Tempting the Devil (22 page)

“Family?”

“None.”

“Siblings? Cousins?”

“No,” he said shortly.

Her hand caught his. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Good for self-reliance.”

Daisy meowed and Robin reached over and buried her hand in the thick fur.

“Get more sleep,” he repeated, changing the subject. “I'll have a sketch artist here in the morning. Have you remembered any more?”

“Just how intimidating those dark glasses were. Like the ones bad cops wear in movies.” She cut her eyes toward him. “They're very effective.”

“Maybe I'll have to try them.”

“I don't think they would flatter you.” The sparkle was coming back into her eyes.

“You think they were cops?” he asked.

“Not like the ones I know in the sheriff's department. There was a … professional hardness about him. A northern accent.”

“You didn't mention that before,” he said.

“I didn't think of it until now …”

“Anything else?” he asked tightly.

“No. I don't think so.”

“Keep picturing every moment in your mind. Sometimes it's startling what you will remember.”

She was silent, her face a study in concentration. Empathy swept through him as he surveyed the bruises on her face and body. He realized from her comments on their drive from the hospital that it wasn't the story that compelled her to keep her source's name from him, but her feeling of right and wrong and the need to keep her source safe. Even at her own expense.

The question was how long that determination would last, given the legal pressure from his side and the more violent pressure from the bad guys.

“He really intended to kill me.” Her voice cracked slightly as the words blurted out. “I saw it in his face.”

She shivered again, and he took her hand, rubbed it with his own. He had no right to touch her, didn't want the right. God, he'd already gotten more involved than he ever intended. He just hadn't been able to force himself to leave last night.

He tried to tell himself it was all to gain her trust, but that was a crock, and he knew it. The kisses they'd shared had knocked him for a loop. The call earlier tonight had jolted him. He'd broken every speed limit to reach the hospital, and one look at her made his knees buckle with gratitude that she was still alive.

“Give up the story,” he said.

“I can't. I've worked too hard for it. It's mine.”

“Is it important enough to die for?”

Her face paled slightly but her jaw jutted out. “I'll be more careful now.”

“I don't think you know the meaning of the word ‘careful,'” he said. He hesitated, then added, “You're not doing your source any favor. They're going to find him.”

“It won't come from me.”

He thought about telling her about the conversation he'd had with his boss after she'd gone to sleep. He'd asked for protection. Private cops were okay in some instances, but most didn't have the level of expertise of trained agents.

He'd been turned down flat unless she agreed to cooperate. He also learned that she would be subpoenaed to appear before a grand jury Tuesday, the day after tomorrow.

He decided to change tactics. “Did many people know your cell phone number?”

“No.”

“Did your source?”

“Yes.”

“He could have sent the text message, then?”

“I think it was. It sounded like him.”

“Could he have set you up?”

“No,” she said vehemently.

He thought about other possibilities. The privacy of cell phones wasn't that great. An expert hacker could probably find it. The sophistication of the attack worried him.

“Think about it. Who else would have it? How do you get in touch with him?”

“I don't.”

“If there's an urgent need for you to contact him?”

She shook her head.

“Is there any way he can be connected to you? Were you friends?”

Something flickered in her eyes. “More like acquaintances.”

He hesitated, then said, “I had someone here checking on bugs. There was one in your telephone in your office, another in the living room.”

“None on this extension?”

“No.”

He saw her face screw up in thought, trying to remember every call she'd made.

“Any to worry about?” he asked.

“I don't think so. Are they still there?”

“No.”

“Then they'll know we—you—found them.”

He nodded.

“You thought they might be watching the house?”

“Not now. Not with so much interest in it. Those two guys in front are good. There's another car that keeps circling the area, looking for anything that looks out of place.”

“So I don't need you.”

“Probably not,” he said wryly. The comment didn't do much for his ego.

“You must have better things to do than nursemaid me.”

“I can't think of one. But the bugs mean the bad guys are definitely serious about you, though I would have expected a higher degree of competence.” He paused, then added, “You shouldn't go to Meredith County again. Not without someone with you.”

“Do you think everyone will believe me, that I was run off the road?”

“I do.” He paused, then asked, “Did they take a blood sample?”

“Yes.”

“You agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Don't be surprised if it's positive.”

“You think they might tamper with it?”

“It's possible. It's to their benefit to discredit you. You inferred the sheriff's department might be involved in murders. I don't think many deputies were happy with that.”

“I shouldn't have given them permission for a blood test,” she said dejectedly.

“Then they could imply that failure to take it meant you were guilty.”

“So it didn't make any difference if I had or not. They could get me either way. That makes me feel a little better. Maybe.”

He grinned inwardly. Those little spurts of wry humor always surprised him. “That's supposition at this point. I just want you to be prepared.”

“That would mean the whole department is involved.”

“Maybe not in the murders. Maybe salvaging its reputation. I've been doing some research on the department. There's lots of rumors.”

“The JP—the justice of the peace—said it was a ‘closed' shop. You either had to be a friend of the sheriff's or the son of a deputy or a longtime resident.”

“The name of the JP?”

“Godwin. He's about ninety years old and a gossip, but there's always a grain of truth in what he says.”

“He's not …”

“No. He's not my source.” She moved and gave him a wry smile. “You never stop trying.”

“I don't want you dead. Or in jail.”

