The Enforcer (11 page)

“
Glad to hear it.” Jackson had met Lena the previous year while posing as an ex-convict in a prisoner reintegration program. The journalist who’d threatened to expose his investigation had ended up becoming his wife.

Not that something like that could ever happen to me, Toby mused. Dylan wasn
’t exactly wife material.

“
And your wife and baby, sir? How are they?” he asked, continuing to frustrate Ike, who’d become a father to a bouncing baby girl last February

“
Good.” For a moment, it seemed that was all he was going to say when he added gruffly, “Ariel can stand up already.”

Fatherly pride colored his voice.
“No kidding,” Toby exclaimed. “She’ll be dating before you know it,” he ribbed, earning a cold stare. He knew he was crazy to shake the bars of Ike Calhoun’s cage but, just once, he’d like to see the man lose his cool.

“
What’s your gut feeling on the militia leader?” Ike clipped, putting an abrupt end to the small talk.

Toby touched his jaw as he considered where to start.
“Well, she’s a little off her rocker,” he conceded. “And she’s definitely a strict constructionist when it comes to interpreting the Constitution.” He brought them up-to-date on her plans for the peaceful protest at the fusion center in Woodlawn. “She views oversight on the part of the federal government as a breach of First Amendment rights.”

“
What’s her position on the impending war with Syria?” Ike inquired.

“
She hasn’t brought it up, but her priest has. You should’ve heard him in church this morning.”

Jackson coughed to cover up a laugh.
“You went to church?”

“
Just this morning,” Toby affirmed. “And it didn’t collapse, burn down, or sink into the river. But seriously,” he looked back at Ike. “She’s known the priest all her life. If she’s responsible for the bombing, he could well be the motivating force behind it.”

“
What’s his name?”

“
Arthur Nesbit.” Pulling the church bulletin from his rear pocket, he handed it to Ike, who flipped through it.

“
Tell me about the militia members who live with her,” Ike requested, laying down the bulletin and transferring his fingers to his laptop. “Who are they and what are they like?”

One by one, Toby described Dylan
’s NCOs and then her executive officer, Terrence Ashby.

“
Ashby used to fly the choppers that carried the dead she recovered. He and Dylan have a history that’s not spelled out in their records. I’ll get to the bottom of it eventually. All I know is that he’d lay down his life for her if he had to.”

Ike reflected a moment.
“Look into that, will you?” he requested of Jackson.

“
Yes, sir.” Jackson scribbled himself a note.

“
Did you bring the surveillance material?”

Toby grubbed in the pocket of his duffel bag, found the clean sock in which he
’d stowed the Ranger pin, and pulled it out. Releasing the tiny memory card from the port in the back, he handed it to Ike, who pushed it into a gadget connected to his laptop. With a tap of the key, Ike accessed the image files and projected them on the wall screen at the other end of the table.  

Ten minutes later, they
’d captured twenty-two faces to run through their Terrorist Identities Datamark Environment. Toby’s picture of the ledger provided them with a list of names, as well. If any of Dylan’s soldiers happened to be known terrorists, it would strengthen the FBI’s case against her.

Toby caught the team lead
’s eye. “Any word yet on whether the pipe and the wires found on her property match the components of the bomb?”

“
Not yet,” Ike clipped. “The tests are complicated. You got anything else for us?”

Toby pulled
The Defender’s Creed
from his bag, unfolded it, and slid it toward Ike, who skimmed the contents. “Like I said, Dylan uses the militia to enforce the Constitution and to frustrate those who violate it, and that’s pretty much the extent of it.”

Ike
’s green-as-grass eyes jumped up at him. “What do you mean by pretty much?”

Toby deliberated how much to say. It felt strangely disloyal to Dylan to reveal her plans to Ike; after all, they had nothing to do with the FBI
’s investigation. “She’s making plans to teach certain individuals a lesson. Those failing to live up to her standards might find themselves abducted, taken to a strange location, and told to change their ways—or else. It’s harmless, really. Kind of like of like Robin Hood stealing from the rich to give to the poor.”

Ike regarded him dubiously.
“How’s that?”

Toby tried to explain Dylan
’s high standards. He mentioned her colleague’s penchant for prescribing experimental medication and how irate it made her. “He’s probably her first target.” 

Ike
’s chair creaked as he sat back in it. “You call that harmless? Kidnapping is a felony offense,” he pointed out.

“
Not if the local sheriffs participate and refuse to make an arrest.” Toby tipped a nod at the laptop where they’d just uploaded their images into the database.

Ike drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
“Find out more,” he finally ordered, pinning Toby with a hard look. “I want to know how much influence this priest has over her. Is she as preoccupied with Syria as he is? What else is on her mind besides punishing the local scum? I want her spilling out her guts to you. Is that clear?”

Oh, the pressure
. “Yes, sir.”

Across the table, Jackson
’s long stare told Toby that he could read his mixed thoughts. TJ Hamilton sat as still and quiet as a deep pool.

“
Anything else, sir?” Toby inquired. “Would you care to lobotomize me?” he teased, hoping to startle Ike out of his seriousness. “Donate my gonads to science?”

Ike shut his laptop with a snap.
“Maybe later,” he retorted, unfazed by Toby’s offers. “We’ll meet again next week, same time, same place. If the results come in on the pipe or any militia members come up hot, I’ll text you.”

Toby nodded and hoped not to get a text from Ike at all.    

Jackson started putting his notes away.

Zipping up his laptop bag, Ike headed for the door. Halfway out, he paused and looked back.
“Good work so far, Burke,” he said. And then he disappeared. 

