Tempting the Devil

by Potter, Patricia;

That jolted her. The paper was notoriously tight-fisted. “I will.”

  “We can send a car for you.”

  “Thanks, but no need.”

  “Anytime you want off the story …”

  “I don’t,” she replied and hung up.

  She went into the bathroom and took a shower on crutches, then stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a messy tangle of curls. She brushed it, and slipped on a casual pair of slacks and cotton shirt. That accomplished, she called the veterinarian. Daisy was ready to return home. No apparent permanent injuries and they would be happy to see her go home. She had become a demon.

  Robin reluctantly pulled on the brace, made a pot of coffee, poured some into a travel mug, and loaded the cat caddy into the car. She looked up and down the street with eyes even more aware than in the past. It was seven thirty.

  As she searched the street, she saw a vehicle she recognized from last night. A dark gray sedan. A man got out and leaned against it. Ben Taylor. Has he been there all night?

  He was wearing the same shirt and slacks, and he needed a shave. His hair looked as if it had been combed by fingers.

  She walked over to him. “Been here all night?”

  “Pretty much. I thought I would be gone before you got up. I saw the light on all night.”

  “Are you here officially?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Warmth flowed through her. He’d cared enough to stay all night. She only wished she’d noticed the car last night. She might have slept.

  Or not.

  “Want some coffee?”

  “I’d sell my soul for some.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ask that price. Not now.”

  “Have you heard anything about Daisy?”

  Not “the cat.” Daisy. He earned a few more points. He already had too many points for her peace of mind. His actions were not entirely altruistic. She had to remember that.

  “She’s good. You can have a cup, then I have to pick her up.”

  He followed her inside. She poured coffee into a cup and handed it to him. “I got a call last night,” she said. “Around three.”

  He stilled.

  “The voice was disguised and the comment brief.” She repeated the message.

  “Nothing more?”

  “No.”

  He frowned. “You should have called the police. Or me.”

  “I was going to call later today.”

  “You checked caller ID?” Not a question. An assumption.

  “Unknown,” she said. “But why?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Intimidation, perhaps. They might well come after you, particularly if they didn’t find what they needed.”

  “They didn’t.”

  “You say that with such assurance,” he said dryly.

  She clamped her lips together. He was baiting her. Still, he fascinated her. With the overnight beard, he looked more like a bandit than a lawman. Masculinity exuded from him. She met his flinty gaze directly, and shafts of electricity coursed through her. She silently cursed them. She needed her wits about her, not to fall victim again to that magnetism.

  She tried to ignore it. “Can you get the number from phone records?”

  “Yes, but won’t do any good if he used a throwaway phone. Phone records would show you’ve received a call, but I would guess the other number is no longer in existence. I’ll check it, though. Could be just an unhappy deputy or even a crank.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  His eyes gentled. “I don’t know.” His fingers brushed back a lock of her hair. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “No. And I have to call the police, get Daisy, then go in to the office.”

  “Are you going to write about the break-in?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t say anything about Daisy.”

  “Why?”

  “Just don’t.”

  “Why?” she insisted.

  “Hydra’s good at finding weak points and utilizing them.”

  “You’re trying to frighten me again.”

  His fingers touched her cheek. His touch burned all the way through her. “I honestly hope so.” His gaze locked on her again. “Do contact the police about the call. You need to compile a record.”

  “I will.”

  “And get that gun.”

  “Second on the list after Daisy.”

  “Tonight you’re on your own. I would recommend sleeping at a hotel or a friend’s until you get a damned good alarm system.” His eyes were steady on her. “If Hydra is responsible for the Meredith murders, they’ll be relentless in hunting down anyone that might provide a lead to them. They won’t draw a line at you, reporter or not. I’m afraid you haven’t understood that fully.”

  A hardness had crept into his voice again. Damn it, he was treating her as a wayward child rather than a responsible adult. What he didn’t—wouldn’t—understand was that someone had trusted her with his life, and it was a trust she couldn’t betray and live with herself.

  She also resented his condescending attitude. Still there was a maddening inability to break free of his gaze. “You’ve made your point,” she finally retorted. “Several times. I assure you I understand.”

  “Robin …”

  “Whatever you think, I’m not your responsibility. I’m grateful for your help yesterday, but—”

  Two of his fingers stopped the stream of words.

  “I don’t want gratitude,” he said softly. “I want you to stay alive.”

  His eyes were anything but granite now. They were smoldering. She felt the whisper of his breath on her cheek.

  All the air in her lungs expelled in a gasp. She found herself edging toward him and his arms went around her.

  His lips touched hers and explosions rocked her to the toes.

  chapter twelve

  Ben was stunned.

  Stunned that he had just vowed not to repeat his mistake, and now he was doing exactly that.

  Even more stunned as he wallowed in the kiss, in her response to it. The way her body melded into his, and her lips opened to his, and the passion that blazed between them.

