The Enforcer

by Marliss Melton

  He wrapped his arms around her and held her tenderly. Emotion closed a noose around his throat.

  I’m so screwed, he thought. I am so fucking screwed.

  ***

  Dylan sank into the plush chair in Dr. Richardson’s office and regarded his kind, overworked face with relief. The doubts and uncertainties that had been building in her all week needed an outlet, and Dr. Richardson provided a listening ear.

  “I saw you at church on Sunday,” he remarked, collapsing into the chair adjacent to hers. “Did that nod you sent me mean that you left your pistol at home?”

  “Yes, it did,” she answered.

  “Good for you.”

  Her momentary pride immediately evaporated. “But I’m still bringing it to work,” she admitted.

  He grimaced at the short-lived victory and ran his fingers through his already-mussed hair. “Ah, well. It’s still progress.” Hazel eyes contemplated her for several seconds through the lenses of his glasses. “You look different today,” commented with a quizzical air. “I can’t put my finger on it.”

  She felt different, like she’d been given a whole new lease on life. I’m in love. Only, she couldn’t just come out and say that. For one thing, it compromised her professionalism. For another, he would likely only pity her or, even more likely, caution her as Father Nesbit had.

  “Have you reconsidered your plans for Hendrix, perhaps?” he asked hopefully.

  Dylan blinked at the reminder that Wesley Hendrix’s abduction was scheduled to occur in exactly forty-eight hours. In fact, she’d given so little thought to the impending operation that it came as a shock to realize how fast that time was approaching.

  Cancel it, urged an inner voice. The desire to do just that flickered like a stubborn little flame inside her. She argued against it: Hendrix deserves to be punished and humiliated. But Tobias’s disapproval of her use of psychological force carried weight. She didn’t want him leaving her militia in disgust.

  “I’m thinking about it,” she admitted. “Actually, there’s something else I want to discuss.”

  “Of course.” He looked intrigued. “What is it?”

  Dylan drew a deep breath. “Remember how you encouraged me to lead the militia, saying it would mitigate my PTSD?”

  “Yes, I do, and I would say that it has helped tremendously.”

  “It has,” she agreed. “It put me into tense situations that resolved peacefully, and that has definitely lowered my anxiety threshold.”

  Dr. Richardson gave a deep nod. “That’s the beauty of Prolonged Exposure Therapy. It works.”

  “Yes, it does. In fact, it’s worked so well that I don’t feel like I need the militia to give me a sense of purpose, anymore.”

  The psychiatrist’s expression turned quizzical. “Well, that’s wonderful, Dylan.”

  “I’m actually considering other pastimes.”

  He blinked several times. “Such as?”

  “Well, like tending the orchard the way my parents did, selling apples and bottling cider.”

  The crease on Richardson’s forehead deepened. “Are you thinking of abandoning the militia altogether?”

  The word abandoning pricked her conscience. Aside from leaving the Army, which she’d only joined because they’d paid for her medical degree, she’d never abandoned any project in her life.

  “Not necessarily, but elections are coming up for next spring, and I thought, perhaps, I’d remove my name from the roster and let someone else lead. I know I wouldn’t be very effective without Terrence, and I’m not sure…” Momentary grief strangled her voice box. “I’m not sure he’ll survive the winter.”

  Richardson heaved a sad sigh. “Is he declining that rapidly?”

  “He’s rallied lately,” she replied, swallowing the knot in her throat. “But I don’t know how long that’ll last.”

  “It sounds as though you’ve come to better terms with his illness, at least,” Richardson noted in his raspy voice.

  That was only because Tobias distracted her from her loss and pain. “Perhaps,” she conceded. “So what do you think about my stepping down?”

  The psychiatrist stroked his chin, and a far-away look entered his eyes. “When are the elections?”

  “In December,” she told him.

  The crease reappeared on his forehead. “Change is a tricky thing, Dylan,” he mused. “If it isn’t accomplished in increments, it can cause a relapse.” He eyed her with concern. “You wouldn’t want to lose all the ground you’ve covered.”

