Tempting the Devil (11 page)

“I do. If he gives me his word …”

He stared at her. “The Feebies will want to know where you got it.”

“They can want.”

“They will pressure you. They're damn good at that.” He paused. “You swear on your sisters' lives?” He had asked about her family, as well as her nonexistent romantic life.

“I swear that I won't tell my editor unless he gives me the assurances I need. If you like, I'll call you and tell you what he says about withholding it, before I give him your name.”

“I don't like someone else having it.”

“They won't go with an anonymous source unless they know who it is.”

“What will you write?”

“I'll read it to you before it goes to press.”

“You can't call me.”

“Then you call me.”

He ran his hand over the cannon again. “I don't like doing this.”

“I know.”

“They can't kill cops and get away with it.” His voice was fierce. Scared yet fierce.

“No,” she agreed softly.

“My … the people I work with. They know. Several of them know.” His eyes glazed with tears.

She knew she should look away, but she couldn't. Sandy was one of the most macho guys she'd ever met. For the first time, she saw the demons eating at him these past few days.

“What would the anonymous source say?” she asked.

He hesitated. “You can say it better than me. Something about patrols being told not to go to the area that day.”

“I'll talk to my editor today. Call me on my cell phone from a pay phone.”

“I'm betraying them,” he said.

“If anyone from your office was involved, they betrayed themselves. You're the good guy here.”

“The hell I am. I don't have the guts to do what should be done. But I've heard …”

“Heard what?”

“They don't just go after people they don't like, they go after the families.”

“There's witness protection.

“For the immediate family. Not sisters and aunts and grandmothers. My wife's life revolves around her family.”

Fear stabbed through her then. The story meant everything to her. Justice as well. But did she really know what she was getting into? If they killed three police officers …

His eyes were intent on her.

“I'll talk to my editor,” she said again, her voice more unsteady than she would have liked.

“When should I call you?”

“This afternoon.”

He turned then and left, his steps dragging, his normally straight shoulders slumped.

She felt sympathy and something else. Pity. Even a slight contempt.

He had just dropped a bomb in her lap, a bomb he'd refused to defuse and was handing to her.

Wade Carlton read the transcript of the conversation Robin gave him.

“My God,” he said when he finished.

She merely nodded.

“Who is he?”

“I promised I wouldn't tell you unless you promised to protect his identity.”

“You have the tape?”

“Yes.”

“We'll need it.”

“I promised him I wouldn't give you any information until he has assurances, and the tape is mine. If I have assurances, I'll let the attorney hear it.”

“The investigators will come after you.”

“I know.”

“Do you? It sounds noble to protect your source until you get squeezed. Believe me, it's not when they come after you.” He paused. “And you said this source is afraid. Have you considered that whoever murdered those officers might want to know who gave you this?”

She took a deep breath, then nodded. She wasn't going to let fear kill this chance.

“Write your story. I'll take it to the attorney, along with the transcript.”

“We can protect him?”

“We have a shield law in Georgia,” he agreed. “They can't compel you to testify if they can get the information some other way. And they can do that by interviewing all the sheriff's deputies. Until they've exhausted that …”

She just nodded.

“Go write the story.”

“Hey, Ben, you seen the
Observer
yet?”

Ben cradled his cell phone against his ear as he navigated an intersection. “No. Why?”

“Get it.”

He'd spent a late night trying to crack the mire of companies sprouting from the one owning the property where the officers were killed. One led to another to another until he reached an office in the Seychelles, an island group off Africa. He knew what he would find then. A dead end.

Frustrated, he'd finally gone to bed, mentally seeking his next step. It didn't come.

“Don't play games,” he told his partner. “I'm not in the mood. What is it?”

“Ah, grumpy this morning. Late night?”

“Spit it out, Mahoney.”

“You have to read it for yourself. But basically she's claiming the Meredith County Sheriff's Office was involved in the murders of its sister agency's people.”

He nearly choked on the coffee. “Say that again.”

“Get the paper.” Mahoney hung up.

Ben stopped at the first convenience store. The story was at the bottom of page one. It started benignly enough.

The investigation into the murders of three Meredith County police officers resumed after emotion-filled funerals
.

While official sources say there is no new information, a source close to the events suggested that officials look specifically at the Meredith County Sheriff's Office. The source said that patrols in the area were warned away from the murder site the night of the murders
.

The source also said there could be a connection to the Hydra, a criminal network that has allegedly engaged in drugs, car theft, and prostitution throughout the Southeast
.

Sheriff Will Sammons labeled the charges “pure fiction” and categorically denied any connection to his department
.

The byline said Robin Stuart.

He took another sip of coffee. He remembered her face. Expressive. Pretty. A smile to kill for. A natural warmth that was hard to rebuff.

What in the hell was she thinking?

An oxymoron. Reporters didn't think. He'd almost let himself think otherwise. He stared at the headline again. She knew something he needed to know. She also knew something that others with less than good motives needed to know.

He uttered an oath under his breath, then called his boss. He was turned over to Holland immediately.

“I saw the article,” Holland said. “I think it's enough to bring us in, or at least interview that reporter. You want it?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Take Mahoney with you. And I want everything on tape.”

“If she doesn't cooperate …”

“I'll ask the attorney general to call her in to a grand jury. She'll be forced to give up the name.”

“I'll pick up Mahoney at the office.”

“Let me know what she says immediately after you leave her.”

“Do I have the authority to get a search warrant for her home?”

“Not yet. Play it by ear. If she refuses to cooperate, then we'll go to a friendly judge.”

