Tempting the Devil (44 page)

Another sputter, and she hung up the phone.

When she got back in the car, she started recharging the disposable phone, and told Ben what Wade had said, including the fact that Ames was threatening her with obstruction of justice.

“He has no cause. You showed up in court. He's the one who wanted to put it off for a week. He's panicking.”

“We still don't know if he's involved,” she warned.

“I can't think of any other reason he would be calling you, and me. Wanting to know where we are.”

“We just wait, then, for my caller. Maybe it's just a crank.”

“Possible. But it's time to head back to Atlanta.”

She nodded. “I want to visit Mrs. Jeffers.”

They fell into silence then, her refusal to name her source hanging like a shroud between them.

Halfway to Atlanta, her disposable phone rang.

Only Wade had the number. And whoever he might have given it to. She took a deep breath, glanced at Ben, and pushed the talk button. “Robin Stuart,” she said.

“Robin?” The voice was uncertain, shaky. And familiar. Her entire body tightened.

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you alone?”

“No.”

“I have to meet with you.”

“I'm not sure I can do that.”

“Do you trust who you are with?”

“Yes. Completely.”

“FBI?”

“Yes. How did you …”

“Someone was worried you might be together. I was told to find out where you are.”

“Why did they think you could do that?”

“I was asked to get close to you,” he said in a toneless voice.

Stricken, she couldn't reply for a moment. She hadn't fallen in love with him, but she had liked him tremendously. She'd trusted him.

“Then everything was a lie.”

A painful silence stretched over the miles. “Not everything,” he finally said.

“What do you want?” she said.

“I want to get out. I don't want anyone else killed.”

“Aren't you a little late?”

“I didn't have anything to do with the deaths.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Michael had seemed too good to be true. Obviously he was. Now she wondered how she could have been such a poor judge of character.

For a moment she didn't trust herself to speak. She hated betrayal. How deep did Hydra go? How many other people had been corrupted by it? Could good people be corrupted? First Sandy. Other deputies. Now Michael. One thing she knew. Hydra preyed on weaknesses.

And how corrupted were they? Enough to lead her into a trap?

“Why should I trust you?”

A bitter laugh. “You probably shouldn't.”

“Tell me now.”

He paused. “I want to meet with someone who will give me protection. But I don't know who to go to. I know Hydra has penetrated different law enforcement agencies. I don't know the names.”

“What can you give them?”

“I know two people directly involved. My … auditing firm has also been involved for years.”

“I'm not sure what you want me to do.”

“I'm tired of being scared witless,” he said. “I would like protection, but …”

“I'm giving you to Ben Taylor,” she said. “You
can
trust him.” She didn't trust herself now.

Ben took the phone, holding it with one hand while he steered with the other.

He was asking the same questions she had.

Then, “What do you propose?”

His face tightened as he listened. Then, “Call back on the same number in two hours.”

He clicked the phone off and handed it to her.

“What
did
he propose?” she asked.

“Nothing workable. He would admit everything. Problem is, he only knows two people directly involved and even then he probably doesn't have enough proof to convict them. He's a self-admitted liar and felon himself. I can't assure him protection at this point. We think Ames is involved, but we don't know it for certain. And we don't know how many others are involved. Apparently the whole Meredith County Sheriff's Office was on the take; others could be as well.”

“Then what?”

He was silent for a long time, then, “They want you.”

“You're thinking of a trap?”

“Something like that.” He looked over at her. “But not with you. We'll do it with a decoy.”

“What about the information we have now?”

“Leads, Robin. They're only leads. Suppositions. It could take us months to follow them. If we can draw them out and catch some little fish, they can lead us to the bigger ones.”

“Did he mention names?”

“No.”

“Why did you ask him to wait two hours?”

“I wanted him to sweat,” Ben said coldly. “He's as guilty as the men who shot those officers and killed how many more deputies because they asked questions or balked at doing something illegal.”

She was surprised at the depth of his anger. Ben usually didn't display emotions.

Except, she allowed, when he'd been angry with her.

“What if he changes his mind?”

“I heard the fear in his voice. He won't change his mind.”

There was a hardness in his voice she'd never heard before. He'd been caustic before in some of his comments to her, but this was deeper, a condemnation that sent shivers through her.

“Isn't using a decoy risky? They might realize it's a trap.”

“You're a civilian, Robin. We don't risk civilians.”

“I can't be more at risk than I am now,” she pointed out logically.

His body tensed.

She moved toward him and put a hand on his leg. She wanted the contact. She wanted the warmth she'd felt the night before. The tenderness, the belonging she felt with him. Michael's call had chilled her. The corruption of people chilled her.

“My wife put herself at risk,” he said suddenly. “She always thought she was invincible, that she could put herself in deadly situations and survive intact. It doesn't work that way.”

He'd finally opened a door.

“You have,” she protested.

“I don't get personally involved.”

“And your wife did?”

He didn't answer.

“What happened to her?”

He gave her a quick glance before turning back to the road. His fingers were tight around the steering wheel.

She didn't think he was going to answer.

“She was an agent, too,” he finally said. “We met at Quantico when we were in training. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I ever met. Small. Dark. Brimming with confidence and fire and ambition. A lot like you that way.”

“What happened?”

“We went in different directions after leaving Quantico, then met again several years later in Cincinnati. We married, although the bureau wasn't happy about it. Disapproval was clear in the assignments we were given. Mostly doing security checks. She decided to volunteer for undercover work. She was good at it, more than good. She was great. DEA started asking for her in our joint task forces. She was a good actress, a natural mimic, and had big soulful eyes that could convince anyone that the world was flat.

