Tempting the Devil

by Potter, Patricia;

  The notebooks were out of place. She’d stacked them, according to date, starting with the oldest on the bottom. Now they were reversed.

  With increased panic, she checked her top drawer. She’d left her address book there along with a credit card, tucked inside the book next to the cover. She always kept it there because she did a lot of research and sometimes had to pay a fee for a certain article. The card was in the book, but not in its proper place.

  She turned to the computer and turned it on. Then she saw a smear on the rug beneath. It looked as if someone had tried to clean something, but couldn’t quite do it. Blood from scratches? She turned to Ben Taylor, who was regarding her with intent interest, as if he realized she’d found something.

  “Someone’s been in here,” she said.

  His eyes asked the question.

  “Notebooks are out of place. So is a credit card. And there’s a spot on the rug.”

  “Do you have any valuables?”

  “Not really.”

  “Check the rest of the house. See if anything else is missing.”

  It didn’t take her long. She didn’t have much. A few inexpensive pieces of jewelry. The computer. A large television set and VCR.

  She reported back to him. “Nothing.”

  “It looks like someone didn’t want you to know anyone was here. Your Daisy spoiled their plans. Once your intruder bled on the floor …” He pulled out a cell phone and called the local police.

  “They’ll be here shortly,” he said.

  She pictured an intruder snooping in her office.

  And became sick to her stomach. She also realized in that moment that all her mother’s clichés had a root of truth. Don’t catch a tiger’s tail.

  Curiosity killed the cat.

  She’d just barely escaped killing the cat and now she feared she had the tiger by the tail.

  Or was it the devil?

  chapter ten

  The Atlanta police and crime scene technicians swarmed Robin’s apartment like a horde of locusts.

  It was nothing like the first time she’d been burglarized five years ago. Then a lone police officer came over, told her to make a list of missing items and take it to the local precinct. End of interest. She’d been highly irate at the time.

  She suspected the mention of FBI and Hydra had drastically increased their diligence.

  After Ben Taylor had called the police, she’d conducted a more comprehensive search, but everything outside her office seemed to be in place. The fact that nothing—apparently—had been taken was even more frightening than if it had been a common burglary.

  She’d barely gotten started when the police arrived. She was aware of their incredulity when she said nothing was missing. The locks on the doors and windows looked undisturbed.

  “If someone entered here, they knew their business,” said one officer. Robin didn’t appreciate the “if” and started to say so when Taylor interrupted and took the officer to one side.

  The officer was more polite when he returned. “We’ll start in the kitchen.”

  “Can I go into my office?”

  “No. Let us do our job.”

  Ben Taylor nodded and turned to her. “We’ll just be in the way. It’s eleven but I noticed your neighbor’s lights are still on. Maybe she saw something.”

  “That would be Mrs. Jeffers. She and Damien stay up late. She’s probably dying of curiosity about the police cars out here. She’s just too well mannered to come out and ask.”

  “Damien?”

  “Her guard dog,” Robin said. “I think Mrs. Jeffers would be delighted if you questioned her.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Would Damien have alerted her if anyone came around your house?”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  It was amazing how at ease she felt with him, even after his harsh condemnation an hour earlier.

  “Let’s go,” he said. The two of them walked to the house next door. It, too, was an old Victorian, one that looked like an aging dowager.

  She rang the bell.

  Mrs. Jeffers immediately appeared at the door as if she’d been sitting next to it. The inside door opened and her neighbor peered out the storm door, then opened it.

  Damien wriggled out of Mrs. Jeffers’s arms and tried to jump into Robin’s arms. Being less than a foot tall, he didn’t make it. Robin caught him halfway down and scooped him up before he fell to the ground.

  “I swear that dog likes you better than me,” Maude Jeffers said.

  “He doesn’t see me as much as he sees you,” Robin mollified her. She kept Damien when Mrs. Jeffers was out of town. “Mrs. Jeffers, this is Ben Taylor with the FBI. My house was broken into earlier, and Daisy was hurt. I wondered whether you saw anything unusual today.”

  “FBI, you say,” Mrs. Jeffers said, her eyes narrowing. “You have credentials?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Taylor said, whipping them out even as he stared at the aged teacup poodle that frantically licked Robin’s face.

  Mrs. Jeffers examined them closely. “Always wanted to do that,” she said as she handed them back. “I can scratch that off my list now,” she added with satisfaction. “What’s the FBI doing investigating a burglary?”

  Ben Taylor looked taken back. Apparently he wasn’t accustomed to such questions from feisty ladies in their eighties.

  Robin thought about letting him answer, but that would be too cruel. And he had been kind tonight. “Mr. Taylor thinks it might have something to do with a story I’m covering,” she said before he could utter a word.

  “The murders,” Mrs. Jeffers said with delight. “Come in, come in. It will take me only a moment to make some tea.” She opened the door wide and stepped back.

  They had no option but to follow.

  “No tea for me, ma’am, thank you,” Taylor said. “But can you tell me if you saw anything unusual earlier?”

  “Just a cable truck.”

  “When was that?” Taylor shot back.