“I have the feeling we'll need that search warrant.”

“You know her?”

“Met her at one of the funerals.”

“Well, sweet-talk her. Duty. Responsibility.”

“I'll do my best.”

“I'll get people working on the search warrant.”

Robin read the story over her coffee. Sandy had called yesterday afternoon and she'd given him the editor's promise and her own. She'd also read the story to him.

He'd paused, and she knew he was second-guessing himself yet again. But at the end he told her to go ahead.

But as she read it in black ink, she wondered whether she'd done the right thing. He couldn't be identified from the story, not if no one realized he'd overheard the conversation. And she'd talked to enough deputies and other people to make it difficult for anyone to narrow in on one specific person.

But she read the story with a jaundiced eye, wondering how she could have made it better. Too many unanswered questions.

The phone rang and she picked it up. After several seconds of silence, the caller hung up.

She checked the caller ID. It reported “unknown.”

In disgust, she replaced it back in the cradle. It wouldn't have been Sandy. He would have used her cell phone.

The phone rang again. She waited until the ID reported another “unknown.”

She picked up the phone and slammed it back down as loud as she could. She would buy a whistle later today.

But that resolve didn't quiet the sudden anxiety that knotted and writhed in her stomach.

She quickly dressed, took one more slug of coffee, said good-bye to Daisy, who looked forlorn, and went to her car. She was to meet with Wade again this morning, along with two other reporters now assigned to work the story with her. One was Bob Greene, the police reporter, the other Cleve Andrews, an investigative reporter. They were to work as a team from now on, but she was to be the lead reporter.

She was no longer the Outer Siberia reporter. She was back in the big time with a huge story that belonged to her.

But she found herself looking in the rearview mirror as she drove, something she'd never done before.

Had that black sedan been there four blocks back?

She turned a corner, then another. She looked back again. No black sedan.

She was becoming paranoid. The calls were obviously a wrong number, or a computerized sales pitch.

Get over it
. Sandy's fear had infected her. Reporters weren't harmed for reporting.

Her cell phone rang.

She hated that when in traffic.

The light ahead was red. She looked at the number.

The paper's.

She punched the talk button. “Wade?”

“Are you on the way?”

“Should be there in ten minutes or so, depending on traffic. The meeting's at ten, isn't it?”

“Yeah, but there's a complication.”

She waited.

“The FBI is here. They want to talk to you. I've contacted our attorney. We don't want you to talk to them without him.”

Her heart thumped unsteadily as she switched the phone off, and the traffic started moving again.

Sandy had warned her this would probably happen. So had the company attorney.

She looked down at her hand and saw it tremble slightly. Like most people, she found the idea of talking to the FBI a little off-putting, even as a reporter. It was one thing to ask questions, quite a different one to answer them. Or not answer them.

Was she really ready for this?

She had to be. She'd consciously grabbed the tiger's tail, and now she would have to hold on till the end.

chapter nine

Robin sat in one of the private offices on the management floor of the paper and tried to ignore the nervous tingling in her chest. Not only were her editor and the newspaper's attorney present, but also the executive editor of the paper.

She'd received flowers from the latter immediately after the accident two years ago, but she'd never actually had a conversation with him.

Richard Reese greeted her warmly, though, and she knew Wade must have already discussed the story with him.

“You might be in for a hard time,” he said, “but the paper will stand behind you.”

“Thank you.”

The door opened, and two men were ushered in by Richard Reese's secretary.

Her gaze went immediately to the taller of the two, and her heart quickened. She'd been occupied since the funeral with the story, with meetings, but Ben Taylor had lurked in her thoughts.

Taylor led the other man into the room. As on the day of the funeral, he wore a dark blue suit with a striped tie and his hair, which had been unruly that day, was neatly combed. The flinty look in his eyes was the same.

He nodded at her, his gaze holding hers for a fleeting second. “Ms. Stuart.”

Richard Reese was already standing. “You know Ms. Stuart?”

He turned to Reese. “We met at one of the funerals. I'm Agent Ben Taylor. This is Agent Ellis Mahoney.”

Reese introduced the others at the table. Wade. The attorney, Mason Parker.

Ben Taylor frowned as his gaze moved from one to another. He was clearly displeased. “Gentlemen.”

“Please sit,” Reese said.

Taylor obviously didn't want to do that but he chose a chair at the end of the table where he could see everyone's faces. His partner sat next to him. Reese was at the other end, the attorney on his right side, and Robin had been placed on the attorney's right side. Wade was seated across from her.

Ben Taylor didn't waste any words. “We want to know the name of your source for the story.” He addressed her directly.

Mason Parker interrupted. “Is the FBI officially involved now? It's my understanding that it's not.”

“Ms. Stuart's story, if true, indicates official corruption as well as involvement by an organization that operates across state lines.” Taylor's voice was clipped, with none of the southern drawl Robin had heard earlier.

She felt heat rise in her cheeks at the “if true” in his statement. Mason Parker gave her the smallest shake of his head, as if warning her not to react.

Taylor's gaze didn't leave her. The intensity she'd felt in him before had reached storm level. Storm, heck. Hurricane force.

She started to answer when the attorney cut her off. “Until it's an official federal case, Ms. Stuart is protected by the Georgia shield law.”

Ben Taylor didn't move his eyes from her. “You want murderers to go free?”

“Her source wouldn't have spoken if he, or she, had not been assured of privacy,” Mason Parker interjected.

“The Georgia shield law isn't absolute, and there is no federal shield statute,” Taylor said. “Ms. Stuart just gave us reason to enter the case.”