“Or her,” she corrected. “Yes, I am.”
He waited, obviously hoping she would share more information. She wanted to. She didn’t want to keep this to herself. It was becoming a far greater burden than she’d envisioned when Sandy had extracted his promise.
“Be careful,” he said. “If your source is right and it is Hydra, they’ll want to eliminate anyone who might know something about them. They thrive in the dark.”
“Tell me more about Hydra.” She’d researched it on the computer, but there was very little of substance.
“Nobody knows much. Neither the locals nor the feds have been able to penetrate the organization. At least that’s what I’ve heard. No one really knows how big it is. The rumors are out there. Fear’s out there.”
“Then every crime could be attributed to it,” she said. “The myth grows.”
“Could be. Could also be it’s all true.”
“It could corrupt a whole sheriff’s department?”
“Corrupt some members. Scare others.”
“What do you think?”
“I think three dead policemen say someone is real serious about concealing something.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s an important story. I’m glad to be working with you.”
She didn’t believe a syllable of it. His eyes said he wanted the story himself.
She wasn’t going to let go of any of it.
Ben turned off the computer. He looked outside. It was nearly seven and daylight still streamed in through the windows.
Mahoney had already left. He had received a “maybe” on a subpoena from U.S. Attorney Ames in Atlanta after explaining what breaking the Hydra would do for his career. But Ames wanted to talk to the woman himself before making a decision.
Ben had spent the last several hours finding out everything he could about Robin Stuart. He’d brought up all the articles she’d written for the paper, finding an astounding cross section. The one that interested him most was a story about an autistic child. There was compassion in every word. Then there was a series on autism and lack of facilities for its victims. She’d parlayed a story into a front-page series.
There were some investigative stories: an organization that bilked the blind; a driver education firm that basically sold driver’s licenses with the assistance of several state licensing officers.
He saw a passion in each of the stories. Some were the basic who, what, when stories, but most went far beyond that with the why. He partly envied that passion. His own had died years ago …
Then he came across the story of her accident. Nearly eighteen months passed before the next byline. That explained the brace.
He stood, glanced at his jacket with disgust. It was hot as hell outside, and he hated the suit-and-tie culture that was still expected at the FBI. He pulled the knot of his tie down.
Home. He should go home. But that was so damnably empty. It was a roof over his head. Little more.
Instead, he decided to ride by Robin Stuart’s house. He knew he couldn’t ask her any questions, but maybe, just maybe, she would hear him out. It was worth a try.
Her house was an even more welcome sight than usual.
Robin felt her moral compass was going awry, the needle swinging back and forth without any clear direction.
Protect Sandy? Protect the law? And herself? She didn’t like the fear that both Ben Taylor and then Bob Greene had planted inside her. They both had reasons to do it. Taylor wanted a name. Greene wanted the story.
She drove into the driveway, picked up the groceries she’d just purchased, and sprinted for the door with her keys in her hand. Another car drove in behind her.
She immediately recognized Ben Taylor, as he unwound his long body from the front seat of the dark sedan. Still angry at his words during the meeting, she turned back to the door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.
“Ms. Stuart?” His voice was soft but compelling.
She turned around. “I thought our attorney told you everything had to go through him.”
“I’m not going to ask you any questions. But I thought you might like to know more about Hydra.”
That stopped her. She had done some research on the Internet, but he would know much more.
“No questions?”
“No. I swear. I might try to persuade, though.” Charm oozed through the last words.
“A few moments,” she conceded. “And no persuasion. Just Hydra.” As angry as she was with him, she wanted to know as much as she could about the mysterious organization.
He gave her a wry smile. “Fair enough.”
She opened the door and went inside, leaving him to follow.
She expected Daisy to run to her, then to the kitchen. No Daisy.
“Daisy,” she called out.
Still no cat.
Her heart started thumping. It was unlike Daisy not to greet her, not to be sitting in the window looking out, not to be meowing for her treats. She couldn’t remember when it had happened before.
She started looking through rooms, even awkwardly mounted the stairs, though she lived mostly downstairs. She planned to change that once her leg was fully operational again.
“Ms. Stuart?”
She spun around. She’d almost forgotten about Agent Taylor.
“Who’s Daisy?”
“My cat. She’s usually perched on the window seat and runs to the door when I come home. I didn’t see her at the window but I thought she’d already jumped down …”
Robin went into the kitchen. Everything looked the same except for the absence of Daisy, meowing for her supper. She checked every room. Then, her heart beating faster with every second, she went into the small laundry room and looked behind the washing machine. She’d found Daisy there before, once when the cat was ill, and another time when she was recuperating from a dispute with another cat. It was her “cave.”
Daisy was lying there now, on an old towel Robin kept there, first for leaks, then for Daisy’s occasional foray.
“Daisy?”
Daisy didn’t move. Didn’t respond in any way. Robin squeezed next to the washer and balanced herself as she tried to lean down. Damn brace! She inched down and, finally, her finger touched the soft fur at Daisy’s neck. She was alive, thank God. Then she saw Daisy’s front paws. They were bloody.
