Tempting the Devil (28 page)

“Robin?”

“Just do it. Please,” she added, realizing how she'd sounded.

Then she called Star's husband at work. She doubted that phone would be tapped. Jeff had been a police officer, then a private investigator while working on his law degree. She told him to take Lark's family and Star somewhere safe.

“The baby is due in two weeks,” he protested.

“I hope you can come back in a few days, but if not you're going to have to find a new obstetrician.”

“I can't just up and leave.”

“You have to,” she said. “I can't tell you how vicious and dangerous they are.”

“The FBI?”

“My source says they might have some agents involved.”

A loud groan came over the phone.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “If I'd known …”

“I'm a one-man law office. I can't afford to leave.”

“Then send my sisters away. They both have a lot of friends. Just be careful of the communication between you.”

“If anything happens to Star or the baby …”

He didn't have to finish the sentence. She was already sick to her stomach with fear for them all.

“What about you?” he asked. “Star will want to know.”

“I've been ordered to testify tomorrow.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I can't give them a name. Not when I know there might be a leak in the FBI.”

“Hell, he should have the guts to go himself. He started this.” The phone slammed down on the other end.

Robin pressed the “end” button, feeling more desolate and alone than ever. Her choices could destroy her family. Her word meant little to them. It meant everything to her.

But even if she was willing to give up the name to the FBI, she feared the bad guys would still go after her sisters.

Lark called then, and Robin told her to contact Star's husband. She should leave for a few days.

“The depositions!” Lark wailed.

“Get a postponement. I'll help with any legal expenses.” Robin paused. “I'm so sorry, Lark. But even if I went to the FBI now you wouldn't be safer. I'll tell you about it later.”

Her heart ached as she ended the call. Her life was one thing. But she'd had no right to bring harm to her sisters and their families. It was up to her to try to right things.

She forced herself to return to the bedroom and dress, reluctantly lacing the brace. She went to her guards outside and asked one of them to take her to get a driver's license. With her luck—and decisions—lately, she would be stopped by the police on the way to getting the license.

Two hours later, she emerged with the driver's license and asked her bodyguards to take her to the office. She would get a ride home. Going in to the office, she stiffened her shoulders. She sensed the next few hours were going to be nearly as bad as those this morning.

Ben sat in on the newly organized task force meeting. He and Mahoney had been supplemented by four additional agents. Two members of the Drug Enforcement Agency had joined them.

“The subpoena was served on Ms. Stuart's attorney this morning,” Ron Holland said. “It requires her presence tomorrow.”

“Fast work,” Mahoney said, glancing at Ben.

“Time is of the essence. The current grand jury session ends in a week. There won't be a new one until next month.” Holland looked at Ben. “What will she do?”

“I don't think she'll give you what you want,” he said.

“Not many reporters hold out when faced with jail.”

“I think she will,” he said. “Then we'll have to protect her in jail, along with her family outside.”

Holland glanced at him. “You haven't changed her mind?”

“I don't think anyone can change it.”

“Any other suggestions?”

He didn't have any. He could only hope he was wrong. He'd made a mistake last night, lashing out at her. But he'd been eaten alive by worry. He'd imagined any number of scenarios, all of them bad.

Robin's face had been lined with fatigue and pain when she'd finally appeared. He'd wanted to put his arms around her, but there was something in her eyes …

Something had happened, and she wasn't going to tell him about it.

The pain of that sudden and certain knowledge ran unexpectedly deep.

He had been a damn fool caring in any way but professional. He'd lost his wife to ambition. He wasn't about to let his heart get involved again.

Holland continued to blister him with his eyes. “I thought you might be getting through to her.”

“She thinks she's doing the right thing.”

“You said her family has been threatened. Any leverage there?”

“She doesn't respond well to leverage.”

“Assistance then.”

“Assistance might help.”

“Do what you can to help. Call the bureau offices in those cities.”

Ben nodded.

“You tell her. You can be the hero.”

“I'll try.” He wasn't going to say he didn't seem to be her hero last night. Not with the suspicion he'd thought he saw in her eyes.

“Also explain to her what jail means,” Holland continued.

“I imagine her attorney is doing that.”

Holland turned to the others. “Okay, what do we have on members of the sheriff's department? Deputies living beyond their means, et cetera?”

“We don't have much,” one of the other agents said. “We're halfway through the list. No big expenditures or change of lifestyles on any of them.”

“The sheriff appears clean?”

“Lives in the same farmhouse where he was born. Drives a five-year-old pickup. Kids going to county schools. Vacations are mostly hunting or fishing trips.”

“Keep trying. What about ownership of the property where the cops were killed?”

“The trail starts with the Somerville Corporation and ends in an offshore island. We've had Washington trying to hack into government files there. Also the banks. No luck.”

“Okay, keep working on the sheriff's department. Nothing on the murdered cops?”

“Nope,” said a woman who was with the DEA. “Same as the sheriff. Looks like they were just struggling to get by.”

“What about the deputy who was just killed?”

“Nothing again,” Mahoney said. “Recently divorced and lived in a small rental house. A few days late on two credit card payments. Certainly doesn't live beyond his means.”

“Check the divorce settlement and talk to the ex-wife,” Holland said.

“Ex-wife moved away, but I'll call her,” Mahoney answered.

Holland tapped his fingers on the desk. “So all we really have is one reporter and her informant.”

“One stubborn reporter,” Mahoney interjected.

Holland looked toward Ben. “Maybe faced with the subpoena she'll listen. Try again. She called you from the hospital. She obviously trusts you.”