She looked up at him. Her blue eyes were shadowed. “The attorney at my paper said jail was a possibility … but it rarely happens. Do you really think …”

“Decisions like that are above my pay scale. They're made by the U.S. attorney for this district.”

“Do you think they should try to force me to reveal my source?” she asked intently.

God, her eyes were blue. The exact shade was difficult to describe. Somewhere between sapphire and the sky at dusk.

“Ben?”

He wasn't going to lie. “Yeah, I do.” He told her about the conversation he'd had with his boss. “We have to know what you know. It's not just your source, Robin, it's hundreds of kids that could be hooked by the drugs peddled by the organization.”

“I'm trying to help bring it to an end. You wouldn't have what little you have without my source.”

“It's not enough.”

“It has to be.”

Ben had already said more than he should. He could be putting the case in jeopardy. “Think long and hard about what you'll tell the grand jury. Judge Davenport is not known to be sympathetic with the press.”

“I have to go to South Carolina that day to make a deposition for my sister.”

“I would suggest you postpone it.”

“I can't. It has to do with the custody of her kids.”

He didn't say anything, but the silence spoke for him. He'd started the ball rolling on the subpoena. If he had the guts he would tell her that. But it was out of his hands now, and into those of the U.S. attorney. It was his job to keep her alive so she could testify. Maybe he hadn't been told that specifically, but now, by God, it was what he intended to do.

She closed her eyes. He wanted to fold her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right.

But it would be a lie. Nothing was all right. As long as she clung to the name of her source, he was her adversary. And the undeniable magnetism between them made that fact more painful.

He touched her shoulder, ran his arm down it, stopping at one of the bandages. Lust and tenderness cascaded through him, clashing against each other.

Hell, he had to get out of here.

He stood, then watched as she lay back down.

“Good night, Agent Taylor.”

He was gone when Robin woke later in the morning to the ringing of her phone. It frightened her for a moment, remembering the earlier call that woke her. She cautiously sat up and answered it.

But it was Wade's voice. “Robin?”

“Yes.”

“How are you?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I'm alive.”

“Up to a visitor or two?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ten okay?”

She looked at the clock. It was eight. Long past her usual wake-up time.

“That's fine.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”

“I'll bring something.”

He hung up before she could protest.

She put her good leg on the floor and reached for the crutches. She wasn't sure she wanted to use the brace today. She longed for a hot bath to soothe the bruises, but she had too many bandages for that. Plus she was unsure she could ease herself into and out of a bath.

Where was Ben Taylor?

She went into the living room. A blanket was neatly stacked at the end of the sofa. Otherwise it was empty. She knew the guest room upstairs was, as well.

She went to the window. Ben's car was gone. Another car, much like the one parked in front of her house last night, was there. She went into the kitchen for coffee.

The pot was hot, and a clean cup had been placed next to it.

A note rested on the other side.

Robin …

Had to go into the office. I didn't want to wake you. I'll call later
.

It was a very unsatisfactory note, and obviously hastily scrawled. Well, what did she expect? He had already gone far and beyond the call of duty.

Or had he?

Had she been his duty? She poured coffee and sat down at the table. Her ribs hurt even more today than last night. Every breath she took was painful. She gave the rest of her body a cursory look. She resembled a mummy more than a living person.

She took a sip of coffee. It was a small thing, his preparing the coffee, but a big one for her at the moment when it hurt to move. She flinched at the idea of getting dressed, or even going outside to get the morning paper.

Several lights were on, and she knew he'd purposely left them that way. Still, the house that had always been full for her was suddenly very empty.

She went over everything that had happened since the press conference. Her mind wasn't quite as fogged. A sketch artist. Ben said a sketch artist would be over. She concentrated on the face from last night. Knew she would never forget it.

Her car. She had to call the insurance company and get a rental. A driver's license. Replacement credit cards.

She hadn't thought she would be called before a grand jury as soon as Ben indicated. She'd thought she would have more time to convince Sandy …

She tried to remember everything she'd said to Ben Taylor during the last days. Anything that could be used against her in a grand jury room? She wondered whether she'd been wrong in trusting him so quickly.

She didn't even know how it happened, how in just a few days he'd wormed himself into her confidence. Nor why she'd called him last night when she could have called someone else.

She'd needed that sense of confidence in a world that was spinning out of control, where she didn't know whether she was right, or whether in trying to protect Sandy she was condemning him.

She still hurt, and she desperately wanted another pain pill, but she'd learned in the hospital how dangerous they could become. When it got to the point that she couldn't wait for another operation to feel the euphoria of morphine, she went without.

Darned if she was going to give in to it now. She had to think straight.

She especially had to think straight when she thought about Ben Taylor.

“Sorry, Ben, I shouldn't have lost her.”

Ben stood at the door. They'd both been called in to meet with the agent in charge despite the fact it was Sunday. It was the reason he'd had to leave before Robin Stuart woke.

“You had no reason to think she might try to lose you.”

“An amateur,” Mahoney exclaimed with disgust. “An amateur got away from me. It's humiliating.”

“Now that you put it that way—”

Mahoney threw a crumpled piece of paper at him. “Holland wanted to see us as soon as you got in.” He looked Ben over. “You look like hell.”

“That's what happens when you're forty and don't get any sleep. Let's go.”

He already had his tactics planned. He hadn't discussed his plan with Mahoney, who was none too happy with Robin Stuart at the moment.

Once in Holland's office, he told both what had happened the night before.

“She called you?” Holland said, raising one of his bushy eyebrows.