Tempting the Devil (23 page)

Ben nodded.

“You stayed all night?”

“On the sofa.”

“You aren't getting involved?”

“Only as part of the case.” God might well smite him for that lie.

“No name yet?”

“No.”

“Can you get it without the subpoena? Ames really doesn't want to rile the press.”

“I don't think so. She thinks she's protecting the source.”

“She knows she could go to jail?”

“I told her it's a possibility. It's rather minor after what she went through last night.”

“Tell me in detail.”

Ben had reported in after Robin went to sleep, but it had been a fairly brief call. Now he gave Holland all the details, including the fact he was sending an artist over this morning.

“They actually threatened to charge her with drunk driving?”

“I think ‘implied' is a better word.”

“And you're sure they're not right.”

“There wasn't the slightest sign of alcohol. And the fear was very real.”

“She knows she can get protection if she cooperates?”

“She knows.”

“Damn it.”

“I think we should provide it now.”

“You know we can't. We can't justify it.”

“They went after her once,” Ben said. “Twice if you include the break-in. They used a lot of resources to do it. I don't think they'll give up now. It may be to our advantage to be there.”

“You mean use her as bait?”

“Something like that.”

“You want to let her in on it?”

“No.”

“Okay. It's your baby. But if this goes south …”

Ben kept his face emotionless. It was what he wanted. She would get her protection. “What about the subpoena?”

“Ames received approval from the Justice Department. He didn't much like it but I convinced him the public disliked the media now more than us. He's having it approved as we speak.” Holland met his gaze. “You wanna give it to her?”

“I'm the good cop on this one,” he said. “Anyway, shouldn't we go through her attorney?”

“More shock the other way. She might say something.”

“I don't think so. I've been trying. She doesn't frighten easily.”

“Okay. Go home and get some sleep,” Holland said.

“I won't argue with that. When will you have agents over there?”

“You said the paper has some guards there now.”

“Rent-a-cop. One of the better agencies, but still …”

Holland cast a wary glance his way. “I'll have a team start today, see if they can't find an empty house nearby to keep an eye on her house.” He paused, then said, “I don't want this to go bad. Jailing a reporter is bad publicity. A dead one is worse.”

“I realize that.” He certainly didn't intend on that happening.

Holland speared him with his gaze. “Don't get personally involved, Taylor.”

“I never get personally involved. You know how I feel about reporters.”

“Just keep feeling that way.”

Ben turned and left.

Damn it. Just what had Holland noticed?

chapter sixteen

The phone rang as Robin hobbled into the bathroom for as good a wash as she could manage with the bandages.

Ben
. Maybe. She hurried as fast as she could to the bedroom phone, plopped down on the bed, and stared at it as it continued to ring.

It
could
be Ben, and that possibility tightened her stomach. Then again it could be her anonymous caller. Or Sandy.

She grabbed the receiver.

“Hi,” came a lazy voice.

She recognized it immediately.

“Michael?”

“Mike,” the voice corrected. “Thought I would try again for dinner. Hope you don't mind.”

Michael from the pub. A date. Normalcy.

Some time away from thoughts of Ben Taylor. How much of the attraction between them was real? How much was his job? How much came from adrenaline and danger? How much just plain sexual attraction?

She still didn't know why, of all the people she knew, she'd chosen him to call after the wreck. He'd been the first person who came to mind. The only one.

But now she was filled with doubts.

“Robin?”

The question jerked her back to the moment. How long had she been lost in thought?

“I'm sorry. This has been a rather strange night and day.”

“Bad time? I can call back some other time.”

“No,” she said. “When?”

“Tonight?”

If he came, Ben Taylor wouldn't. Then again maybe he wouldn't come anyway, and, heaven help her, she needed time to get her senses under control.

But she knew today was not the time. She had a meeting with Wade, a session with a FBI sketch artist. Her head hurt, her chest ached, and all she wanted was to go to bed and pull up the covers around her.

“I had an accident last night, and I'm pretty stiff. I'm supposed to stay home tonight.”

“An accident? Was it bad?”

She liked the warm concern in his voice. “Bruised ribs. Some cuts.”

“What happened?”

She didn't want to go into the story now. “I'll tell you when I see you.”

“Tomorrow?” he persisted.

“Yes,” she said, “unless something happens on the story.” She had no intention of obeying the doctor's orders to rest.

“Tomorrow it is,” he said, though she thought she heard disappointment in his voice. “I'll call you for a time. Anyplace special you would like to go?”

“Depends on my ribs.”

He hung up and she wondered what she'd just done. Made a date with a normal guy. An accountant. Her mother would have been ecstatic.

Or maybe it was simply to show Ben Taylor that someone was interested in her. Someone who had no agenda.

The phone rang again.

“Robin?” Unlike Michael's voice, Ben Taylor's was clipped. None of the warmth from last night.

“None other,” she said flippantly.

“How are you?”

“Alive.”

“Above and beyond that?”

“Still sore. Thanks for making the coffee.”

Silence, then, “The sketch artist will be there at noon. Okay?”

Her day was rapidly filling. And she still hadn't called her insurance agency about the car. She had no transportation. If she needed anything …

“Okay,” she agreed.

“His name is Allen Cruise. Make him show his credentials before you open the door.” The phone went dead.

Her heart sank. His voice had been cool. Reserved.

So much for any wild fantasy.

She went back into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and winced as she surveyed the ruins from yesterday. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Bruises covered her body and were particularly colorful across her chest. Her skin was punctuated by bandages. Every step jarred something inside.

She washed her face, sponged the rest of her body, and pulled on a T-shirt and altered pair of jeans. She added some lipstick and a bit of makeup to conceal some of the bruises. Just as she finished, the phone rang yet again.