Toby and Jackson shared a look of astonishment. Maybe fatherhood was mellowing Ike, after all.

TJ spoke for the first time since their introduction. “You’re drawn to the suspect,” he stated, in a tone that conveyed no judgment whatsoever. “But you don’t know if she’s guilty,” he added thoughtfully.

The provocative speculation invited confidence, only Toby balked at having his thoughts and feelings analyzed. The suspicion that Hamilton might be psychic had him shutting out the man completely.
“Either way, she’s a nut,” he retorted. “I never said I liked her,” he added irritably.

“
Hey, what are you doing for lunch? I’m sure Lena would love to feed you.” Jackson’s offer swept aside the tense moment.

“
Laundry followed by a nap,” Toby answered. Suddenly, he wasn’t in the mood for company. “Sorry, Stonewall, but I’m worn out.”

In a nod to the famous Civil War hero, General Andrew Jackson, Toby had called Jackson Stonewall from their very first introduction.

Jackson’s shrug conveyed his understanding. “Maybe next week,” he suggested, pushing to his feet.

TJ Hamilton followed his example, rising with silent, fluid grace

As the two men headed for the door, Toby gathered his stuff together. Hamilton laid a hand on his shoulder as he passed him. “Take care,” he said.

The words sounded strangely like a warning.

“Later, Toby,” Jackson called and, together, the two men departed, leaving Toby to his perturbed thoughts.

Damn it, he
did
like Dylan Connelly. It was never good to like the suspect.

Milly sat up and whined, sending Toby an anxious look. She probably had to pee.

“I need a beer,” Toby mumbled.

***

Dylan hugged herself against the chill seeping through her coat as she searched the emptying passenger cars for Tobias. Several tourists disembarked, commenting on the delightful dimensions of the train station. Behind them, Sheriff Cal Fallon hustled toward the parking lot without acknowledging Dylan, but, then again, the sheriff was a busy man.

She glanced at her watch and consulted the posted train schedule. This was definitely the train Tobias Burke was due to return on, yet he was nowhere to be seen.

Her worry that he would not return was morphing rapidly into reality. Disappointment hollowed her belly as the hope that he would help her lead the militia in the next calendar year slowly died.   

The boarding platform emptied. The train gave a hiss of releasing brakes as it prepared to continue its trek to Pittsburg. The conductor shouted out,
“All aboard!” Dylan was just about to turn away, utterly distraught, when Milly bounded out of the third car. At the other end of her leash, Tobias Burke half leapt, half-fell out of the train, just as the doors were closing.

Relief made Dylan
’s head spin, but why was he stumbling?

Recovering his balance, he sent her a slow smile that buoyed her spirits and then he lurched in her direction. Had he hurt himself? The scent of alcohol wafted toward her as he halted in front of her. Milly bumped Dylan
’s hand with her head, but astonishment kept Dylan from returning the canine’s greeting.

“
You’re drunk!” she accused. Her spine stiffened. Did he have nothing better to do on his day off? Were the clothes in his duffle bag even clean? Or had he frittered away his time completely.

“
Had a couple of beers on the train,” he conceded, grinding the ball of one hand into his left eye. “Fell asleep,” he added, blinking at her. 

Grubbing in her purse for a stick of gum, she thrust it at him.
“I can’t have a drunk in my militia.” She whirled on him and started to march off.

With reflexes that startled her, he caught her elbow and swung her back around.
“Whoa, there—a drunk?” His tone conveyed affront.

“
A drinking man,” she amended.

He cocked his head at her, and she held her breath, concerned by his reaction. Was he a mean drunk or an easy-going drunk? She was about to find out.

“Know what your problem is?”

His unruffled tone relieved her.
“What?”

“
You’re too uptight, Captain. I had a couple of beers on the train and then I fell asleep. That doesn’t make me a drinking man.” He popped the gum into his mouth and started chewing. “You should try it some time. Might loosen you up a bit.”

She bristled at the implication that she was tight-laced.
“Have you any idea what liquor does to the human liver?”

“
A drink a day is good for you,” he insisted.

The Journal of Modern Medicine
actually agreed with him, but guns and liquor didn’t mix, which was why she maintained a zero tolerance policy in her militia. Plus, he’d admitted himself that he’d had more than one. “Even so, what kind of message would that send the others bringing you home in your present state?”

He shrugged his agreement.
“Fair enough,” he said breezily. “So we’ll take a walk first,” he suggested, and a gleam entered his eyes. 

The prospect of a walk, a chance to spend some time alone with him, dissipated her annoyance.
“We could do that,” she conceded.

Whirling, she led him through the station and into the emptying parking lot. They stowed his bag in her Suburban and turned toward town on foot. Harpers Ferry lay cloaked in shadow with only the highest chimneys and the tops of trees lit by the setting sun.   

“Which way?” Tobias inquired when they reached the street.  

“
Uphill.” She pointed in the direction of the Appalachian Trial. In silence they climbed a series of lumber steps to High Street, then the steep shale steps to Church Street, where they passed Saint Peters Church, climbing an ascending path that was a portion of the Appalachian Trail, where it briefly paralleled the Shenandoah River.

As steep as the trail was, this portion was paved. A railing on one side and intermittent lamps kept hikers from falling to their deaths, not that the trail was open at this time of night. The National Historical Park was closed to hikers after sunset, which was exactly why Dylan had come this way. They wouldn
’t be seen together by locals prone to gossip.

Alone with Tobias Burke. What am I thinking?
Prospects danced before her, pitched by an imagination brought to life in his presence.