  “About six. I thought they were working late. Can’t get my cable fixed when it goes blooey. Takes weeks. Dratted cable company never works late. Should have known it was strange. Especially when Damien barked. He doesn’t bark at everyone.” She paused. “You said Daisy was hurt?”

  “She was unconscious. Blood was on her claws. She probably jumped on whoever came in.”

  “Brave as my Damien. He’s a good guard dog, you know.”

  Robin had to smile at the picture of a brave Damien. The only danger to an intruder was being licked to death.

  “She’s going to be okay?” Mrs. Jeffers asked.

  “I think so. The vet is keeping her for observation.”

  “Poor Daisy. She was just beginning to trust me.”

  “Can you describe the cable truck?” Taylor broke in.

  “Just like every one. White with blue lettering. I only saw one man.”

  Ben Taylor turned back to Robin. “Any cable service scheduled?”

  She shook her head.

  “Can you describe the man?” he asked Mrs. Jeffers.

  “Tall and skinny. Blond. Wore a hat but his hair was longish.”

  Taylor was looking at Robin’s elderly neighbor with admiration. “Would you be able to help a police artist sketch him?”

  Her face lit again. “Dear me, I think so. Wouldn’t swear to it, though.” She whispered to Robin. “That’s on my list, too.”

  Robin saw that rare smile play on Taylor’s lips.

  “I’ll ask a sketch artist to come by in the morning. He’ll call first.”

  “Oh my, that’s exciting.”

  “Thank you for being so much help,” he said. “You and Damien.”

  Mrs. Jeffers beamed. “Anything for the FBI.” She looked at Robin. “Such a nice young man.”

  Robin winced. Mrs. Jeffers had been trying to fix her up with men friends since she’d first moved in.

  Ben Taylor’s usually somber eyes glittered with amusement he no longer tried to hide. “It�
�s been a pleasure, Mrs. Jeffers.”

  He went out the door. Mrs. Jeffers put a restraining hand on Robin and whispered, “Oh he’s a lovely one. You should set your sights on him.”

  Lovely, indeed.

  Robin muttered to herself as she followed Ben Taylor down the steps.

  Ben didn’t usually enjoy interviews, but he’d been captivated by this one. Usually people were nervous, even when there was no reason to be. Mrs. Jeffers was irrepressible as well as observant, and he saw a side of Robin Stuart he hadn’t seen before. He made a mental note to send an FBI artist to the house.

  “I like your neighbor … and her guard dog.”

  “Damien is very protective,” she said defensively.

  “I don’t doubt it for a moment.”

  She gave him a suspicious look, then walked faster than he would have thought possible with the brace.

  He caught up with her. “What’s the list she mentioned?”

  “Everything she wants to do before she dies. It’s a very long list. She’ll have to live to a hundred and fifty to do it all. Diving out of a plane is one.”

  “At eighty?”

  “Eighty-two to be exact. She saw an ex-president do it. She figures that if he could, she could. She’s saving her money.”

  “And the FBI is on the list?”

  “No accounting for taste.”

  She was obviously still irritated with him about several of his earlier observations about her good sense. Damn it, he was right. She was being foolish to the extreme. So why did she get under his skin, and why was he beginning to like her so much?

  Why, for God’s sake, had he wanted to lean down and kiss her when that dog jumped into her arms? Maybe that quick grin and delighted laughter that warmed him in places that had been cold.

  The woman he’d taken to the vet and then to the eccentric neighbor was not the same hard-headed, stubborn, story-at-any-cost reporter he’d expected. There was a naturalness and caring about her that appealed to him in a way no woman had for a long time.

  Don’t even think about it. Even if he didn’t have a lousy record with women, he spent nearly his entire salary on his ex-wife.

  More important, Robin Stuart was protecting information he wanted. Hell, had to have. Not only for his investigation but for her own safety. That was becoming increasingly important to him.

  Disturbingly important.

  The crime scene technicians were still working when they returned.

  “We’ll need Ms. Stuart’s fingerprints to compare with the others,” the senior officer told them. “We’ll also need the names of people who’ve been in the house.”

  She nodded.

  “We cut out the section of carpet where you found the stain. We’ll check the DNA with what Agent Taylor has. That wraps it up.” The officer hesitated, then added, “Strange thing about the doors. Doesn’t look like anyone tampered with the locks. You sure they were all locked?”

  “I’m certain of it.”

  “Then it was a real pro. Take my advice, miss, and get a good security system.”

  “I plan to.”

  Ben watched her face. He wished he saw more fear there. Not for fear’s sake, but she was taking everything too lightly. She had no idea of the rat’s nest she’d just disturbed. The fact that nothing was missing told him they were looking for information. And if they didn’t get it one way, they might well try another.

  He needed it before the bad guys got it.

  If only he could convince Robin Stuart of that.

  When the police and technicians left, Robin headed back to her office. “I want to check the computer,” she told Ben.

  She sat down in her chair and turned it on, then checked the log. “Someone started opening files at 6:08 p.m.,” she said.

  “Did they need a password?”

  “No.”

