The Enforcer (24 page)

“
Did you move me in here?” she asked, still feeling disoriented.

“
Sure did.”

“
When? I don’t remember.”

“
Hours ago. You fell asleep in Terrence’s chair,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her hip. “The benzos are still in your bloodstream, making you drowsy.”

Pushing herself into a sitting position, she encountered Milly snuggled against her other side.
“What time is it now?”

“
Four thirty in the afternoon.”

“
Did the results come back from the hospital yet?”

“
As a matter of fact, they did.” He sent her a lopsided smile. “I had to charm the nurse into sharing the report with me. And, by the way, Leigh swears that neither she nor any of the night nurses brought you coffee last night.”

“
Then who?” Dylan asked. Who, besides, Wesley Hendrix hated her enough to drug her?

Tobias shrugged.
“If the cup and the note hadn’t disappeared, we could analyze the handwriting. Whoever it was, they picked up the spill, all except for a small stain on the carpet. Do you want to hear the results of the blood test?” he pressed.

She swallowed heavily.
“I don’t know. Do I?”

“
I think you do.” He sent her an encouraging smile. “There were high levels of—” He glanced at a word he’d written on his hand “—flunitrazepam,” he said carefully.

“
Rohypnol
,”
she breathed, supplying him with the brand name.

All trace of his smile fled.
“That’s the date rape drug.”

“
It’s one of them,” she confirmed, experiencing a peculiar mixture of relief and outrage. What had seemed more like a dream than anything else was fast becoming reality. She really
had
been drugged.

Tobias reached for her.
“Are you sure you weren’t—?”

“
Raped?” She rolled her eyes at him. “Honestly, that’s the least of my worries with potential murder charges looming over my head.”

“
Christ, Dylan. Who would do this to you?”

She spread her hands.
“Hendrix?”

“
I already checked out that possibility. He was admitted to Jefferson Regional Hospital last night and held for observation until this morning.”

The reference to last night
’s mission had her sitting up taller. “So you did it? How did it go?” In all the fuss surrounding her disappearance, she’d forgotten all about Tobias and Sheriff Fallon’s mission last night.

Tobias grimaced.
“Let’s just say he’ll think twice before prescribing Elypsia again. But if Hendrix didn’t drug you, then who did?”

She blew out a breath.
“Well, the director doesn’t care much for me, but I can’t imagine him murdering a general, let alone framing me for it.”

“
Both Nolan and Treyburn advocated military involvement in Syria. Who do you know that’s opposed to war—besides your priest?”

She gasped at his implication.
“My God, Tobias, you don’t think Father Nesbit could have anything to do with this!”

He squeezed her thigh apologetically.
“Honey, I don’t know what to think.”

“
No!” She pushed his hand off her thigh and struggled out of bed, forcing Tobias to get up and disrupting Milly’s slumber. “I’ve known him all my life,” she railed, pacing toward her dresser and back. “He and Cal Fallon were my father’s closest friends. He would
never
do anything to harm me.”

Tobias held up both hands.
“I’m not saying it’s him. I’m just asking you if you know anyone else opposed to our involvement in Syria.”

She whirled on him.
“Well, who wouldn’t be? No one in their right mind wants a war.”

“
You’re right.” His voice fell into a more soothing cadence. “No one wants war, but sometimes taking action is the only ethical thing to do. If we’d stopped Hitler early on in his career, six million Jews might have been saved.”

Dylan couldn
’t argue with logic like that, but it was warring individuals like Hitler who spawned aggression in the first place. She dropped her throbbing head into her hands. “It’s complicated,” she admitted.

Tobias closed the gap between them. Pulling her hands from her face, he drew her into his embrace.
“Hey, I’m right here,” he assured her, holding her close.

Dylan burrowed her face gratefully into his shoulder and leaned into his strength.

“Sheriff Hooper’s reviewing the footage on the hospital’s security cameras,” he added, “so if you never left the building then you have nothing to worry about.”

She swallowed against the knot of fear in her throat.
“But what if I did leave the building, and I just can’t remember?” she whispered.