  Considering what a mess she’d been a year ago, Dylan shook her head. “No, of course not. I just wonder if I’ve outlived my usefulness as a leader, that’s all.”

  “You’re a wonderful leader. I’m sure you haven’t outlived your usefulness.” He cocked his head to one side. “Something must have prompted this desire to spread your wings and test the air. What could it be? Do you know?”

  Dylan gnawed her lower lip and weighed the wisdom of bringing up Tobias. Her private and self-reliant nature balked at mentioning him at all. What they shared was still a secret in her mind—despite Tobias’s teasing assurance that the whole town already knew.

  Dr. Richardson’s hazel eyes glinted. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain sergeant I saw sitting next to you in church, would it? I hear you’ve become quite an item.”

  Dylan’s breath caught. Had the rumors spread all the way from Harpers Ferry to Martinsburg, twenty miles away? More likely Ivan Ackerman, whose session came immediately before hers, had brought the gossip here directly. Annoyance and then chagrin pinched Dylan’s cheeks. She had thought she and Tobias were being discreet. Evidently not.

  The doctor sat back, looking thoughtful. “It’s all right, Dylan. You’re entitled to happiness, and I can see that this man makes you happy.” But he sounded more perturbed than pleased by her romantic relationship.

  Dylan glanced at her watch, eager to get home and spend time with Tobias and Milly. Dismissing the thought that, one day, she might be bawling right here in this office in the wake of their abandonment, she started to collect her things. “I suppose I should get going.”

  Minutes later, she left her counselor’s office, confused as to whether she was making progress or not. Through the glass doors at the end of the hall, she spied Ivan on the stoop smoking a cigarette. He noticed her coming and quickly snuffed it out.

  “Since when did you start smoking?” she demanded, pushing through the door to scold him.

  “I just bummed one.” He hung his head in that cowed manner of his that made her regret her sharp tongue.

  “Don’t let me catch you at it again,” she warned. She gestured toward the Suburban. “Let’s go.”

  She was just about to back out of her parking space when the devil himself, Dr. Wesley Hendrix, stepped out of the hospital building en route to his own car. As always, just the sight of him stirred her indignation. The angle of his blond head communicated arrogance. As he headed for his car, his haughty gaze scanned the parking lot and intercepted Dylan’s narrow-eyed glare. He sent her a disdainful smile.

  Just wait, she thought, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles ached. In forty-eight hours he would realize he was just as helpless as the trusting veterans who came to him for healing and walked away with prescriptions for drugs that hadn’t been adequately tested. Whether they lost their hair, gained or lost weight, or got sick to their stomachs didn’t seem to matter to Hendrix, so long as the perks from pharmaceuticals kept coming.

  If I don’t put an end to it, who will? Dylan asked herself.

  In spite of Tobias’s disapproval, she had to go through with her plans.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Toby turned his head on the pillow and studied Dylan’s profile in the dark. The light of a waxing moon shone upon her closed eyelids, but the uneven rise and fall of her breasts beneath the blanket betrayed restless thoughts.

  “What’s on your mind, beautiful?” he asked her.


  Her eyes flew open and she turned her head to look back at him. “How’d you know I wasn’t sleeping?”

  “Because you snore when you sleep.”

  “I do not!”

  “Shhh.” He covered her mouth with a hand even as he chuckled at her indignation. God, it was fun to tease her.

  She was the one who insisted that they had to keep their voices low, the same way they had to keep the bed from squeaking, all to maintain the pretense that they weren’t sleeping together. Toby let her think that the others remained clueless, but because he worked day in and day out with the men, Toby knew that they knew. Still, Dylan had her pride and he respected that.

  “What’s keeping you awake?” he asked, removing his hand.

  She gnawed on her lower lip, the one he couldn’t stop kissing because he loved the curve and shape of it.

  “Is it your plans for Hendrix?” he pressed. “Because, if I were in your shoes, I’d be having second thoughts.”

  She heaved a sigh, then squirmed onto her side to face him. “Yes,” she admitted. “Do you think we’ve covered all the bases?”

  “Not by a long shot. But I have an idea.” He came up on one elbow. “And I want to run it by you.”

