Tempting the Devil (41 page)

“I've been thinking more about Joseph Ames.”

“Why?”

“He wanted to see me the day I left. I left before having a chance to meet with him. And, too, because he changed his mind about asking for an immediate contempt of court order against you. Because they were afraid you
would
talk? Your caller said someone would know exactly what went on in that room. That would include only the judge, Ames, and the grand jurors. I was just in there for twenty minutes.”

She still had a difficult time believing Joseph Ames could be involved.

She studied his expression. She was learning to read him. “You don't really believe it?”

“There's so much scrutiny before you get that kind of appointment. That's a mark against it, but after the past week, I don't know what I believe. I do know that it's unusual for Ames to become so intimately involved in an investigation at this stage. And he stuck out his neck a mile on the subpoena. He wants to run for higher office. Jailing reporters is not a popular thing to do …”

She thought about the implications of what he was saying.
A U.S. attorney
. What a story—
if
it were true. A lot of ifs were involved. Then a knot settled in the center of her stomach. If true, how much further did it go? “That investigation you told me about in Brunswick,” she asked. “Who closed it down?”

“Joseph Ames,” Ben said flatly. “He said the trail had gone cold. No sense wasting more resources. I argued, but was then reassigned to a white-collar case.”

A chill ran through her. “So maybe the protection my source referred to wasn't the FBI after all. It was someone in a better position to control events,” she said.

“Maybe.”

Tell him about the source
.

She couldn't. Her training had been so strong, and Jack Ross's experience so searing, that reneging on her promise would be like tearing part of her soul out.

How could she make him understand that?

“Tell me more about the beach house,” he said.

“I don't know much about it. My source mentioned it. He was there two years ago. Once. He was far more impressed by the boat.”

“Do you have the address? Mahoney can check it out.”

“He didn't have the address. A van took them down, just as it did for the boat trips. Just once, though. But he described it and gave me directions.”

He looked skeptical.

“There have to be records of ownership,” she said hopefully.

“Unless like the murder site in Meredith County, it goes back to a corporation in the Seychelles Islands.”

She started. She hadn't known that. Bob Greene hadn't been able to trace the Somerville Group back that far. He'd only found a corporation and an attorney he couldn't reach.

“It's one of the most protective offshore banking venues there is,” Ben continued. “Someone can incorporate there with all local Seychelles stand-ins. All you need is a registered office and a Seychelles' resident to sign as subscriber for incorporation. Only one shareholder and one director are required for incorporation but nominee service is offered to maintain the owners' privacy. Every path in this maze leads to the Seychelles Islands. I think your boat and beach house probably do as well. The difference on a house is that someone has to pay taxes, utility bills, and more importantly have someone available in case of an emergency. There might be some clues there.”

“We're going to Fernandina Beach?”

“Yep. Unless you want to go home.”

She shook her head.

“It'll be dangerous,” he warned her. “They know now you are aware of the boat. They may or may not think you know about the house. If they do, it's probably been cleaned. If not, there might be people staying there. Dangerous people.” He let that soak in.

“I want to go. It's my story.”

“It's our lives,” he corrected. “And some justice for those cops. You have to promise to do what I tell you.”

She started to bristle, then relaxed. She
was
an amateur. He was the professional here. But she hated the professional tone, the lack of warmth, the implication that she was a burden.

He finished his meal. She started to reach into her purse to pay the bill but he was a second faster.

Then they were back in the car and heading south. Nearly eleven now and they had a long drive. She leaned back into the seat. She felt safe with him. More than safe. Warm. Tingly warm.

It wasn't enough. She wanted so much more.

She'd never ached inside like this before, or regretted more something that had been lost. She wanted to reach her hand out and put it over his. She had to be satisfied with closing her eyes and willing herself into falling into a shallow doze.

Ben stopped at a small town just north of Brunswick. They were both tired, and her directions to the beach house would require daylight. Better to get some sleep tonight and start out at dawn.

He had Carl's credit card, and he'd had damned little sleep the past four days. And Robin was curled up in the passenger's seat sleeping.

He stopped first at a convenience store, filled up with gas and bought a razor and shaving cream. He bought two T-shirts emblazoned with dolphins. One medium. One large.

When he returned to the car, Robin was still asleep. He drove to a motel and registered under Carl's name, then drove the car to the assigned unit.

She looked peaceful. And appealing. Too damned appealing.

One reason he'd hesitated to stop was the agony of sharing a room with her. But he damned well wasn't going to leave her alone. She'd probably steal his rental car and try to save the world on her own. Again.

He shook her, and she merely sighed. “Come on, sleepyhead,” he said. She protested without opening her eyes. He wondered when she'd last slept a night through. He reached down and picked her up, then carried her through the door. Her eyes fluttered open, then opened wide as he dumped her on the giant king-size bed.

He'd asked for two double beds. He should probably return to the office, but no, that would draw attention to them. He would take a chair. Wouldn't be the first time.

He took off her sandals. He debated doing more, then decided not to. Instead, he pulled the sheet and cover over her, his hand touching her cheek and lingering there for a few seconds. He eyed the chair. Then the very big bed of which Robin Stuart took up a very small part.

Exhaustion was crushing him.

He checked the locks, then took off his socks and shoes and lay down on top of the covers. Just for a few hours.

Robin woke up, her body curled against another.

She looked toward the window. It was still dark outside.

Drowsily she inventoried herself. No sandals, but she still wore the clothes she'd had on all day. Still, the warmth of Ben's body warmed hers in the air-conditioned room.

She didn't want to move. His warm breathing against her neck was an aphrodisiac that was irresistible. So was his body against hers.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark. She had apparently thrown off covers and gravitated toward him. That they both still wore clothes told her that he had carefully tried to preserve a wall between them.