A knock at her partially open door prevented him from answering.

Tobias abruptly released her.

Gil Morrison poked his round head through the opening.
“A couple of cars just pulled up outside,” he warned. “They look official.”

Dylan sucked in a frightened breath.
“It’s the FBI, isn’t it?” she guessed, observing Tobias’s grim reaction. “They’re here to arrest me.”

“
No.” He reached for her hand. “They’ll just want to ask you questions. Just tell them what happened to you. Tell them about the results of your blood test.”

Her stomach cramped.
“What makes you think they’ll believe me?”

“
If they don’t, they’ll conduct their own tests. They won’t arrest you, Dylan, not until they build a stronger case, and we’re going to keep that from happening.” He drew her gently toward the door.

She resisted briefly, forcing him to look back.
“You still believe me, don’t you, Tobias?”

“
I’ll always believe you,” he affirmed.

That was all that mattered. He believed her, and he loved her. How could anything go wrong when she had all that going for her?

Chapter Fifteen

Dylan entered her command room on knees that jittered. No less than three men in suits awaited her, two of whom had paid her a visit a month ago when they’d questioned her about the bombing of Secretary Nolan’s car. Under the suspicious and hostile gazes of her NCOs, the special agents milled about the room, eyeballing the maps and the easel and anything lying about, but not touching anything—yet.

At Dylan
’s entrance, they turned to face her. In the glow of several lit lamps, she could read suspicion in their alert gazes. Tobias’s hand at her elbow gave her the courage to lift her chin and acknowledge each agent individually. 

The one with the bristling moustache approached her first.
“Charles Palmer, special agent in charge,” he reminded her with a nod in lieu of a handshake. “You remember Tibbs, and this is Special Agent Maddox.” The new man, Maddox, was a handsome mixed-race man in his thirties.

“
Three of you this time.” Dylan smiled bitterly. Was she such a dangerous entity that she merited three special agents?

“
Plus a forensics team outside,” Palmer informed her, causing her palms to sweat.

“
I see.” She clung to her poise. “Well, I know why you’re here.” She swallowed against the fear tightening her throat. “You think I’m involved in the shooting last night, just as you think I bombed the defense secretary’s car. I assure you I did neither, and I’m happy to cooperate in your investigation, so you can find the culprit who did.”

“
Well…” Palmer looked bemused by her candidness. “We thank you for that.” He withdrew a sheaf of folded papers from the lining of his navy blue jacket. “I have a warrant here to search your property and to seize anything of suspicious nature.”

“
Search away,” she agreed. “But if you’re looking for my gun, I’ve already surrendered that to the Martinsburg Police. They’re investigating the matter of my disappearance last night. You’ll have to confer with them.”

Palmer shot his colleagues a startled and disgruntled look. He withdrew a pen and pad of paper from his breast pocket and scribbled himself a note.
“What’s this about your disappearance?”

Dylan gestured to the sofas and the armchairs.
“Why don’t we sit?” She suspected her amnesia story wasn’t going to help her cause any. If anything, it made her appear even more suspicious. How could Tobias be so sure they wouldn’t arrest her on the spot?

His steady hand led her toward the loveseat. The FBI agents dropped into various chairs around the room while the NCOs continued to hover. Hopefully, Terrence had fallen asleep and was oblivious to her circumstances.

As Tobias sat down beside her, Special Agent Palmer cut him a curious look. “Have I met you before?”   

Dylan spoke up.
“Oh, no you haven’t. This is Sergeant Burke,” she said, making introductions. “He’s my…my senior operations NCO,” she finished, lamely.

Something akin to comprehension flickered in Palmer
’s eyes before he looked fixedly down at his notepad. “You were saying that you disappeared last night?” he prompted.

The warmth of Tobias
’s knee where it touched hers gave her the courage to put her account forward. She explained what little she remembered of the previous evening, how she’d worked late at the hospital; how she’d found a cup of coffee on her desk as she did nearly every morning. “I didn’t know it was drugged,” she added.