She
had
. He would have sworn that. But early this morning he had more than a few doubts. Was it that explosive anger he'd displayed? Or something else? In any event, he doubted that the subpoena would help the trust level.

But Holland rarely changed his mind, and Ben wasn't about to voice the reasons he knew would separate him from this case. He'd learned last night how much he was beginning to care for her. He'd have to learn now to damn well control those feelings.

chapter twenty

The day passed rapidly once she arrived at the paper.

First the meeting with the attorney.

Together they forged a strategy for the next day. It was short. Asked to reveal her source, she would plead First Amendment rights. If the judge rejected it, then Mason would announce intent to appeal and ask for a stay of any contempt of court judgment.

Failing a favorable ruling, he would go directly to the Court of Appeals.

Neither of them were optimistic of the outcome. Recent decisions were not favorable.

After that demoralizing meeting, she and Bob Greene met to do the story on her attack.

“A bit late,” he said.

“Mason wanted to read it before it goes.”

“They really threatened you, those deputies?”

“A little more subtle than that.”

“Have you considered giving up the source?”

“Hah. Many times.” She looked at him. “What would you do?” she asked him.

“I would like to say I would do what you're doing,” he said. “But I'm not sure I would go to jail for someone who doesn't have the guts to come forward himself.”

“It's not that simple,” she said. “He didn't have to say anything at all. He's scared to death for his family.”

“It still isn't right to make you pay.”

They went back to the story. He did the actual writing, but she described the experience. It all came back in the telling. The face. The threat. Then the flames. The helplessness.

Bob called the sheriff's office about the attack and was told officially that the department had found nothing to indicate an attack. No witnesses. No physical evidence. The incident was being filed as an accident. Blood tests had been taken. Charges might be filed against Ms. Stuart.

After he'd finished the story, which included the official pronouncements, a number of
Observer
staffers asked that she join them at Charlie's for—in their gallows humor—a wake for her. Just in case she went to jail the next day.

She agreed. She needed to relax. More than she'd realized. Especially with people who understood.

It may be the last time she could do that for a while.

Some staffers had left the newsroom earlier; several others waited to go with her, and they walked together. Their intent was clearly support, and she needed it. When she arrived, she saw Jack Ross as well as some other former reporters who'd left the paper. Jack gave her an okay sign as an
Observer
reporter pulled out a chair for her with a flourish. “The seat of honor. The only
Observer
reporter ever to go to jail.”

“Lord, I hope not,” she said to laughter.

“You got guts,” the city hall reporter said. “Don't know if I would risk jail.”

“You would,” she assured him.

He didn't look convinced.

Then Michael walked in, greeted the reporters he knew, and was introduced to others. He took a seat on the fringes. “Bob told me about the party. Hope you don't mind.”

Robin suddenly realized she'd had a tentative date with Michael. He'd even left a message at the city desk and she had forgotten about it.

Filled with remorse, she shook her head. “I'm sorry, Michael. I should have called you. The day has been … crazy,” she paused, “but the flowers were lovely, and I needed them right then. Thanks.”

“Don't worry about it,” he said with a smile. “After hearing about the subpoena, I figured that you wouldn't have much time.”

“Thanks. I don't. I just came here for a few moments,” she said, trying to explain how she had time for a beer at Charlie's and not enough to call him.

“Just promise me a subpoena check,” he said. “Rather than a rain check.”

“You have it. Unless I'm in jail.”

“Anytime,” he said, and she thought again how easy he was to be with. Nothing like Ben Taylor.

Michael's eyes twinkled. He was all charm, and she had never trusted charm, but there was something impishly attractive about him that made her smile.

She needed a smile.

She mentally compared it to Ben's glower, then decided to enjoy the party. One glass of beer from the pitcher. No more. She had to keep her wits about her. So much to do tonight. So much to do tomorrow if she wasn't in jail.

She wanted to investigate the leads Sandy had given her, and she wanted to do it alone. She hadn't told Wade about the possibility that the FBI might be involved, nor had she told him about the boat. Then she would have to admit she'd met with Sandy, and she knew what he would think of that. She could lose her job for withholding the information.

She'd promised herself that if there was any hint that her family was in continuing danger she would tell both her editor and the federal authorities everything. But she hoped her silence would ensure the safety of her family, and herself. In the meantime she might be able to unravel pieces of the puzzle. But tonight … tonight she wanted to spend an hour or so with friends, with fellow journalists who understood what she was doing and why she was doing it. Despite what Bob said, she suspected most of those here would protect a source all the way.

She finished her one glass of beer, then announced she had to go.

Jack looked at her. “Do you need a ride?”

She shook her head. “I'll have Charlie call a cab.”

Michael stood. “I'd be happy to drive you home.”

She hesitated.

“I won't ask to stay.”

She nodded. It was just a ride. And she needed one. She really didn't want to call her bodyguards, who were watching her house. Better there to make sure no one got in again. And Michael was safe.

“Thanks.”

Ten minutes later they were on the road. He kept darting looks at her. “You would really go to jail?”

“If I have to.”

“It could be dangerous.”

“Right now, Meredith County is probably more dangerous.”

“You think they really meant to kill you?”

“Yes,” she said shortly.

His jaw set. “Bastards.”

“Apt description.”

“You shouldn't be alone.”

“I'm not. I have a couple of watchdogs, courtesy of the newspaper.”

“I would think the FBI would provide protection.”

“I haven't asked for it. I can't work smothered by agents.”

He took his eyes from the road long enough for a quick glance. There was respect in them, something that had eluded Ben Taylor.

Then his gaze returned to the street ahead as she gave him directions. The bodyguards were there waiting in the same car that had taken her to the office.