Tempting the Devil (42 page)

His words, though, had been more than a painful admission. They had been a warning.

A warning she chose to ignore. “How did you happen to join the FBI?”

“I joined the army after high school. The state turned me loose, and the army was the means to an end. I went into military police and took college courses whenever I could. I finished college after being discharged and was recruited by the FBI. The bureau likes a military police background.”

“And you like it?”

He shrugged. “As well as anything. I've always been good at puzzles. That's what most crimes are. Little puzzles. Big ones.”

“And Dani?”

His hand stopped moving across her back. He sat up and looked at the window, at the first rays of sun pouring in. “It's late,” he said abruptly. “We should be on the road.”

He'd closed the door to his life again.

chapter thirty

Michael put down the phone and stared out the full picture window of his condo at the Atlanta skyline. The sun was rising over the city.

He glanced at the clock. Seven a.m.

His life had become a nightmare, and not even the apartment he loved had its usual soothing effect.

He'd worked damned hard for it. He'd been the first in his family to go to college, and he'd had to work two jobs to manage it. All his life, he'd wanted enough money to never have to worry about bills again.

After college he had college loans to repay. He'd been happy to get a job with a large financial firm that did auditing for some of the largest corporations in the Southeast, but the beginning pay had been barely enough to live on, much less help his younger brother with college expenses.

Then he'd been assigned to work on an audit of a large Atlanta development company. He'd been young and eager, went deeper than the other auditors and found a number of irregularities, including payments to what appeared to be shell companies.

He also discovered some overlapping management funds with a company called Exotic Imports. He started to ask questions. The president of the company, James Kelley, called him to his office and answered them, not entirely to Michael's satisfaction. But Kelley told Michael what a great job he'd been doing and how impressed he was. He was going to tell the accounting firm he should have a bonus and a promotion.

When Michael went into his office the next day, he was told by his immediate supervisor that he was being moved upstairs, and that he was in line for a partnership. His salary would be increased by half.

Nonetheless, he told his supervisor about what he had found.

“James Kelley and his friends are among our largest clients,” he was told. “It's because of him we have substantial government business. I know Kelley. He used to be a practicing attorney and he knows every mover and shaker in town. No one is hiding anything. Believe me, he's on the up-and-up. Now, I have this other job for you …”

Michael took the raise and more money over the next few years. Bonuses. Some from the company. Some from Kelley. He was given a sweetheart deal on his condominium. Then he was up to his neck in sludge, too deep to get out without losing everything, including his livelihood. He was Kelley's man, and he became the auditor for Kelley's various developments and partnerships. He knew Kelley was laundering money, but when the original partner, the one who asked for an audit, died in a fiery crash, Michael stopped asking questions. He knew by then that he had become entangled in Hydra, and he didn't know how to get out.
Alive
. Now others had died. Including three cops. He suspected Kelley, through foreign corporations, owned the land where the three cops were murdered. Then he was ordered to romance the reporter. She was asking too many of the wrong questions.

After all, Kelley told him, Robin Stuart was a cripple and would be grateful for attention from a good-looking guy like Michael. To Michael's chagrin, Kelley knew of every woman Michael had romanced and bedded. He realized then he'd been followed, photographed.

He'd liked Robin Stuart. More than liked her. She intrigued him. For someone who usually liked flashy blonds and great figures, he was taken off guard. Her smile was infectious, not fake. Her blue eyes lit when she talked. There was a guilelessness about her that appealed to him.

He'd enjoyed every moment with her, as few as they were. She was everything that he'd wanted to be, and wasn't. He saw himself through her eyes and was sickened.

He was also aware that he knew too much, and too many people who knew too much died. Not only did he know too much, he had failed with Robin Stuart, and failure wasn't tolerated.

The voice on the phone had demanded as much. Find out where Robin Stuart had gone.

He thought he could deliver. He had been at Charlie's when Mama answered the phone. Though she didn't mention the name, he sensed Robin was on the other end. One phone call, and he could get the telephone records. He decided not to make that phone call.

Time for him to go to the authorities and try to get into witness protection. He knew he couldn't live the way he was living now, never knowing whether he was going to be the next accident victim. Nor could he live with himself if he had anything to do with any more deaths.

The problem was he didn't know whom to go to; whom he could trust.

He knew Kelley had cops on the payroll, including most of the Meredith County sheriff's department. He'd heard him brag about others. The FBI? The U.S. attorney's office?

Someone in Washington?

He poured himself a drink. The only person he thought he could trust was Robin. She'd withheld the name of a source despite heavy pressure. She might know someone who could be trusted.

He left his condominium and went to his favorite restaurant around the corner. He stopped and dialed her newspaper office, asked for the editor.

“It's about the stories she's writing,” he said. “I have information for her.”

“Who is this?”

“That's not important. But it's urgent I reach her.”

“Bob Greene has taken over the story.”

“I'll only talk to Ms. Stuart. I'll call you back in a few hours to see if there's a way I can reach her.”

He closed the cell phone. His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped it.

Robin took a quick shower and washed her hair while Ben shaved. Then he took a shower while she used the motel blow dryer to partially dry her hair and applied just a touch of lipstick.

She'd wrapped a towel around her after emerging from the shower, and she looked incredible. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair curled around like honey-colored silk as she dried it. Her blue eyes glowed from their lovemaking.

He glowed inside, too, but he was loath to admit it.

He touched her still damp skin, then leaned down and kissed her lightly. His heart slammed against his rib cage as the kiss deepened.

He forced himself to step back. He would stay here all day if she didn't get dressed. If
they
didn't get dressed.