Palmer
’s eyebrows, as bushy as his moustache, shot toward his hairline. “Drugged?”

“
Yes.” She described how her vision had failed her, how she remembered knocking over her coffee as she passed out. “I woke up later, still groggy, and it felt like I was sitting in a dark, confined space. There was something under my hand—a candy wrapper.”

Palmer and the two other agents sent her blank looks, like they didn
’t know what to make of her story.

“
I must have passed out again because the next time I came awake, I was back at my desk and it was morning.” With her eyes, she invited Tobias to explain how she’d immediately called him, but he merely squeezed her hand and kept quiet.

She completed the tale herself.
“I called home from my desk phone, and Sergeant Burke answered. When I told him what happened, he suggested I go straight to the lab to have my urine and blood tested. The first test came up positive for benzodiazepines. The latter specified high levels of flunitrazepam
,
better known as Rohypnol, the date rape drug—which explains why I don’t remember.”

When Palmer just frowned at her, she clarified,
“Rohypnol causes anterogade amnesia. It induces dizziness and sleepiness. There’s no way I could have driven a car, let alone operated a handgun.”

The special agent scratched himself a few notes.
“And you shared all of this with the Martinsburg Police?”

“
Yes, I did. I also surrendered my pistol and the ammunition in my purse, and we noticed there were bullets missing.”

Palmer
’s mustache twitched. “So, you’re claiming you never left the hospital last night.”

Dylan
’s heart beat faster. “I don’t believe so.”

He looked up at her sharply.
“You don’t believe so?”

Tobias ran a soothing hand up her spine.
“I don’t see how I could have walked,” she clarified.

Palmer tapped the tip of his pencil on his notepad.
“Would you be willing to submit a urine and blood sample to our own forensics team?”

She stiffened at the implication that she
’d meddled with the tests already taken. “I don’t see why not,” she said slowly.

“
Do you know whether the blood test indicates what
time
you might have been drugged?” Palmer inquired.

Dylan just looked at him.
“What are you suggesting? That I ingested Rohypnol
after
I shot General Treyburn just so I’d have some type of defense?” Resentment rushed into her bloodstream, making her long suddenly for her revolver. It was starting to dawn on Dylan that, perhaps, she ought to have a lawyer present before she said anymore to these men.

Tobias laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Easy,” he murmured, clearly sensing her rising agitation.

The agent had raised an eyebrow at her vehemence.
“Let me fetch the forensics team,” he offered standing up.

In the following half hour, she surrendered a urine sample and three vials of blood. The forensics experts swept through her home, violating her sanctum and her psyche in one fell swoop. As she watched them raid her file cabinets, search her desk and bedroom bureau, and even poke their noses in her attic, Dylan could feel herself retreating into a remote corner of her mind where nothing touched her, not even Tobias
’s palpable concern as he hovered protectively near.

When the FBI finished tearing through the contents of her home, they turned their attention to the supply shed, just like the last time they
’d been there looking for proof that she’d bombed Secretary Nolan’s car. Tonight, they left the barn empty-handed. She supposed she ought to be relieved about that. Instead, what she felt was the return of the numbness that had retreated since Tobias first joined her militia. It was back, as dark and cold and joyless as it ever was.

Returning to the command room, Dylan sat stock still on the loveseat while Tobias and the other NCOs—all but Ackerman, who slinked off to sulk on his own—moved quietly about the room, putting items and papers back where they belonged. Above the exposed crossbeams overhead, she could hear Terrence struggling to make his way down the second-story hallway to the bathroom. A stab of concern roused her from her self-absorption. She got up to go assist him, waving off Tobias
’s offer to help.

She
’d told him once that she didn’t care about her future. But what would become of Terrence if she went to jail? And what of her and Tobias? The love they’d so recently declared would wither and perish if she found herself incarcerated.

Maybe she
’d lied to herself, as well as to him. Maybe her future
did
matter.

***

A bitter chill seeped through Toby’s militia uniform as he waited for Sheriff Hooper to sign the ledger and pick up a rifle at the front of the barn. The man had arrived early to the CPX, which—in spite of all that was going on in Dylan’s life—was taking place as usual.