But one of his arms had fallen across her back and she snuggled into him, her body aching for his.

She stayed that way, reveling in his nearness, when he pulled her to him. She wriggled her body around until she faced him and her cheek rubbed his.

“Hmmmmm,” he moaned softly, drowsily, as if not entirely awake.

She leaned over and kissed him, lazily at first, then his lips began to respond with increasing passion.

Robin regretted her clothes, and his. She wanted the friction of his skin against hers, the heat exchanged and absorbed. Most of all she wanted to feel him inside her, feel his strength and power and her own tumultuous reaction to him.

His mouth pressed down on hers. Sensations ignited in the core of her as his tongue seduced its way into her mouth. Her lips moved against his, responding with an intensity that seemed to spur his. His body tensed, and she felt him grow hard next to her. She touched his jeans, which were straining, and she unzipped them.

His eyes opened halfway, dark eyelashes partially covering them. A sexual electricity sparked between them as his hands made heated paths up and down her body, then they slid down her back to her buttocks and unzipped her slacks and pulled them down.

She unbuttoned her shirt and slipped off her bra, feeling wanton and sexy in a way she never had before. There was something so sensuous—even primeval—about him, about the way her body responded to his slightest touch.

She wasn't sure he was fully awake or even that he fully realized what was happening, the sudden explosive coming together. His eyes closed all the way, then with a heavy sigh his kiss deepened. She wasn't prepared, though, for the sudden, raw violence as his lips hardened against hers, and his arm pulled her so tight against him she felt every muscle of his body.

She wanted him. She wanted him with every fiber of her being. She wasn't sure what had happened in the past few days. She only knew that she wanted to satisfy the fiery craving throughout her body, one so fierce and needy that nothing else mattered but satisfying it.

A moan ripped from his throat as her body played with his, inviting him, seducing him in a way that astounded her. She'd never been the aggressor before, but she was very much that now.

Then he became an equal in lovemaking. His hand touched her hair with unexpected tenderness. It was only a moment but then she knew it wasn't only lust on his part but something gentler, sweeter. Still he hesitated just a moment. She arched her body. He moved over her, hesitating just a fraction of a second before entering her.

Her legs went around him, drawing him even closer to her, until he was so deep in her she felt he was touching her soul. She felt his tenseness, the struggle within him, then heard the curse, low and mumbled, as he started to move inside her, a rhythmic movement that brought whimpering sounds from deep in her throat.

The exquisite electricity ignited every nerve end and coursed through her body. She responded, moving her body in concert with his in a primitive, sensuous dance that sent ripples of heat racing through her bloodstream. He was so strong inside her, so full, so compellingly complete. His every movement aroused such incredible sensations, she felt like an eagle racing toward the stars. As his body moved with more and more urgency, she thought she could stand no more, that the ecstasy was too great to bear. Then one last thrust exploded in thousands of radiant streaks. Waves and waves of pleasure washed through her.

He slumped next to her, his hand fondling the triangle of hair just above her legs. Awash in rippling aftershocks of pleasure, she made a half turn, lying halfway across him, her head against his heart. She heard its beat, rush, hurried, as was his breathing.

She had never felt this way before, never experienced the splendor she did tonight, or the sense of belonging she felt with him. She reached out to touch his face, still rough with beard.

A groan started in the back of his throat and his eyes opened wide. His hands explored her as they had minutes ago, but this time with more tentativeness as if something had changed. She had changed.

Sex. Lust. Certainly that had been there, but she'd never felt anything so powerful, so wondrous. There had been a confluence of souls. Nothing else could account for the splendor, for the tenderness in his hands, in his almost wondering touch.

She'd never believed in love like this. She'd known him a week. Two? Real love was built from companionship. Similar likes. Similar values. Now for the first time she could understand how her mother, the gentle birdwatcher, and her father, the consummate warrior, got together. But their marriage had been unhappy.

Ben wrapped his arms around her, pulled her tight against him, and nothing mattered, only the beating of their hearts in concert. Not even the warning in the back of her mind that the heady sense of belonging—the contentment mixed with something close to rapture—waged war with the profound differences between them, that both of them might be stumbling down the path to disaster.

His hold on her loosened and he gently guided her over to her side. The first indication of dawn was filtering through the curtains, and she saw his eyes. Not curtained now. Not wary. Instead there was a tenderness she'd not seen before.

“It wasn't a mistake,” she said, anticipating him.

He ran a finger down her cheek and sighed. “Of course it was,” he said. “The time, the place …”

She put her finger to his mouth.

“Not now,” she said. “We'll think about it later.”

For now, for this instant, she was going to relish what she had.

To her surprise, his lips twisted into a wry grin. “That's a Scarlett O'Hara tactic.”

That startled her.

“I do read,” he said.

“
Gone with the Wind
?”

“Everything as a kid, even
Gone with the Wind
. One of my foster homes had a copy. I devoured anything around. Even
Alice in Wonderland
,” he added with a mischievous humor she'd not seen before. “Escape, I guess.”

“Foster homes?” He'd said he had no family. He'd not mentioned foster homes.

His face changed, as if he felt he'd said too much. Then he shrugged and touched her face. “You don't know anything about me, Robin. Nothing.”

“Because you don't want me to know, even about
Alice in Wonderland
.”

“Just not very interesting,” he said. “I was a throwaway baby. Never knew who my father was. My mother gave me up when I was two. Grew up in foster homes. I learned early not to want anything badly. I learned not to form attachments. I learned not to depend on anyone but myself.” He paused, then added, “Those are habits I can't break, Robin.”

The words weren't self-pitying. They were matter-of-fact and that made them even more painful to hear. No wonder he'd never discussed anything personal. Her parents' marriage had been anything but perfect, but she'd always been loved by both of them.