his attention was fully captured by the scene he’d walked in on following a full day’s work.

  “What did you just do?” he demanded of Dylan, forgetting for the moment that he wasn’t to speak to her without another person present. She’d just returned from the hospital, and it was nearing time for the evening briefing.

  “What do you mean?” she answered, her eyes opening wide.

  He glanced from Milly’s rapidly waving tail to the hand Dylan hid behind her back. “You just fed her something,” he accused. “I told you she’s a working dog. Food is a motivating tool. You can’t just feed her for no good reason.”

  Ruddy color bloomed on Dylan’s cheeks. “It’s just a milk bone,” she protested, pulling her hand out from behind her back to show him. “And I didn’t give it to her yet.”

  “How many have you given before today?” he demanded.

  “Just…a few.”

  He tried masking his dismay. After all, the motivation for rewarding therapy dogs was probably different than it was for bomb-sniffing dogs, and Dylan could look that up in no time at all, causing her to call Milly’s ultimate purpose into question.

  “Well,” he said, modulating his voice to keep from sounding as annoyed as he felt, “you should have asked me first.”

  “Sorry.” Her cooler tone told him plainly that she didn’t see what the big deal was.

  But it was a big deal. Lots of his own time—months, to be precise—had gone into training Milly to sniff out explosives. By giving her random treats, Dylan had just ruined Milly’s motivation and sent her specialized training straight down the drain. Why should she work for food when she could get food for free by appealing to Dylan? But since she was supposed to be a therapy dog, kicking up a fuss over milk bones made him look like an ass. “No worries,” he assured her. “Just…no chicken bones—you know, she could choke.”

  “Yes, I know that,” she said in a stilted voice.

  “It was sweet of you to think of her,” he added lamely.

  She visibly bristled at the word sweet.

  “But if you don’t limit the treats, she’ll get fat,” he added, supplying one more reason for his protest.

  “Fine,” Dylan assured him. Keeping the last treat firmly in her grasp, she patted Milly’s head with her free hand and said, �
��Sorry, no more today, love.”

  Watching the exchange, Toby could feel his resentment leaving him. Dylan had taken a real liking to his dog, which, in his mind, made her less likely to be a terrorist. He decided, right then and there, that when his undercover job was over, he was going to leave Milly as a consolation prize for Dylan, a token of his mixed feelings for her. Not only had Dylan and Milly bonded from the start, but Milly would need a lot of work after this holiday if she was ever going to be a reliable working dog again.

  “Almost time for the briefing.”

  Dylan’s cool comment brought him sharply back to the present and to Dylan’s determination to treat him as just another one of her NCOs, despite the magic they had shared last night.

  With a nod of acknowledgement, he went to throw himself down in one of the armchairs. It wasn’t like he’d never been told by a woman to back off, he reminded himself. As recently as six months ago, a blonde whose butt he’d pinched in Grogan’s Irish Pub had slapped him silly. In his own defense, it had been Saint Patrick’s Day; he’d had a few; and she wasn’t wearing any green.

  But, for some reason that had nothing to do with the Taskforce’s expectations, Dylan’s sudden rejection stung. It stung more than it ought to, which meant that TJ Hamilton had apparently hit the nail on the head. He did like the suspect.

  He liked the way she moved as she crossed the command room to take a map off the wall. She carried it to the easel and pinned it in place, her movements charged with purpose. Regarding her more closely, it struck him that she still looked energized, even on the heels of a long day. She’d beat him on the run again that morning and put in eight hours of work, and yet her eyes were still bright with intent, even without the benefit of her signature mug of coffee. Since when had she kicked that habit?

  The entrance of the XO and NCOs interrupted Toby’s speculations.

  “We have a lot to discuss, so let’s get started,” Dylan said briskly, urging them with a look to take their seats. “As I reminded our soldiers at the CPX, our creed states that it’s our moral imperative to meet illegitimate force with righteous indignation. And so we will. Tonight, I will present my plans for confronting a certain evil.”

  Toby drew a bracing breath. Here we go. This was where Dylan crossed the line from upholding her right to bear arms to disregarding the law by brandishing those arms against other civilians. If she could browbeat Hendrix, what made him so sure she hadn’t murdered Nolan, after all?

  Crossing to the easel, she jabbed a finger at a spot on the map. “The Martinsburg Medical Center lies here.” Snatching up a red marker, she circled the area. “Dr. Hendrix lives here in a neighborhood called Shenandoah Junction. He leaves work at eighteen hundred hours and drives this route to get home.” Her red marker squeaked across the map.

  “If we set up roadwork right here—” she tapped the map, “then we can reroute him onto this rural road where we ambush his vehicle, cuff him, and blindfold him.”

  Toby slowly raised his hand into the air. Don’t say anything! he ordered himself, but he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “Yes?” A hint of annoyance colored Dylan’s voice.

  “How do we make it look like we’re doing roadwork?” Perhaps, if he tried, he could throw a wrench into her plans.

  “One of our soldiers works for the department of transportation,” she informed him. “He operates a van and two work trucks and has offered us use of all three vehicles.”

  She had more resources at her disposal than a queen bee had workers.

  “Once we grab Hendrix,” she continued, turning back to the map, “we drive him here.” She circled an isolated area, just off the rural road. “This is Ron Baker’s house. Baker is the big guy on Morrison’s squad,” she interjected before Toby could raise his hand again. “He has a windowless basement and no neighbors. We take Hendrix there and lay out our demands—no more doling out pills that make vets sick. We rough him up a bit, give him some solitary confinement in which to consider his sins, and then we let him go. If and when he turns to law enforcement, Sheriff Fallon won’t find any leads. Are there questions?”

