“OK. Now he’s wading into aluminum-foil-hat territory.”
“He also belongs to a survivalist group called the Hudson Footmen. They’re preparing for a digital apocalypse. There’s no overt anarchy on their page, but they skirt just short of violence.” Matt reached into the back of the SUV and pulled out his body-armor vest. He donned it and tightened the Velcro strap with a firm tug. Bree wore a vest under her uniform shirt.
The SUV climbed as they entered the foothills of the Adirondacks. Along with the increase in elevation, boulders and rocky outcroppings appeared on the sides of the road. To the left, the landscape sloped upward. On the right side of the road, the grade dropped steeply.
A few miles later, the GPS announced they’d reached their destination. Bree slowed the vehicle but saw nothing but weeds and woods. “Do you see a mailbox or driveway?”
Matt was scanning the shoulder of the road. “No. I’ve never been to Dylan’s house, but I heard him say that he liked being off the grid when he wasn’t working.” A few minutes later, he pointed. “There. See that reflector on the tree trunk?”
Bree barely saw the glint of sunlight on red plastic. She hit the brakes and made the turn onto a dirt and gravel road. The vehicle bounced across several deep ruts before she guided the tires out of the existing vehicle tracks. She drove a full mile before the lane curved and widened into a large clearing.
In the center, a multilevel home was painted an ugly army green, blending into the landscape. Decks on all sides provided a commanding view of the surroundings. Multiple satellite dishes were mounted on the roof, and Bree spotted high-tech cameras mounted under the eaves. A large shed stood behind the house, adorned with yet another satellite dish and more cameras.
They were being watched and probably recorded.
Bree parked next to a detached garage. The overhead doors were rolled up. Inside, a tractor shared space with a dual-wheel pickup truck, a dirt bike, and several long benches filled with tools.
“We’re definitely off the beaten path.” She reached for her radio mic and reported their location to dispatch. “But there’s a significant amount of tech here.”
Matt scanned the property. “Those electronics look new and expensive.”
“Makes you wonder how he paid for them with no job.” Bree noted the house stood on a slight rise, with a good view for home defense.
“Savings?”
They stepped out of the vehicle. Water rushed in the background. The Scarlet Creek ran behind the house. Farther south, the creek meandered into the Scarlet River. The deck on the back of the house would have a water view.
Bree felt eyes on her. The hairs on the back of her neck quivered. She glanced at Matt. “Do you feel that?”
“Someone watching us? Yep.”
The uneasy feeling intensified as Bree scanned the surroundings. There were too many places for someone to hide. And with all those cameras, anyone could be surveilling them right now.
They rounded the front end of the vehicle, and someone yelled, “Stop right there!”
Bree bristled as she tracked the voice to the open garage door. She could barely see the outline of a man in the shadowy interior. “Brian Dylan?”
He took one step closer and sneered at her. “You’re that new bitch sheriff.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m Sheriff Taggert.” Bree ignored the bitch label. “You’re Brian Dylan?”
“This is private property. Who I am is none of your business.”
“That’s him,” Matt said in a low voice.
“Mr. Dylan.” Bree didn’t like not being able to see him more clearly, but she resisted the urge to pull her weapon. “We’d like to talk to you.”
Dylan yelled, “About what?”
“Eugene Oscar,” Bree said. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“I know my rights. I don’t have to talk to you.” Dylan inched forward. “I’m surprised you’re working for this whore, Flynn. I hear you’re still a big pussy who’s afraid to carry a handgun.” Dylan’s tone turned mocking. “Did you finally man up?”
“I haven’t changed.” Matt seemed unperturbed by the insult.
Dylan snorted.
What an ass.
He was right about one thing, though. Bree couldn’t make him talk. She didn’t have the authority to force him to do anything. But she wanted answers. She glanced around the property. The place was outfitted like a high-tech military camp. Squinting into the dimness of the garage, she could see a cooler and other camping gear piled on the garage floor next to the pickup. Had he been away, or was he preparing to leave town? She spotted several skeins of nylon paracord in different sizes and colors hanging on the wall.