“No one should look as good as you do in the morning,” he murmured. “It should be against the law.”

She gave him a delighted smile that touched him with its guilelessness, even a sweetness. “Thank you.”

Damn but he wanted to put her back in that bed and stay there all day. So did a very important part of him. The towel
he
was wearing had a decided bulge.

He went into the room and pulled on his jeans, wincing at the tightness around his crotch. Robin came out of the bathroom and reached for a shirt.

He shook his head and dumped the contents of the bag holding his purchases from last night. The two T-shirts came tumbling out. “We might have to be Mr. and Mrs. today,” he said.

Robin picked up one. “I like it.”

She fastened her bra and pulled the T-shirt over it.

“It looks a lot better on you than mine will on me,” he said. He wanted to touch her again. But then he would have to admit he felt far more than he should for her, that she had become far too important to him.

Couldn't happen. He hadn't been enough for Dani, and he wouldn't be enough for Robin. He didn't know how to give someone else a part of himself. He'd lost that ability when he was a kid. Now the bureau was his life, a good one.

Which I might be throwing down a well
.

“Time to go,” he said.

He looked outside, then took out their belongings while she finished dressing. Then he searched under the car for any tracking device. Natural precaution only. He felt fairly sure they'd evaded any pursuit.

They headed south. She curled up on her side of the front seat. Inches away yet really miles.

They reached Fernandina two hours later.

She had only very sketchy directions. “On the beach. Not far south of a restaurant with a net in the window. There was a blue pelican mailbox in front of a three-story cottage with blue trim.”

That was all she had. “He said they came down in a van loaded with booze. I think they stayed drunk the whole time.”

Hell, there must be dozens of restaurants. He hoped pelicans weren't popular on mailboxes. He drove as Robin searched the road. Several times she asked him to slow down, then to continue.

“It's been how long?” he asked.

“He said two years.”

The pelican could well be gone.

Then he saw a seafood restaurant. They went past several blocks of beach houses.

“I see a pelican,” Robin said excitedly.

He saw it then as well. A rakish pelican holding a street number. The house was a sprawling three stories that faced the beach.

No cars in the driveway. Curtains drawn.

The road was busy now with residents and tourists.

He drove past the house and kept driving until they reached a store. “Got a bathing suit?”

“No,” she said.

“It's time to get one. Both of us.” He stopped the car at the store.

She hesitated. “My leg …”

He turned. “What about it, other than it's beautiful? Just like the other.”

And it was. There were scars but they were fading into the skin, and it was just as shapely as the other one. In fact, she did have lovely legs. Long, and strong.

“I can't,” she protested.

“Where's the intrepid reporter I know?” he said. “Everyone will be looking at your body, anyway.” He whistled then. An appreciative girl whistle. Or at least he tried. It wasn't very good.

She didn't look convinced.

He tried a different tack. “I want to see the house from the beach. I think we'd stand out in jeans and slacks, even with the T-shirts. You can stay in the car, though,” he taunted.

She gave him a dark look and opened the car door.

They went inside. As with most beach stores there were bathing suits and beach gear. She picked out a simple one-piece suit and a cover-up. He chose some trunks and two beach towels, a small radio, and suntan lotion. He started to take Carl's credit card out. She shook her head and took out cash.

She was right and he knew it. He hadn't been asked for identification at the motel. He might well be asked in a tourist area.

She was in the wrong profession. The FBI should recruit her.

They stopped for coffee in a restaurant and changed clothes in the restrooms before leaving. She looked even better in the bathing suit than he'd envisioned.

He drove down to an area where cars parked for access to the beach. He put the two towels across his shoulder and carried the radio. She put the car keys in the pocket of her cover-up.

They took off their shoes and walked down to the beach.

He watched as she wriggled her toes in the sand. A look of utter joy crossed her face. “I haven't done that in nearly three years. There were times I didn't think I ever would.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“At one point there was talk of amputating my leg,” she said. “More than one point. Several doctors said I would never use it again.”

He grabbed her hand and his fingers tightened around hers. He'd found himself forgetting about her damaged leg, mainly because she hadn't allowed it to interfere in her life or job.

“For our roles,” he said, looking down at their linked hands.

She only nodded.

She walked slowly, carefully on the sand, and he matched his pace to hers. They went down to the water's edge and he treasured her look of pure bliss when the water washed over her feet.

Then they walked down the beach toward the house. The house was easy to spot with its Victorian architecture and blue trim. The beach was becoming crowded. Colored beach towels were spread out over the sand, and music blared from radios. Kids ran in and out of the water and built sand castles.

The house looked benign from their vantage point.

They reached the beach in front of the house. It had huge glass windows, a wraparound porch on the first floor, and a wraparound deck on the second. Smaller decks jutted out from doors on the third floor. A white painted picket walkway led down to the beach.

They stopped, spread out the towels, and sat down. Ben turned the towels parallel to the ocean to catch the sun. Others had already staked out nearby spots. “Take off the cover-up,” he told Robin. “I'll douse you with lotion.”

She took it off, and he rubbed lotion onto her back and neck. It gave him a good opportunity to eye the house, even as his hands ran over her smooth skin.

Concentrate
.

No signs of life or activity.

Her skin was so damned soft.

Hell, Taylor, do your job
.

He finished and turned his back while Robin applied the lotion to him, her hands kneading it into his shoulders, re-igniting all those fires that had raged last night.

“That's enough,” he said curtly. Hopefully, they'd established themselves as another sun-loving couple. He looked for any glimpse of a light inside, movement. None.

Probably used only for entertaining. If so, it meant that some real estate firm provided management services. There had to be a contact person in the event of an emergency.