  “What kind of idea?”

  “Cal Fallon and I crossed paths on the train last Sunday.”

  She blinked. “Yes, I saw him get off at the station right after you.”

  “He and I talked about dealing with Hendrix, just the two of us alone, so that you and the militia wouldn’t have to get involved.”

  “Seriously?”

  Was that wonder or resentment coloring her tone? “Dylan, we both think you could get into trouble seeing as how the Feds are already watching you. At the same time, Hendrix deserves to be taught a lesson. What if Fallon and I took care of that for you?” He held his breath, awaiting her reaction.

  “How would you do that?” Her remote tone gave him no indication as to which side of the coin she’d land on.

  “Cal said he could get his deputies to set up a routine traffic stop on a busy road. When Hendrix got in line behind the other cars, we’d jump in wearing masks and make him drive to a remote location where we’d read him the riot act.”

  Her eyes grew shiny. “You’d do that for me?” she asked softly.

  The question, spoken with gratitude, made him squirm. “Of course.”

  “Why?”

  Was she fishing for a declaration of his feelings for her? “To protect you,” he whispered, tracing the delicate outline of her jaw with his thumb. If she were caught kidnapping, Ike might renege on his offer to give Toby more time, and Toby needed all the time he could get to find out who was framing her.

  “From whom?” she asked, puzzled.

  If he knew that, he’d be sleeping like a baby right now. Any one of Dylan’s many enemies might be framing her. But he couldn’t afford to reveal how much he knew about the FBI’s investigation, so he teased her, instead. “Well, from yourself, of course.”

  She play-punched him in the ribs, and he grabbed her wrists, rendering them useless. “See what I mean? You’re dangerous.” He pinned her beneath him, pressing her down into the mattress. “Please say you’ll let us help, Dylan,” he begged. “It’d make me feel better.”

  Her furrowed brow betrayed mixed feelings. “What will our volunteers soldiers think if I cancel the op?”

  “Who cares what they think?” he retorted. “Making Hendrix pay for his sins is the objective, right?”

  She stiffened at his terminology. “I’d rather he just changed his ways but, yes, I guess.” She drew a deep breath and let it out again. “Fine. Okay, I’ll let you and Fallon handle him.”

  “Seriously?” He grinned at her in relief.

  “Just promise me you’ll scare the crap out of him.”

  “I promise. I’ve got plenty of experience along those lines,” he assured her.

  “And you’ll tell him exactly what I want you to say.”

  “Down to the word,” he assured her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered on a note so gracious and naïve that concern bit into him as he brushed her hair from her face and gathered her into his tender embrace. Unless he found out who was hiding his political agenda behind her militia, she wouldn’t be thanking him again—that was for sure.

  ***

  Dylan entered the cafeteria at the medical center with a healthier appetite than usual. Grabbing up a tray, she pushed it briskly along the narrow counter, selecting a tuna salad and a dish of peach cobbler from the offerings. A quick glance around the large room showed it to be scantily populated. She’d been so busy all morning that her lunch break had been pushed back to mid-afternoon. Everyone else had eaten—everyone but Doctor Richardson, whom she spied at a table next to the window, finishing his lunch.

  Sending him a nod, she took a seat at a table nearby and started eating. She was just digging into her tuna salad when the faint odor of cigarette smoke had her looking up to find Dr. Richardson easing into the chair across from hers. “Late lunch?” he inquired, clearly just dropping by for small talk.

  “Yes, I’m famished.” She used that excuse to take another bite.

  “It’s been a busy morning,” he observed. For a while he watched her eat, and she wondered when he would get around to bringing up Hendrix.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered your plans?” he asked with an apologetic smile.

  Dylan glanced about to make certain no one else could overhear. “Actually, I have,” she admitted.

  His dark eyebrows shot up. “You have?” He sagged back into his chair with visible relief.

  “A couple of my men will handle the matter discretely,” she explained.

  “Oh.” He appeared briefly disappointed before offering a shrug of acceptance. “Well, as long as you’re not directly involved, that should keep you out of trouble,” he observed. “All the same, it wouldn’t hurt to stay at work where the nurses and staff can vouch for your presence. That way, if Hendrix takes his suspicions to the director, you’ll have a solid alibi.”

