Tempting the Devil (16 page)

It had been the fear. The invasion. Nothing else. It couldn't be.

Still, as she left a light on in the bathroom and living room, she wished he'd lingered.

chapter eleven

Robin jerked awake, startled by the ring of the telephone. She glanced at the clock. Three a.m. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart pounded.

The vet
?

One of her sisters
?

Sandy
?

She grabbed the receiver and heard a falsely gravelly voice invade her senses. “Bitch. Your reporting could get you hurt. Bad.” Then a dial tone.

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone as if it were a cobra. No one had ever called her a bitch before, at least not to her face, though she imagined some of the subjects of her stories might well have thought it. But it was the pure malevolence of the voice that terrified her.

They'd been meant to terrify her. She knew that.

They'd succeeded. Her whole body had tightened, and fear writhed in her stomach.

Don't let him succeed
. She took a deep breath, then checked the caller ID.
Unknown
. Probably a throwaway cell phone. Not surprising.

Knowing she wouldn't go back to sleep, she grabbed her robe at the end of the bed and struggled into the brace. Only a little over two more weeks now before she saw the doctor. There would be X-rays and hopefully she would leave the office limping but without the heavy brace.

Even that prospect didn't quiet her screaming nerves. She checked the doors, then peered out the window. Nothing unusual. She made some coffee and turned on the television in the living room. She needed the noise, the company. She especially needed Daisy cuddling against her.

And a weapon. For the first time, she was glad she'd applied for a gun license when she'd moved to Georgia even though she'd never intended to use it. Nevertheless, she was a stickler for the law, and she owned the thing.

She retreated to the bedroom where she'd taken the knife before going to sleep. She felt foolish carrying it with her, but it gave her just a smidgen of control back. It was better than nothing.

She considered calling the police, but the caller hadn't really threatened her. It had been the disembodied voice that was so frightening.

Damn it, but she wanted to call Ben Taylor. She wished for his acerbic presence. For those rare seconds of tenderness that had been so surprising. She'd felt safe with him. She glanced at the top of the table. His card was there. But the last thing she wanted to show was weakness.

She would tell him tomorrow about the call, just as she would tell the police, but she wouldn't let him see her panic tonight.

She fetched a cup of coffee and sipped it.
Work
. She needed to work.

She limped to her office and turned on the computer and wrote down the few words that had spewed from the phone, then recorded her feelings on another document. This time, though, she established a password for her files, one she knew no one could decipher except perhaps her sisters.

Her life had changed today. She hadn't realized how much until that phone call. For the first time in her life, she felt evil touch her. She shivered and pulled her robe closer around her.

God, what in the hell had he been thinking?

Simple fact: he hadn't been thinking at all. He'd just reacted to those damn blue eyes, and that intense physical awareness between them. Maybe it had been that transparent mixture of emotions in her: the concern over the cat, then the gentle humor during their encounter with Mrs. Jeffers and her Damien.

Or maybe it was too-long abstinence from female companionship. He hoped to God that was all it was.

Ben continued to berate himself as he watched Robin Stuart's house from down the street where he was parked, positioning the car so he could see the house but she was not likely to see him. She may not totally appreciate the fact, but he felt to the marrow of his bones that she was in danger.

Damn that kiss
. He sure as hell knew better. He could be taken off the case for that stupidity. And he didn't want to lose this case. He'd been waiting for it for years.

Kissing a witness. More than kissing. He'd nearly consumed her. What in the hell had got into him? He'd never done anything like that before. Not with someone involved in an investigation. And especially not with someone so determinedly headed for trouble.

He hadn't been able to stop his wife's headlong rush into disaster
.

All the pain resurfaced as Dani's face appeared in his thoughts. Unlike Robin's blue eyes and short honey brown hair, Dani's eyes were dark like his own, and she had long dark hair. Young. Eager. Intense. And, like Robin Stuart, consumed with ambition. Ambition that had killed the person Dani once was. Her soul, if not yet her body.

He couldn't do that again!

He would be taken off the case if Robin Stuart reported it. Hell, if he had any integrity, he would report it himself. But he didn't want off this case. If they closed down Hydra, he could make one hell of a dent in drug trafficking in the Southeast. Payback for Dani … something he could do for her he'd been unable to do as her husband.

And Robin Stuart? She had no idea of what could happen … what might well happen. He didn't want to leave her standing alone, but he doubted that his boss would provide the protection she needed. The FBI had manpower shortages; a burglary and uncooperative witness wouldn't qualify for its limited resources. Not yet. Probably not until it was too late.

He saw a light go on in a room, then another. A figure paused at a window. Then the shutters closed and all he saw was diffusion of light. He fought his instinct to go to the door. He suspected if he returned, he might not be able to leave again.

He took out a thermos, full of coffee he'd bought at a convenience store. The thermos was with him always. Then he settled back, thinking both of how he could get her to cooperate and how to ensure her safety. How could he convince her that one relied on the another?

He suspected that until tonight protection of a source had been a moral and intellectual decision on her part. He needed to take it to a more primal level.

And do it before she stumbled into depths she didn't comprehend.

The voice on the other end of the phone was cold. “I told you to find the name of her source and do it without her knowing. The place was crawling with cops tonight.”

“It must have been the damned cat.”

“What cat?”

“Goddamned cat jumped on my arm and clawed the hell out of me. I tossed it off and it ran. I tried to find it but it just disappeared. I couldn't hang around to try to find it.”

“What did you get?”

“I have photos of her address book and files from the hard drive from her computer. I also photographed some notes about Hydra.”

