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.”