  It had been a while since she’d reviewed her patients’ records, which she liked to do from time to time, so why not? Besides, what would she do at home but wait for Tobias to get back so she could quiz him? “I’ll think about it,” she promised.

  “Please do. And wish me luck tonight.” Kevin Richardson grimaced as he pushed to his feet. “I’ll be chaperoning my niece’s Halloween party.”

  “Are you dressing up?”

  “Oh, yes. My brother’s loaning me his big bad wolf costume to scare off the teenage boys.”

  Envisioning Kevin as the big bad wolf, Dylan chuckled.

  “Better get to my two o’clock appointment.” He sent her a parting wave and walked away.

  Gratitude rose up in her as she watched him leave. Her psychiatrist had brought her from the brink of despair to her present state of satisfaction. He’d reduced her PTSD to manageable proportions and provided a safe haven to which she could return whenever she felt herself backsliding. She owed him her life, truly.

  But then she thought of the revolver locked even now in her office, and the illusion that she was fully healed disappeared like a desert mirage. The only time she’d managed to go anywhere without it was to church last Sunday. Until she felt safe at work, as well, she still needed her therapist. And when Terrence passed and if Tobias moved on with his life, regardless of his promise to stay, she would need Dr. Richardson even more.

  So much for a complete recovery, she thought, her appetite dwindling.

  ***

  “You’re sure everyone got the message?” Tobias stood over Chet Lee, who sat at the desk in the command room poring over the roster.

  Chet gestured to the landline phone on the desk in front of him. “I had to leave a message for three people. The only way to know for sure if they got the message is to keep calling until they pick up.”

  “I need you to do that for me.” The last thing Toby wanted w
as for random militia members to be combing the countryside, looking to participate in an op that had been downsized.

  Chet rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He reached for the phone.

  Toby clapped him on the back. “You’re the man.”

  As Chet started tapping out a number, Toby crossed to the window to peer outside. Evening rapidly approached. The overcast sky promised to blot out the light of the stars and moon without threatening rain. That was good. He put a hand to the window pane. It was going to be cold, though. He didn’t want Hendrix freezing to death before the police “located” him in his car.

  At the tramping of footsteps, Toby turned to see Gil Morrison and Ivan Ackerman enter the command room with long faces. When Dylan had announced her plan to alter the operation at last evening’s briefing, only Lt. Ashby had seemed relieved by her decision. The other NCOs, Morrison and Ackerman especially, had moped about, looking disappointed.

  “Why isn’t the cap’n back from work?” Morrison asked, peering around.

  “She’s working late,” Toby reminded him. Her decision to remain at the hospital was a smart one, giving her a solid alibi should Hendrix’s complaints reach the ears of the FBI.

  “You getting ready to head out?” Ackerman’s surly tone betrayed his jealousy.

  Toby glanced at Chet, who murmured quietly into the phone and hung up, only to dial another number. “In a bit. Sheriff Fallon’s going to pick me up at five-thirty.”

  Morrison folded his arms across his protruding belly. “Make sure you get your point across,” he cautioned. “Hendrix is an arrogant prick. He deserves every ounce of humiliation you can inflict on him.”

  Toby had plenty of experience dealing with scum just like him. “Don’t worry. He’ll get what he deserves.”

  Truth was, he was more interested in finding out if Hendrix had uploaded the anti-war essays with Dylan’s name on them. Ike had texted him the startling news earlier today: Experts at the NCTC had confirmed that the anti-war essays supposedly authored by Dylan Connelly had been uploaded to the Internet from an IP address located within the VA Medical Center in Martinsburg. While that fact implied that she’d written them, the FBI’s writing analysts had compared them to a thesis Dylan had written back in medical school, and the styles proved substantially different. She hadn’t penned the anti-war essays, after all, giving Toby’s theory credibility. Someone wanted the world to think that Dylan Connelly loathed the prospect of military intervention in Syria, enough to murder its staunchest advocates. Maybe it was Hendrix.