  Three pairs of hands shot up in the air. “Yes, Sergeant Ackerman.”

  “We gonna beat his ass or what?”

  Dylan’s auburn eyebrows snapped together. “I said rough him up, not beat him up. Our lesson is more psychological than punitive.” She pointed to the next man. “Sergeant Lee?”

  “When is this going to happen?”

  “Sometime in the next two weeks. Our volunteers will require training, as will we.” Her gaze rested briefly on Toby, informing him that the training schedule would be up to him.

  Lt. Ashby, who’d been silent up till then, issued a low groan.

  Dylan regarded him sharply. “Terrence? Did you have something to add?”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am,” he said in a strained voice.

  She regarded him an instant longer then turned her head toward Toby. “Sergeant Burke.”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  His overly enthusiastic tone made her blink. “I’ll need you to reconnoiter the area with me and Lt. Ashby—perhaps on Wednesday, as I’ll be working late tomorrow. I need you to fine-tune the details of the ambush. Also, if you know of any interrogation techniques that would intimidate but not hurt Hendrix, I’d welcome your input.”

  Toby wanted to point out all the things that could go wrong with her plan, but given how unreceptive she’d become to him, he didn’t dare press his luck. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She frowned at his gusto before running her gaze over the others. “This mission is still in its planning phase. We’ll sketch in the details as the week progresses and train our volunteers this Saturday during the CPX. If word of our intent leaks out, then our plan will fail. Corruption will win the day. We must retain the element of surprise—” Her glacial eyes rested briefly on Ackerman,”—and speak about this to no one outside our circle. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, captain,” the men chorused, all but Lt. Ashby who suddenly doubled over, clutching one side of his body.

  “Terrence!” Dylan dropped to her knees in front of his chair.

  Toby surged to his feet while the other men gawked.

  “Talk to me,” Dylan ordered, her initial panic giving way to practiced calm. She checked the XO’s pulse. “Where’s it hurting?” she asked him. “Here?” She slipped a thumb under Ashby’s large hand and pressed it into his stomach, prompting a groan of agony.

  Watching her work, Toby couldn’t help but respect her competence. Appendicitis was his first thought, but Dylan’s reaction conveyed that his attack was not unexpected. She slowly sat back on her heels. “We need to get you to the hospital,” she determined, grimly.

  “No.” Lt. Ashby vehemently shook his head. “No. There’s nothing they can do.”

  “They can moderate your pain,” she insisted, confirming Toby’s suspicion that Ashby had a condition she was well aware of.

  “You can do that for me just as easily,” he ground out.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Ackerman blurted, earning reproving glares from the others.

  Dylan ignored him. In a demonstrative moment, she caught Ashby’s face in her hands and peered into his eyes. “Tell me when you think you can make it up the stairs. Or would you like us to set up a bed in here?”

  “Upstairs,” he grated, clearly humiliated.

  Christ, Toby thought, wondering just how bad it was. Did Ashby have advanced-stage cancer or something? Dylan remained calm and collected, but he could read the man’s prognosis in the rigid set of her jaw, and pity welled within him.

  “I’ll get you something for your pain,” she murmured, weaving as she pushed too quickly to her feet. Toby shot out a hand to stabilize her, but she shook him off and hurried toward the stairs. The four remaining men stared at their XO with silent worry.

  Ashby craned his neck to look up at them with pain-glazed eyes. “It’s T-cell Leukemia. I’ve had it for a
while. My liver and my spleen swell up. They’ll go down again,” he insisted, but there wasn’t much conviction in his voice, nor mention of any cure, Toby noticed.

  Ackerman shifted in his chair. Morrison swiped a hand over his eyes and muttered his condolences. Lee looked down at the floor. Toby heard himself speak up. “What can we do to make it easier?”

  Ashby clenched his fists and let out a harsh breath. “Protect the captain,” he grated harshly. Pain gripped him suddenly, preventing him from saying any more. “The Feds…they’re trying to frame her for murder. They don’t like free thinkers like Dylan.”

  The man’s words gripped Toby by the throat.

  Protect Dylan from the Feds? A wave of guilt kept him rooted to the floor, unable to move, unable to offer Lt. Ashby so much as a reassuring word.

  Dylan rushed into the room with tablets in her hand. She pushed them into her XO’s palm. “Burke, go fetch a glass of water,” she requested.

  He shook himself out of his trance and went to do her bidding.

  Dylan staggered out of Terrence’s dark room with a crick in her neck. If his digital clock could be trusted, it was three in the morning. She’d fallen asleep in the armchair across from his bed where, thanks to the sleeping pills Dr. Richardson had prescribed for her, Terrence finally slept.

  She needed as much rest as she could get if she hoped to make it through the coming day. Calling in sick was not an option, not when she and Ackerman were scheduled for counseling. Besides, she’d missed a day at work just last week. The best she could hope for was a few hours’ rest before the sun came up. And if Ackerman dared to blow his bugle at oh-five thirty, she’d personally kill him.

  Keeping Terrence’s door cracked so she could hear him if he needed her, she drifted down the hall in a sleepy daze, only to pull up short as a shadow rose up the wall beside her door, whipping her heart into a trot. The vision of Tobias’s broad shoulders did little to calm her startled senses. He’d been sitting with his back against the wall, like a sentinel.