Damn
. She should have brought it into the bathroom with her. She limped as quickly as she could back to the phone.

“You got out,” a voice said. “Maybe your sisters won't be so lucky.”

She froze as she recognized the voice. She would never forget it.

I'll see you again, sweetheart
.

“Think about it,” the voice continued. “We want the name before the cops. Think about your family. I will be calling back. You'd better have an answer.”

Before she could respond, the phone went dead.

She stood stunned. Terror, stark and vivid, swept through her. She could deal with fear for herself far better than for her sisters.

What to do
?

Call Lark and Star?

Lark's hearing for custody was pending
.

She looked down at the phone clutched in her hand. It was shaking. Ben Taylor had left his phone numbers on her night table. She dialed his cell number.

He answered on the second ring. “Taylor.”

“It's Robin.” Even she heard the panic in her voice.

“Robin? Something wrong?”

“I had another phone call. He threatened my sisters.”

A mumbled curse came across the line, then, “What was said?”

She told him the exact words.

“Would you agree to a tap on your phone?”

She paused. What if Sandy called? But since the story had come out he always used her cell phone.

“I'm … not sure.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can,” he said.

She wanted him there more than she thought possible. Much more than she should.

She broke the connection and called Lark.

In short sentences, Robin explained what had happened and that in any event she may not be able to make the deposition.

Lark's silence was painful.

“I want you to be aware. Careful.”

“The kids? They wouldn't go after the kids?”

“I don't know. I'm talking to the FBI later. I'll call you after I talk to them.”

“Give that caller the name of your source,” Lark said, and Robin heard the panic in her voice.

“I can't.”

“Who's more important? Someone involved with corruption or your own flesh and blood?”

The words were like a lance through her heart. Her niece, Kim, was seven and a beautiful little towhead. Kim's brother, Hunter, was a precocious five-year-old. Robin loved them both dearly.

“I'll call you back tonight,” she told Lark.

Her conversation with Star was as excruciating. Star had taken care of her in between hospital stays. It had been painful for both of them, Robin being so helpless, and Star in the unexpected role of caretaker. Robin owed her more than she could say. Now Star was expecting her first child, and Robin had unwittingly dragged her into danger.

“I know you, Robin,” Star said. “I know how important your word is. But now we're involved. It's no longer just you. Or your job. You should go to the FBI.”

“If I do, the bad guys might go after you.”

“And if you don't, they may, anyway. I would prefer the FBI on my side rather than homicidal maniacs.”

If she did reveal her source to the feds, then someone else's family might die. Heartsick, Robin said good-bye and dropped the receiver. Daisy jumped up next to her and meowed softly.

Robin held the cat for a moment and scratched her ear.

Her doorbell pealed.

She gently dislodged Daisy and headed for the door. She looked out the glass storm door she was keeping locked these days.

Wade stood there, holding a bag and a laptop.

She opened the door and he stared at her.

“Christ,” he said, his eyes roaming over her with concern.

“It's not that bad,” she protested.

“You look like you belong in the hospital.”

“Not in Meredith County.” She stood aside for him to enter. She led the way to the kitchen. “Coffee is in the pot. Cups are in the cupboard above it.”

In seconds he placed two cups on the table and opened a bag full of donuts. “There's a bit of everything in there.”

She wasn't hungry. “Something just happened.”

His hand stilled. “What?”

She told him about the telephone call.

“My God,” he said.

“I've called Ben Taylor. He's coming over. I'm not sure what to do. Maybe they're bluffing.”

“How would anyone know about your sisters?”

“My address book. After the break-in two nights ago, I found it out of its usual place. Ben said they might have photographed the pages.”

“Ben?” Wade's eyebrows raised.

She felt her cheeks warm. Probably turned red as a beet.

“Ben Taylor. The FBI agent who helped me after the break-in. He … stayed here most of the night last night after the attack.”

Wade's brows knitted together and he hesitated for a moment, then said, “Keep in mind he's the opposition right now.” He paused. “Unless you want to change your mind now. No one would blame you if you gave the FBI the name.”

“Now the bad guys have threatened my sisters if I give it to anyone but them. They want the name. I don't think they'll stop at anything to get it.”

“I'm sorry, Robin. I didn't see this coming.”

“Neither did I.”

“Mason Parker has been in contact with the U.S. attorney's office. He's been told to expect you to be subpoenaed.”

She looked down at the coffee.

“Robin?” Wade's voice brought her back to the present.

“I don't know what to do.”

He opened his laptop and put it on the table. “Let's start with what happened last night. Tell me everything.”

She recounted every moment. Up until she arrived home. She was a reporter, had trained herself to remember details. The color of the SUV, the shape of the attacker's face, the voice. Every word. Then the deputies at the hospital.

His fingers moved rapidly over the keys. His expression grew increasingly grim as she spoke.

When she finished, he shook his head. “I never thought it would go this far.”

“Neither did I,” she agreed.

“You and Greene take time writing the story tomorrow. I want it right. No need to do it today. It has to go through Mason first, anyway, and he's out of town this weekend.”

She nodded.

“We'll keep the protection. Everywhere you go.”

“My sisters?”

“I don't think the paper will do that. I'll try.”

She looked at her hand. It was trembling. She'd accepted the danger last night. For herself. Not for anyone else.

Now she was caught between loyalties. To Sandy, to her sisters, and, to a lesser degree, to her story.

“You don't need to keep the story,” Wade said. “God knows you've done a great job. No one would fault you if someone took it over. Take time off. Go somewhere with your sisters.”