Tempting the Devil (34 page)

Ben stared at him for a moment. And Robin's words came flooding back about him being there whenever anything had happened. “Has Robin learned anything …?”

Carlton's silence said it all.

So that was why she'd suddenly shut him out. He tried to put himself in her place. So much had happened in a period of a few days. She'd almost been killed, her family threatened, her neighbor burned out. Trust must be running pretty thin. Still, the lack of it hurt more than he thought possible.

The ice man was no longer that.

Carlton was still watching him, seeking his own truth.

Was he sure the FBI wasn't penetrated
?

No, he wasn't. It had been penetrated before. And close to home. His home.

He knew how destructive distrust was. Knew it only too well.

For all the friends Robin had, he knew that right now she must feel like the loneliest person on earth.

chapter twenty-four

Despite her exhaustion, Robin hadn't thought she could sleep.

She'd suffered that kind of wakefulness before. When she was just too tired to sleep. Too many questions in her head.

But the moment she laid her head on the pillow, she knew nothing else until light streamed through the cheap curtains.

It took her a moment to remember where she was. Then it all came flooding back in terrifying detail. The fires. The threats. The grand jury hearing.

Most of all she saw Ben Taylor in her mind. He would be angry. Puzzled. Frustrated.

Because he'd lost her.

She went to the window and searched around the parking lot. Nothing looked suspicious. In fact, it was mostly empty now that it was daylight. She took a quick shower, then pulled on a pair of jeans and the shell she'd worn yesterday.

It felt good walking without the brace. The exercises she'd done religiously had made her left knee as flexible as the right one, but it didn't yet have the strength. Or perhaps it was her caution.

She longed for coffee, but there was no little coffeemaker in the room. Probably wouldn't be any in the so-called lobby, either. In any event, she didn't want anyone to remember her face.

She looked at the photos again, praying that she was right, that the answer to her questions lay somewhere in them. Sandy had said Brunswick. Would the boat still be there? Could she find the registration or had it been registered someplace else?

If
it was in Brunswick.
If
she was lucky.

She looked out the motel window again before opening the door. Still nothing. Clutching her purse and duffle, she left. She would get some coffee and breakfast somewhere, then head for Savannah. She was certain she could purchase a weapon there. Then she would drive to Brunswick. Anyone who owned a boat like that would probably be a member of a yacht club, or at the very least be moored at one of the marinas.

That first. Then she would start looking for ownership records of the condos on the beach. Sooner or later, she would find a common denominator.

The question was how long she could search without being noticed and becoming the hunted rather than the hunter. Again.

She reached Savannah at midmorning.

First order of business was a weapon. She found a gun shop, showed her permit, and paid for the pistol in cash. She spent another hour at a shooting range, recapturing long-ago skills her father had drilled into her.

She found a discount store and purchased some underwear and a few other items she needed. She also purchased a prepaid credit card for a thousand dollars. No name necessary.

She desperately missed her laptop, but she hadn't figured out a way to put that in her purse and she couldn't afford a new one. Instead, she stopped at a Kinko's in Savannah, and used one of their computers to log on to the Internet, then she linked to the city of Brunswick.

In minutes she had a list of fourteen marinas in the Brunswick area. What she didn't know was whether the boat was docked in Brunswick permanently or merely sailed there for the various outings. But it would have had to be docked there at least temporarily.

She wished she had a name for the boat. But it could be easily changed in any event. It was the registration number that might lead to the owner.

She used a public telephone to call her attorney friend in California. He'd heard from Star's husband, who reported they were all safe. They didn't say where, but it didn't matter. It was enough that they had evidently gotten away.

Then she checked her voice mail service, since she'd turned off her cell phone when she left Atlanta. She didn't know if someone could trace cell phone signals even when she wasn't making a call. She made a mental note to propose doing a story for the paper on the traceability of cell phones when her life returned to normal.
If
she still had a job.

There were ten calls, including two from Ben Taylor, three from her editor, and others by various friends indicating concern. She wished she could call them all back, but she couldn't risk it. Wade would ask too many questions and probably tell her to return.

And Ben …

She thought how safe she'd felt in his arms, in his presence after the attack in Meredith County. Could it have been fool's gold? Could she have been that wrong? Were her instincts that awry?

Forget it
! Even if he was gold of the purest kind, his superiors may not be. The result could be just as deadly.

The list of marinas in hand, she got back into her car and turned south.

Ben arrived at the office at eight the morning after Robin's disappearance. He'd tried to grab some sleep. There had been none the night of the fire, and precious little the night before that, and he knew he couldn't function any longer without some. He slept a little, but it had been restless sleep, and he woke early. He ran a mile, trying to clear his head. The only clue he had to Robin's whereabouts was that photo. A boat. Some men. He had no idea where it was docked or why it was important.

The fishermen in the photo. He thought one had seemed familiar last night but he hadn't been able to place it. When he returned to his apartment, he looked at it again. Now it tumbled into place. Ben had seen him at the press conference. He'd been standing at the side of the sheriff.

He had a place to start. Mahoney and several other agents were already doing extensive investigations on every deputy in the Meredith County Sheriff's office. They would have photos of them. He wanted to see if more officers were in that photo. Then he could learn where the boat was.

And he planned to do it fast.

He took a cold shower, the icy water thoroughly waking him as his mind raced ahead.

Once dried and dressed, he tried to call Robin again, but her cell phone was off. He didn't try to leave a number this time. It was his third call. He grabbed the photo and drove downtown to the office.

Mahoney was already there. “The U.S. attorney called. Wants to see you at his office.”

“He's in this early?”

“Apparently.”

“Me alone? Not us?”