What had happened?
She looked around but nothing seemed to be disturbed.
She picked Daisy up and wrapped the old towel around her. The cat still didn’t respond. Her breathing was barely audible. Robin bolted toward the front door and slammed into Ben Taylor.
Once more his hands kept her from falling. His eyes slid over the cat, the blood on her claws.
“I have to get her to the vet,” she said.
“I’ll drive you,” he said.
She hesitated, then nodded. She wanted to keep Daisy in her lap, and calm if she woke.
“The name of the vet?” he asked.
“The phone number is on the fridge.”
Faster than she could blink, he had the clinic on the phone and told them they had an emergency on the way.
Gratitude erased any misgivings she had about him. She didn’t care who he was or what he wanted or his motives. She wanted the “juice” he had as a federal officer and, for Daisy, she wasn’t above accepting it.
In seconds, he shepherded her out to his car and opened the passenger-side door so she could slide in with Daisy.
She held Daisy close to her as he ignored the speed limit and drove fast, and expertly. She glanced at the set expression on his face. Somehow, he hadn’t seemed the animal type. But at the moment she was accepting any help she could get.
Seven minutes later, they arrived at the emergency clinic. In seconds, they were ushered into an examining room. A woman who identified herself as Dr. Lori Hammer entered immediately and took Daisy.
“What happened?”
“I came home and found her unconscious. There was blood on he
r claws but I didn’t see any open wound,” Robin said.
Daisy moved slightly, mewing softly, as the vet gently probed. “She’s hurting. She seems to be bruised. It doesn’t look like anything is broken but I should take some X-rays to be sure.” Robin nodded, gratitude pooling inside.
“Can you save a sample of the blood on her claws?” Taylor said. From his pocket he took what she recognized, from the Meredith County crime scene, as an evidence bag. “Mark and sign it with your name and date, and return it to me?”
The vet looked startled.
“Ben Taylor. FBI.” He took out his credentials and flashed them, then added, “The cat may have attacked someone who was in Ms. Stuart’s house.”
The vet glanced at Robin.
Robin nodded. “It’s … it could be a possibility.”
“All right,” the vet said. “I’ll get some blood off those claws, then take the X-rays. Shouldn’t take long.” She turned to Ben. “You probably want to go with me.”
Robin started to follow, but the vet shook her head. “It’s better if you stay here.”
Robin thought about protesting, but she wanted all the vet’s attention on Daisy. Instead she paced the small examination room.
Had someone come into her house? She hadn’t added an alarm system, mainly because she simply hadn’t had time, and it was a rental house, not hers. She made a vow to herself she would contact the owner the next day and have one installed.
In the meantime, a chill ran through her. Just thinking of someone prowling through her house.
Maybe not. Maybe Daisy had been hurt in some innocent way.
Please don’t let anything happen to Daisy.
Taylor returned to the room then, the evidence bag in his hand.
“Do you always carry those around?”
“Yeah, usually.”
“How’s Daisy?”
“Complaining loudly.” He smiled slightly. “If her meowing is any sign, she should be fine.”
The rare smile reassured her.
“I misnamed her,” Robin admitted. “When I got her, she was thin as a rail and mean as Satan. I hoped the name would help her personality.”
He chuckled. It came from deep in his throat and rumbled through her. She was aware he was trying to distract her. Her mind told her to resist, but an undeniable magnetism was building between them. She felt it in every fiber of her body. Bad. Very bad.
“Did it work?”
“Well, she’s no longer as thin as a rail.”
“What about mean as Satan?”
“Depends on whether she likes you.”
“I’ll remember to stay on her good side.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You think you’ll be around?”
“Ouch.”
“You can go,” she said, disgruntled by her growing awareness, by the sparks she felt every time she looked at him. “I’ll wait until I know more.”
“You don’t have a car.”
“I have friends.”
His gaze didn’t leave her face. “I want to be there when you get home.”
“You really think someone was in my house?”
“I think it’s a distinct possibility.”
She didn’t protest more. He was doing his job. And if he was right, she didn’t want to go home alone. Now, though, she wasn’t sure what was the most dangerous. Going home alone, or going with him.
She moved away from him. Proximity was far too dangerous.
He moved away, too, and leaned against the wall, that energy she always felt in him radiating in the room. His was not a peaceful presence. She wondered whether it ever was.
“How long have you been with the FBI?” she asked.
“About fifteen years.” His eyes met hers and they were as dark and enigmatic as they had been before. Yet in the moments after she’d found Daisy, she’d experienced the same protectiveness she had when he’d helped her at the funeral. It was a warmth he evidently took pains to hide.
“Have you ever had a cat?” Inane chatter, but better than a silence that heavy with tension.
“No.”
“A dog?”
“No.”
“Why? You seem to care for them.”
He hesitated, then said in a flat, inflectionless voice, “Not practical in my profession. I’m gone most of the time.”
