“What the hell are you doing here?” Tom demanded, his hands fisted at his sides.
Jeb Monroe held out his hands in a placating gesture. “Just came to identify my boy’s body,” he replied. “And I heard what had happened to one of yours.”
“Like you had nothing to do with it,” Joe snapped.
Jeb nodded. “I figured you’d assume that, given our…history. I didn’t know what Mark had planned. But I’m sure the idea of his brother being locked away by your government was more than he could bear.”
Elle couldn’t suppress the little grunt of disgust that slipped out, drawing Jeb’s attention to her. But she didn’t look away from his offended gaze. The son of a bitch had everything to do with what had occurred that day, she was sure of it. He’d been preaching his hatred for years. And he’d filled the heads of his sons and other family members and acquaintances with the same vitriol.
“The bloodshed today is on your hands,” Elle hissed. “You might not have stood on the steps and pulled the trigger, but it’s all on you.”
Jeb’s eyes flashed with anger. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Ms. McCoy. You are the very tool—”
“I think it’d be best if you left, Jeb,” a deep, rumbling voice said, cutting through Monroe’s words. Everyone turned their attention to the sheriff, who still stared out the window. Without turning, he continued, “My boys have showed a great deal of restraint since you entered the room, but I’m afraid I lack their self-control. And if you don’t turn around and walk out of this room right now, I will be forced to disrespect your grief by explaining to you none too politely exactly what I think about what happened today.”
Jeb’s eyes narrowed at the sheriff’s back. “Well, I expect we’ve both got a few things to say, Mac. We never have finished the conversation we started all those years back. But as I see I’m not welcome here, I guess I’ll just save what’s on my mind for a later time.”
Mac’s voice was little more than a growl when he replied, “You do that.”
As soon as Monroe had gone, Tom shook his head, looking like he wanted to spit acid. “That son of a bitch. He’s even crazier now than he’s always been.”
“What the hell was he talking about when he said you’d never finished a conversation years back?” Joe asked. “What conversation?”
Mac cast his steely gaze around the room, lighting on Charlotte and Elle for a long moment, as if weighing the prudence of talking openly in front of them. He finally turned his attention to his son. “The Monroe family’s farmland used to be much more extensive, but about ten years ago, Jeb’s father got into some financial trouble after several years of bad crops. He defaulted on loans and owed hundreds of thousands of dollars to the IRS. In order to pay off some of his debts, he was forced to sell some of his best land to developers. A few weeks later, he suffered a massive heart attack while working in the fields and died before paramedics could reach him.”
“What’s that have to do with you?” Charlotte asked. “If anything, you’d think Jeb’s problem would be with the IRS for leaving old Buck Monroe no choice but to sell his land.”
Mac sent her a sidelong glance, trying a little too hard not to acknowledge whatever was going on between them in Elle’s opinion. “I served Buck with the papers. Thought I should do it myself since I’d known him for so long. But Jeb saw it as me taking the government’s side. He blamed me for his father’s ruin—guilt by association. He blamed the government for not valuing farmers. He blamed the paramedics for not getting there sooner when Buck had his heart attack. Jeb already held some extreme opinions at that point, but with his father gone, there was no one else who could talk any sense into him. We had rather heated words.”
Elle could imagine. She’d known Mac Dawson for a long time, but had never really known him. There weren’t many people who intimidated the hell out of Elle—not anymore. But Mac was among them. The only person she’d ever seen break through that tough exterior was her aunt. And on that topic, Charlotte was just as tight-lipped as the object of her affection.
“So, basically,” Tom interjected, bringing Elle out of her musings, “he blamed everyone else for anything and everything horrible that ever happened to him or his family, and began posting his antigovernment rants online.”
“How is it he’s not on your watch list?” Joe demanded of his brother Kyle. “Shouldn’t the FBI be keeping an eye on this guy?”
Kyle crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, we’re aware of guys like this, trust me. But our resources tend to be focused more on foreign terrorists or the organized groups who have huge followings and are stirring up trouble on a large scale—not these lone-wolf types of domestic terrorists. They’re hard to track and can spring up literally anywhere—cities, towns, rural areas—without warning. These guys can be even more dangerous and unpredictable than organized cells.”
“Well, Monroe’s certainly not acting alone,” Tom told him. “His brothers have totally bought into his bullshit. And so have his kids, obviously. Who knows how many other friends and family he’s swayed to his beliefs. But we can’t pin anything on him personally.”
Elle couldn’t agree more. Too bad the patriarch of the Monroe clan had been careful to veil himself behind layers of plausible deniability from a legal standpoint. But anyone who knew the man also knew his radical views on the government and what he considered to be the tyranny of law enforcement. He believed men should make their own laws as dictated only by the word and letter of the Bible—most specifically, the eye-for-an-eye style of justice in the Old Testament.
Elle had heard his views on this particular subject more times than she cared to recall while she was building the case against his son. He’d been more than happy to offer up an anti-everything sermon at any opportunity. But he’d never crossed a line, had never been threatening. In every instance, he’d merely been exercising his First Amendment rights—according to him.
“Social media has given him a whole new audience for spreading his conspiracy theories and rallying others to his cause,” she interjected into the conversation. “His following is growing. The disenchantment with the government and all their infighting is making it easier for him to recruit.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Joe murmured, slipping his arm around his fiancée’s shoulders and pulling her in close, tucking her under his chin. “That’s exactly what we need.”
Elle glanced away, suddenly feeling like an intruder on the family’s time together. She turned to Charlotte, the only family she had left, the loss of her parents and siblings a sharp pang in the center of her chest.
“Let’s go,” she whispered. “I feel like I’m just in the way. I’ll check in with Mac later and answer any questions he has for me.”
Charlotte’s auburn brows drew together in a frown. “Alright, honey. If that’s what you want.”
Elle nodded quickly and slipped out into the hallway without saying good-bye, her eyes lighting on a spritely doctor with unruly, wavy, bobbed hair. “Hi, I’m looking for a patient who was in surgery for a gunshot wound to the leg. Deputy Gabe Dawson.”
The doctor started at Elle’s direct approach, then giggled. “Oh jeez. Sorry! Little jumpy. This is what happens when they let me out of the operating room.” She laughed again, her hazel eyes sparkling. She looked at Elle expectantly as if waiting for her to say something. Then she shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment. “Sorry. You asked me about a patient.”
Elle grinned. “Gabe Dawson.”