Mahoney shrugged. “You've been the Lone Ranger lately. I don't think he's happy.”

“What about Holland?”

“Holland wants what Joseph Ames wants. And Ames is feeling the heat. He doesn't really want to send a reporter to jail. Bad press might hurt his chances on his climb to the top.”

“I'll call him later,” Ben said. “I have something that might help the case.” He pulled out the photograph. “I don't want Holland to know about this yet,” he said. “Not until we know if it pans out.”

Mahoney glanced at the photo, then looked puzzled.

“You've been going over the backgrounds of the deputies,” Ben said. “Do any of the men in this picture look familiar?”

Mahoney looked again and slowly nodded. He picked up a file on his desk which included photos and information on members of the sheriff's department. Twenty minutes later, they had matched all five of the men in Robin's photo to photos in the file.

Four were currently with the department. The fifth had been killed at a traffic stop seven months ago.

Ben seized on that information. “Did they catch the perp?”

“I checked on that. No. It's a cold case. The officer—Mark Boatright—he called in to report he was stopping a car. Gave a license number that later turned out to be stolen. There was nothing else.”

“Another death in Meredith law enforcement. Obviously not a good place to be a cop,” Ben said. “Was he married?”

“Yep.”

“I think someone should talk to the widow.”

Not just someone
. He damned well was going to do it. He wanted to know whether she remembered a fishing trip, and where it was.

“Do you have an address?”

Mahoney went back to work and came up with both an address and a phone number.

Ben debated calling or visiting. He decided a call would forewarn her. Surprise always trumped warning. If she wasn't there, they should be able to find out from neighbors where she worked.

“Let's go,” he said.

“What about Ames?”

Ben shrugged. “That can wait.”

“You know what you're doing?”

“I know we have a missing witness who might be running hellbent into trouble.”

Mahoney groaned. “My pension …” But he got up and followed Ben out the door.

Fifty minutes later, Ben drove up in front of a modest frame house. A bicycle leaned against the porch and a tricycle was nearby. The grass looked ragged and untended, but the house was newly painted.

He and Mahoney went together to the door. He took out his badge and held it in his hand, then rang the bell.

A dog barked inside, but no one answered.

He rang a few more times, then Mahoney went to the left and he to the nearest house on the right. Two homes down Ben found a woman home. She stood behind a locked door while he showed his badge, then she opened it.

“I'm Special Agent Ben Taylor. Mrs.…”

“Allen. Jean Allen.” She paused as she opened the door wider, inviting him in. “Wouldn't have been this cautious two weeks ago,” she said. “This was always a real peaceful place.”

“We're looking for Amy Boatright.”

“No. We're just following up on her husband's death. Do you know where she might be?”

“She works at the school cafeteria. I'm keeping her youngest now. She should be home at two.”

He looked at his watch. Almost eleven. He didn't want to wait until two. Every minute counted. Robin Stuart was out there on her own, probably thinking she was smarter than the perps. Always a big mistake. He'd disabused himself of that a long time ago. Despite the television programs, there were smart bad guys out there, and he'd discovered that whoever led Hydra was very smart indeed.

He didn't want to show the woman the photo. He didn't know where Robin had received it, and he couldn't be sure that her source wasn't in it. He sure didn't want to get someone killed because of carelessness. Instead, he planned to ask Amy Boatright details surrounding her husband's death, his moods prior to the attack and activities around that time. He wanted to throw in the fishing trip as an aside. Something unimportant.

His gut was telling him there were entirely too many accidents around the Meredith County sheriff's department.

He asked the neighbor a few more questions. How long had Boatright lived in this home? What had she thought of him?

The woman looked at him shrewdly. “Does this have anything to do with those murders?”

“I can't really say, ma'am.”

“I hope you find whoever did it. Mark was a good man. A real good man. Helped everyone. Took care of all the single women in the neighborhood. Fixed their plumbing. Repaired roofs. Mowed their lawns. His death broke Amy's heart. Sheriff's department gave her a good settlement, though. That was a godsend.”

“But she works at the school?”

“Mainly because she wants to keep near Mark Junior. MJ is the image of his father and I think she's terrified of losing him too.”

“What about her daughter?”

“Merry? Bright and sunny. A real joy to be around. Both are good kids.”

“A good marriage then?”

“I wish mine had been one-tenth as good. I wouldn't be keeping other people's children to support my own.”

“Was he from Meredith County?”

“Sure was. Grew up not far from here.”

“Ex-military?”

“Yeah. Think so. How did you know?”

“Lot of cops come from the military.”

She looked at him curiously.

“Thank you, Mrs. Allen.”

“I hope you find his killer, but general opinion is he's long gone from here.”

“General opinion could be right,” Ben acknowledged. “Thank you, ma'am.” Ben handed her his card. “If you think of anything that might help, call anytime. That's my cell number.”

Mrs. Allen walked to the door with him. As he reached it, he asked for directions to the school where Amy Boatright worked. She gave them to him.

He hesitated, then said, “I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this visit.”

She looked surprised but nodded her agreement. “Anything that will help catch the killer. It would ease Amy.”

Once in Brunswick, Robin rented a room in an inexpensive motel on the outskirts, this time paying with the recently purchased credit card. She tried not to take offense at the leering look of the proprietor.

Then another shopping expedition. She'd decided during the trip from Savannah to Brunswick that she couldn't just wander around asking questions without attracting attention.

But if she was a freelance writer researching a story on the Georgia coast, she would have reason to be snapping photos and asking questions, especially if she was researching a story for a yachting magazine.

She went to the local library and found a phone book from Chicago. She turned to the middle, to Murphy, found a phone number and address. Then she made a trip to a small printing company where she ordered business cards that should be ready in an hour.