“Your wife?” There. She’d asked it.
His eyes shuttered then. “There isn’t one.”
There isn’t one. She wondered whether that meant he’d never been married or was divorced. But his tone this time didn’t invite any additional questions. Yet an invisible web of attraction was enveloping them. She knew from the dismay in his eyes she wasn’t imagining it.
“When you were a kid? You didn’t have a pet then?” she persisted.
“No,” he said simply. “I moved a lot.” But she knew voices. She suspected it wasn’t simple at all.
She had a habitual disease of asking questions. Couldn’t seem to stop them. She always wanted to know everything about everyone. But Ben Taylor didn’t seem like a man who revealed much.
“I didn’t have one as a kid, either,” she said. “My dad was a sergeant major in the army. We moved from one post to another and we couldn’t take pets overseas. He said it wasn’t fair to get attached to one. Daisy is my first. And dear to me. Thank you.”
She was talking too much. He wasn’t talking at all. For her, it was part anxiety. The thought of someone having been in her house and hurting a helpless being was becoming a huge weight in her stomach.
The door opened, and the vet reappeared.
“The X-rays looked fine. No broken bones, but there might be internal injuries. I would like to keep her here overnight. I’ll call you if there’s any change. Otherwise you can pick her up in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Robin said.
Taylor opened the front door for her and guided her to his car, opening the passenger’s door for her. She watched as he strode around to his side and got inside. The interior suddenly felt even warmer than the temperature justified.
Business. Concentrate. “Were you really at my house to talk about Hydra?”
He shrugged. “That was the intent.”
“Nothing more?”
“Perhaps I had hoped … a little persuasion might help.” He made the admission with an odd quirk to his mouth that was more self-mockery than smile. It was unsettling. He didn’t seem a man to show any vulnerability.
She glanced over at him. He’d left his jacket somewhere and his tie was gone. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and raw masculinity radiated from him.
He wants something from me.
But at the moment she wanted something from him as well. She wanted to know about Hydra. And she certainly didn’t want to go into her house alone.
He glanced at her, then down at her hands, which were pressed into her lap. She quickly moved them.
“Daisy will be all right,” he reassured her.
“An empathetic FBI agent?” she asked with more bite than she intended.
“I don’t think anyone has mentioned that word in connection with me before.”
She ignored that comment, along with that damn warmth that started to creep up her spine again.
She tried to shake it off. “So you had only persuasion in mind?”
“Yep. For now.” He paused, then added, “But we have asked the U.S. Attorney to subpoena you. Then you’ll have to testify.”
“I won’t, not without permission.”
“Ms. Stuart … these people don’t fool around. You wrote something that leads both the perps and us to believe you know something we need to know. Besides being downright stupid, it’s also irresponsible.”
Her spine went rigid. She wanted to attack back, then she realized he was probably baiting her for a purpose. Instead, she tried to swallow her anger, only to discover that her breath was already trapped in her throat.
“Was there anything in your house ident
ifying your source?” he asked suddenly.
“No,” she said.
He turned and looked at her. “Nothing?”
“No.”
“Damn it, you’re playing with a life. You’re not doing your source any favor. They will find him, and he’ll die. It’s as simple as that. If we get to him first, he’ll get protection.”
“I didn’t say it was a him.”
He ignored that. “Don’t you care about anything but your damned story?” If he’d been kind and cajoling just a moment earlier, his voice was pure, icy anger now.
“I care about justice. I care about the person who trusted me.”
“As long as you get a headline.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Is it? God save me from reporters and their righteous stupidity.”
Her back stiffened. “You’re an arrogant ass.”
“Been said. At least I concede my shortcomings.”
Her mouth clamped down before she said something she would regret.
“We’re talking about murder, Ms. Stuart,” he continued. “Capital murder of three police officers. You think these people would stop at searching a reporter’s house? Hell, you’re lucky they didn’t burn it down with you and that cat in it.”
He drove up and parked in front of her house. She looked around. The lights in Mrs. Jeffers’s house next door were still on. No one occupied the house on the other side.
She stepped out of the car, her keys in her hand. His fingers brushed hers as he took them from her, and once again anger and attraction warred with each other. She had to wrench herself away from her ridiculous preoccupation with him.
He took the keys from her as she reached the top of the stairs and steered her to his side. He took out his gun before turning the key in the lock. Then stepped in as he opened it.
“Wait out here,” he ordered.
He was back in several minutes and opened the door wide. Then he inspected the lock. “Doesn’t look tampered with.”
She went inside. Everything looked as she’d left it earlier today.
She went to her office first. Everything of value to her was in there. Her notebooks. Her computer. Her research ranging over several years. This was her life far more than the bedroom.
The desk looked the same. So did the computer. She looked at the top of the desk, and her heart skipped. Although her desk was always covered in piles, she knew exactly what was in those piles. She had gone through them hours ago to make sure she was erasing all traces of Sandy and the attorney to whom she was sending her package.
Tempting the Devil Page 10