It can
’t be canceled,
Dylan had told him just last night.
We have to prepare for the protest at the fusion center on November 9th.

He hadn
’t tried arguing. She was better off having something to focus her attention on besides the FBI’s investigation. He’d consoled himself with the fact that he could question Sheriff Hooper in person about the investigation. Had the man found anything important in the security footage? Had he been forced to surrender the investigation to the FBI already?

Hooper scribbled his name in the ledger, took the M-16 that Morrison issued to him, and joined Toby in the back of the barn. Out the corner of his eye, Toby saw Cal Fallon step up to the ledger and shoot Toby a glare.

Toby’s scalp tightened with foreboding. Fallon’s patience was obviously wearing thin. He had guarded the truth of Toby’s connection to the FBI with forbearance, but the scowl on his face this morning warned Toby that he wouldn’t keep his secret much longer.

Toby kicked himself for not telling Dylan the truth last night when they
’d lain in bed. Hearing the facts from anyone besides himself would decimate her. But under the pretext of shielding her from yet another shock, he’d guarded his secret one more night, clinging selfishly to her devotion. He feared his cowardice had been a big mistake.

Hooper stuck out his hand, reclaiming his attention.
“Morning.”

“
Hey.” Toby searched his gaze. “Has the FBI approached you yet?”

The Sheriff of Martinsburg nodded gloomily.
“Yep. They got me out of bed late last night. Had to give them everything I’ve got, right down to the swab taken of that stain on her carpet and the hair fibers found in her car.”

Damn.
But it was no more than Toby had expected. “What did you see on the security footage—anything?”

“
A woman with long hair left the hospital by the door closest to her office at 9:45 that night and returned two hours later. But the quality of the footage is poor. You can’t tell one way or another if it’s Dylan.”

The man
’s words crushed Toby’s hopes. Even the security footage seemed to suggest her guilt. “Are you sure it was even a woman?”

Hooper shrugged.
“Hard to tell. Could’ve been a man with a wig on. That camera’s at least ten years old. Maybe the FBI can do more with it.”

A sudden thought speared Toby
’s consciousness. “Could that hair fiber have come from a wig?”

“
Doubtful,” Hooper said, dashing his sudden hope. “More like hair from a stuffed animal.”

That didn
’t make much sense. 

Out in the yard, the bugle trumpeted, signaling the start of the CPX. Having agreed to take Lt. Ashby
’s place as acting XO, Toby excused himself and made his way toward the house, climbing the steps to stand on the fresh cedar planks of the porch and announce Dylan’s arrival.

Shivering with a mix of cold and premonition, he surveyed the troops jockeying for position in the yard. The privilege of acting as the XO sat uncomfortably in his craw. Here he was, attached to the entity seeking to put Dylan behind bars while filling the large shoes of the one man whose loyalty could never be questioned.

As he gazed out at the men stamping their feet against the cold, their exhalations forming a misty vapor before their ruddy faces, he wondered if the rumors had begun to circulate about Dylan’s potential involvement in Treyburn’s murder. Then he imagined she was having second thoughts about running the CPX today, what with the worry that she might soon be arrested. He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t like her to run even a minute late.

The door behind him wafted open, and he turned with a guilty start to snatch open the screen door. Dylan stepped through it, looking pale but somehow regal in her battle dress uniform. The burgundy beret sat regally upon her neatly braided hair. Her eyes caught and held the amber rays of morning as she cast him a wan smile that made his breath catch as it always did. Even in the face of adversity, she exuded dignity.

“I love you,” he mouthed, chuckling when his words awakened color in her cheeks. And then, in a poor imitation of Terrence Ashby’s ceremonial pomp, he presented Dylan to her militia before trailing her into the yard, walking just to her left and one step behind.

The dead grass crunched beneath their boots as they approached her now-quiet army. In the saluting soldiers
’ eyes, Toby read reverence and respect that came from their lifelong acquaintance, not to mention the respect her father had commanded and that she’d inherited.