A silence. Then, “Didn't I tell you never to use that name over the phone?”

“It's safe. I have a disposable phone.”

“I don't care what you have. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Leave the film at the usual place. There'll be a sum of money there. Take it and leave town.”

“But …”

“I don't tolerate clumsiness. I told you what I wanted. I wanted discreet. You were not discreet. If I hear you're still around, or that you said anything to anyone, you're a dead man.”

The phone went dead and the man, still holding the receiver, swore long and hard. He had a girl here. A house. He didn't want to leave. He thought about trying to go underground in the city, then changed his mind. He knew only too well what happened to people who irritated the Hydra.

He would get the hell out of town.

Robin called in the next morning, said she would be late and told Wade about the break-in.

He paused, then asked: “What do the police think?”

“At first, I think they thought it was my imagination since nothing seemed to be stolen. Daisy apparently injured herself. But then Ben Taylor—”

“Taylor? The FBI agent who was here yesterday?”

“Yep, that one.”

“How in the hell was he involved?”

“He came to my house. He said he wanted me to know about Hydra, and what we were dealing with.”

“Officially or unofficially?”

“Unofficially.”

She heard him muttering under his breath.

“It's okay,” she said. “He was there when I found Daisy, and he called the police. They wouldn't have paid any attention if I had called.”

“He was told to go through our attorney,” Wade said.

“He didn't ask any questions. He was there when I found Daisy injured and he took me to the vet, then called the police.” She hoped that none of her other, more personal, reactions reflected in her voice.

Silence. “Did he ask you for your source?”

“He implied it would be safer for the source, and for me, if the FBI had it.”

“What do you think?”

“He's probably right,” she said. “But he also admitted that a recent witness and his family were killed. That's what my source fears.” She paused, then added, “There's something else. I received a call in the middle of the night. It was … threatening.”

“What was said?”

She repeated the words. She'd memorized them.

“The voice?”

“Metallic. Like someone on a television show that uses a gadget to mask the voice.”

“Have you told the police?”

“Not yet. I called you first.”

“Call them. Call that agent. I think you should have protection.”

“I don't think they will give it unless I become a witness. Besides, it might have simply been a crank call. Someone offended by the story.”

“We'll talk about it when you come in. Do you think you can make it by two?”

“Yes. Probably by noon.”

“Take your time. Call the police, the FBI. Get a security system, for God's sake. We'll pay for it.”

That jolted her. The paper was notoriously tight-fisted. “I will.”

“We can send a car for you.”

“Thanks, but no need.”

“Anytime you want off the story …”

“I don't,” she replied and hung up.

She went into the bathroom and took a shower on crutches, then stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a messy tangle of curls. She brushed it, and slipped on a casual pair of slacks and cotton shirt. That accomplished, she called the veterinarian. Daisy was ready to return home. No apparent permanent injuries and they would be happy to see her go home. She had become a demon.

Robin reluctantly pulled on the brace, made a pot of coffee, poured some into a travel mug, and loaded the cat caddy into the car. She looked up and down the street with eyes even more aware than in the past. It was seven thirty.

As she searched the street, she saw a vehicle she recognized from last night. A dark gray sedan. A man got out and leaned against it. Ben Taylor.
Has he been there all night
?

He was wearing the same shirt and slacks, and he needed a shave. His hair looked as if it had been combed by fingers.

She walked over to him. “Been here all night?”

“Pretty much. I thought I would be gone before you got up. I saw the light on all night.”

“Are you here officially?”

“Not exactly.”

Warmth flowed through her. He'd cared enough to stay all night. She only wished she'd noticed the car last night. She might have slept.

Or not.

“Want some coffee?”

“I'd sell my soul for some.”

“I don't think I'll ask that price. Not now.”

“Have you heard anything about Daisy?”

Not “the cat.”
Daisy
. He earned a few more points. He already had too many points for her peace of mind. His actions were not entirely altruistic. She had to remember that.

“She's good. You can have a cup, then I have to pick her up.”

He followed her inside. She poured coffee into a cup and handed it to him. “I got a call last night,” she said. “Around three.”

He stilled.

“The voice was disguised and the comment brief.” She repeated the message.

“Nothing more?”

“No.”

He frowned. “You should have called the police. Or me.”

“I was going to call later today.”

“You checked caller ID?” Not a question. An assumption.

“Unknown,” she said. “But why?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Intimidation, perhaps. They might well come after you, particularly if they didn't find what they needed.”

“They didn't.”

“You say that with such assurance,” he said dryly.

She clamped her lips together. He was baiting her. Still, he fascinated her. With the overnight beard, he looked more like a bandit than a lawman. Masculinity exuded from him. She met his flinty gaze directly, and shafts of electricity coursed through her. She silently cursed them. She needed her wits about her, not to fall victim again to that magnetism.

She tried to ignore it. “Can you get the number from phone records?”

“Yes, but won't do any good if he used a throwaway phone. Phone records would show you've received a call, but I would guess the other number is no longer in existence. I'll check it, though. Could be just an unhappy deputy or even a crank.”

“But you don't think so?”

His eyes gentled. “I don't know.” His fingers brushed back a lock of her hair. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“No. And I have to call the police, get Daisy, then go in to the office.”

“Are you going to write about the break-in?”

“I don't know.”

“Don't say anything about Daisy.”

“Why?”

“Just don't.”

“Why?” she insisted.

“Hydra's good at finding weak points and utilizing them.”

“You're trying to frighten me again.”