“Problem was she convinced herself that she could travel with addicts and lowlifes without some of it rubbing off. She took some drugs to ‘be one of them' and became hooked herself.

“She's still hooked. We divorced five years ago. She didn't want me telling her she needed treatment, and I couldn't stand by and watch what she was doing to herself.”

Robin heard the pain in his voice and she started to understand him much better. His reluctance to get involved. His reticence about anything personal.

“What happened to her?”

“She was getting better,” he said. “She was finishing a rehab program when a friend of hers, a reporter, sold a story to a national tabloid about the FBI agent who became a drug addict. It included some photos of her in less than … good moments.”

A reporter. A friend. A so-called friend. No wonder he had such an aversion to reporters.

“She'd hoped to return to the FBI. After that story, it was made clear she wouldn't be coming back. A week later she took an overdose. I found her in time, and she survived, but she keeps returning to drugs. She's in her third program now.”

“You keep in touch?” Her heart hurt for him. Deep pain shadowed his words.

Beautiful. Small. Dark. Soulful eyes. Brimming with confidence and fire and ambition
. Sounded like a man still in love. She suddenly felt shut out. Clumsy. Unworthy. It was clear he still cared about Dani.

“Is Dani short for Danielle?”

He nodded.

“And Ben for Benjamin.”

“No. It's just for Ben,” he corrected.

“Do you see her often?” She couldn't stop herself from asking the question.

“No,” he said curtly, and she knew the subject was closed. She looked at him and knew he wasn't really there with her. He was somewhere else, falling in love with a beautiful girl with soulful eyes.

She sat back in the seat. In those few moments, he'd told her more about his life than he had in all the hours they'd spent together. Grief had obviously carved a hole in his heart. He still loved Dani, or at the very least cared deeply about her.

How could she compete with a ghost? No, not a ghost. A living person who lingered in his memories.

She couldn't
.

But she could do her job. Do it the right way. Prove him wrong about reporters. Some—most—had honor. They cared. She respected her job as much as he did his.

She was not going to be pushed aside. It was partly due to her efforts that the FBI had leads. She wasn't going to be left out now.

chapter thirty-two

They stopped at a rest stop, and Ben called Mahoney, using the same method as before.

“I think you're right about Ames,” he said immediately.

“What did you find?”

“Fifteen years ago Ames and James Kelley were attorneys in the same law firm in Washington. Kelley left under some kind of ethical cloud and moved to Atlanta. Ames moved here twelve years ago when the law firm opened an office here. Became active in politics and charities. Served as county chairman of his party. Gave large donations to the state and national party, and served on the board of several highly visible community charities. Hobnobbed with senators. No one was surprised when he was named U.S. attorney.”

Ben remembered the disappointment in the Atlanta FBI office when Ames was named four years ago because he'd so little experience as a prosecutor. Still, the position was mostly administrative, and they'd rarely had problems getting the cooperation they needed from the office.

Except for shutting down the coastal investigation early, Ben had few complaints. Most of the attorneys in Ames's office were competent and had a good conviction rate. Agents usually had little difficulty in getting the warrants they needed. Ames was considered an aggressive prosecutor, an up-and-comer whose name was bandied about as a gubernatorial candidate.

“What about Fischer?”

“Strangely enough, or maybe it isn't so strange after all, the file is missing.”

“No one remembers it?”

“I'm trying to chase down the arresting officer, but he left the department two years ago. No one knows where he went.”

“You haven't told Holland yet?”

“He'll shit in his pants,” Mahoney said. “The last thing he needs now is a politically popular U.S. attorney in his sights. But he's one of the good guys. He'll do what's right.”

“I need to meet with him. Outside the office. Before anyone knows we're back.”

“And I should tell him … what?”

“That I have some sensitive information. The bureau walls have ears. We don't need rumors flying around, and we can't dismiss the possibility someone else is involved, either in our office or in Ames's.”

“We
could
be wrong, you know. Coming up with all the wrong conclusions.”

“Maybe. But I might have a way of flushing the bad guys out.”

“Okay, where do you want to meet?” Mahoney said.

“I doubt anyone will be watching Holland. They might be watching you, though. I think you should stay away right now.” Ben paused. “Is he in the office now?”

“Yeah.”

Ben named a hotel at the airport. “Ask him to meet me there. I'll be registered under Carl Andrews's name. I should be there in two hours.”

“I don't believe it,” Holland said grimly.

Robin watched him carefully. She wasn't as convinced as Ben that he was one of the good guys. She would never take anyone on face value again.

They sat around a coffee table. It was past seven p.m., nearly eight.

Ron Holland had been bemused when he first met her in the room. “The famous and elusive Ms. Stuart,” he said as he shook her hand. Then he turned to Ben. “What in the hell is going on? I've been trying to reach you.”

“You'd better sit down,” Ben said.

Robin watched Holland's face during the long explanation of their trip, what they'd discovered. It changed from watchful to skeptical. “You have no real proof,” he said when Ben finished. “Just coincidences, suppositions.”

“I have a witness. A participant in the conspiracy who wants to come forward. He doesn't know who to trust.”

Holland looked at Robin. “Your source?”

“No,” Ben said. “But there've been too many dead bodies lately. He doesn't want his to be added to the count,” he said cynically.

Robin wasn't quite so sure that was Michael's only reason but she let it slide.

“What does he have to offer?”

“A name. Problem is, it's mostly his word, and he's been in the middle of it.”

“What's the name?”

“We won't get that until we promise protection,” Ben said.

“And a deal which will further erode his credibility,” Holland said. “What do you propose?”