  She went through the computer files in her head. Some e-mails from her sisters, even some random thoughts for a novel someday. Much too much of herself were in those files. She suddenly realized she was shivering.

  She felt his hand on her back and she stiffened. She didn’t want to show fear. Not to him. Yet he didn’t drop it, and she felt its assurance and warmth flow through her. Darn it, she wanted to turn around and throw herself in his arms and tell him she was scared.

  She forced herself to concentrate on the screen in front of her.

  Whoever had paid her a visit had opened a number of recent files. Had he copied any of them?

  “They were looking for a name. Is there any chance they found one?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I checked this afternoon. I removed anything that could lead to the source.” She didn’t add that she’d done it because of his visit this morning, but the implication hovered in the air.

  Thank God she had.

  He noticed, though. He raised an eyebrow. “Removed?”

  “Yes,” she replied a little defiantly.

  “Nothing in your computer files?”

  “Nothing concerning the story except some research on Hydra.”

  “Can I read it?”

  “There’s nothing that hasn’t already been in the newspaper.”

  His gaze didn’t leave hers.

  She sighed, found the file, and brought it up.

  He leaned in and read over her shoulder. She scrolled down the document. He paused when he saw a note she’d made to herself to check into a multiple murder in Rome, a city north of Atlanta. A family. Husband, wife, seven-year-old son. The father had been arrested in a drug case. A local law official said in the paper he believed it was linked to a large drug investigation. There were several articles. Then nothing.

  She looked up at him. “A family? An entire family?”

  “Yes.” His voice had hardened. A muscle throbbed in his cheek.

  “Was it Hydra?”

  “We think so.”

  “And you want me to give you a name?”

  “The dead man wouldn’t accept protection. He thought it would mark him.”

  “He was going to testify against them?”

  Silence, then, “Yes.”

  She stared back at the screen.

  “That’s what they do, Ms. Stuart. They kill people and they do it in such a way that no one else will talk. That’s why we need the name of your source. It’s obvious he knows something that can help us. And he’s safer with us.”

  “My source doesn’t agree.”

  “At least talk to him.”

  She nodded. “When my source contacts me.”

  “You said an address book was out of place? Did you also have one in the computer?”

  She nodded. “Just e-mail addresses.”

  “Was your address book personal or business?”

  “Personal mostly.”

  He frowned.

  She questioned him with her eyes.

  “They may have photographed the pages.”

  He saw the implication register in her eyes. “Then they may have the names of people close to me.”

  He nodded. “What other documents were opened?”

  “An idea for a novel I’m playing with. Several letters to my sisters. Some features I wrote here.”

  She stood awkwardly, only too aware now of the brace, her lack of grace. He was standing near the chair. Close. Too close. The aroma of a very male aftershave was seductive. Darn it, everything about him was seductive, particularly those enigmatic dark eyes.

  “I need a cup of coffee.” She hesitated, then asked warily, “Would you like one?”

  He nodded.

  It was little enough to offer after he’d taken her to the vet.

  That’s what she told herself. She didn’t want to admit his presence was reassuring, that a fragment of fear had lodged inside.

  Nor did she want to admit he had a charm that was insidious. Mrs. Jeffers certainly thought so. But then he hadn’t condescended to her. It had been obvious he liked her.

&
nbsp; Mrs. Jeffers liked to think of herself as a “tough old broad” and Damien as the world’s best protector, dismissing the reality that Damien was an ancient, five-pound, snaggle-toothed poodle.

  Ben Taylor had ignored the obvious, and she liked that about him. She liked it very much. She found she liked other things about him as well.

  She led the way to the kitchen and quickly readied her electric coffeepot.

  “Can I do anything?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I warn you, it’s navy coffee. I can’t seem to make any other kind.”

  “Strong?”

  “Some say so.”

  “Good.”

  She gathered cups and saucers, grateful for the activity. She didn’t want him to notice the fear she’d been trying to keep at bay.

  As the coffee brewed, she turned around, only to bump into him. Darn, but he filled the kitchen with his presence. His eyes met hers. She knew their intensity now, but it still stunned her.

  “Ms. Stuart,…”

  “Robin,” she corrected.

  “Robin … surely you know this break-in could be only the beginning. You could have been here when—”

  “But I wasn’t, and I suspect he knew I wasn’t.”

  “If they didn’t get what they wanted, they could go after you next. Damn it, you’re in danger. Not to mention your source. How can I make it more clear?”

  “Clear for you, maybe. Not so clear for someone who trusted me.”

  The coffee stopped brewing. She was glad for the excuse it gave her to change the subject, even momentarily. She poured them both a cup. “I’m afraid I don’t have cream or sugar.”

  He took the cup and took a sip. “Don’t use either. It’s good.”

  “Why didn’t you bring in your people?” she asked.

  “We’re not officially on the case yet. I’ll ask for copies of their reports.” He took another sip of coffee. He hesitated, then asked, “Do you have a weapon?”

  “I have a gun in a safe-deposit box.”

  “That’s not much help.”

  “I’ll get it tomorrow.”

  “Do you know how to use it?”