  God, she felt good. And looked irresistible. It was that smile that lit the day despite the circles around her eyes. She had that “damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead” view of life. Bound by a code he thought stupid, but she abided by.

  But it was that very naivete, the conviction, the assault on life that stirred something in him that had been dormant. He felt flutters of anticipation again. How long since last he experienced that?

  It shocked the hell out of him. Especially the fact that he couldn’t get enough of her. His hands explored her back, worked their way to her neck and the hair that smelled like roses and felt like silk.

  She tasted good, too, like fresh peppermint.

  She slipped her hands around his neck and drew even closer. His body responded accordingly. With a groan he released her lips and studied her face. This was a no-no. A very big no-no. A career-ending no-no.

  Yet he was befuddled by longing, locked someplace between disbelief and enchantment. Her face was flushed, telegraphing a need as strong as his own, her body fitting his perfectly, her eyes no longer open and honest but smoky, sultry.

  Move away. His brain commanded but his body didn’t obey. Her body aroused every masculine instinct, and he wanted to take her then and there. Against the wall. On the table. Hell, anyplace. It had been there since the beginning. The whiff of attraction. The second look. The awareness. Then last night …

  He felt caught in a whirlwind he couldn’t control. There were only those blue eyes, and vulnerability mixed with uncertainty and desire. She was—or should be—as untouchable a woman as he could ever encounter. Still he couldn’t quite force himself to move. She felt too good, too damn good, and he was so damned lonely for that kind of warmth.

  Her breath caught on a sob, and she stared up at him, her eyes daz
ed. Hell, his probably were, too. This had been the last thing he’d expected. She was the last woman he would have thought to …

  She moved suddenly, then faltered and he caught her as she almost fell. Hell, he’d forgotten about the leg. He steadied her and saw a flash of embarrassment in her eyes.

  “What just happened?” she asked.

  “You almost fell.”

  She took a long, deep breath. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I man, you woman,” he said wryly, hoping that was the end-all of it, though knowing it wasn’t.

  “Is that it?” she said doubtfully.

  “You’re too damn pretty when you’re angry.” He regretted the words the moment he said them.

  But she gave him a smile that was blinding, one he hadn’t seen before. “You’re too damn seductive when you’re angry.”

  “Don’t think anyone ever noticed that before.”

  He told himself he was holding her so she wouldn’t fall. But she had gained her balance seconds ago. Or was it minutes? Time seemed to have stopped. He knew he needed to break out of this … spell … and yet he couldn’t quite force it.

  Was that what addiction was?

  Those eyes were his downfall.

  He’d never seen any quite as blue. Quite as expressive. Quite as inviting even as they challenged.

  His cell phone rang.

  He dropped his hand from her arm and took the phone from his belt. The time flicked. Eight thirty. He should have been at the office by now.

  It was Mahoney. “Where are you? The boss wants to see you.”

  “Ms. Stuart had a visitor last night,” he said. “I’m with her now. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  He hung up and turned to her. “I have to go. Be careful. Always keep your cell phone with you. Call me anytime if you feel threatened. And get that alarm system installed today. If you can’t, stay in a hotel.” He paused, then added, “We can put a tap on your phone in case you get any more calls.”

  She shook her head.

  He wanted to shake her. “At least contact me.”

  It wasn’t so much a question as a command.

  She hesitated long enough that he knew she didn’t want to make any promises she may not keep. She finally nodded. “Any threats,” she agreed.

  He wanted to touch her again, but that would be fatal. He’d already gone so far beyond the bounds of professionalism that he should be sacked. She was a witness. An uncooperative witness, and he may well have a part in compelling her to testify. And sending her to jail.

  She could charge him with all kinds of inappropriate conduct. And the bureau was all he had left.

  He went out the door without any additional words.

  Robin limped to a chair and sat down.

  All the energy left the room with Ben Taylor.

  He infuriated her. He enthralled her.

  No one had ever told her she was pretty in the way he had. She really wasn’t.

  Unconsciously she rubbed her bad leg, her hands feeling the metal underneath her slacks. She looked at the clunky shoes she had to wear. She thought of the ugly scarring on her leg.

  She wouldn’t know for weeks how well her leg had really healed, whether she would be able to run again, or dance again or …

  Where was this all coming from?

  Months ago she’d come to terms with the injury. Grateful that she hadn’t lost her leg. She’d come so close to that reality that she gratefully accepted every surgery, every inconvenience that came with them. She hadn’t allowed it to interfere with her career. She’d fought with all her heart to regain her job despite management’s doubts.

  Now she was so close to proving herself all over again.

  And, damn it, she wasn’t going to destroy it by falling for someone who obviously had his own agenda.

  He couldn’t fake that look in his eyes.

  And he’d left like the devil was after him.

  She couldn’t quite accept that he was swept away by her, that he was indifferent to her career choice and the fact that she might well have a permanently bum leg.

  Daisy.

  She had to get Daisy. Then to the paper.

  No time to daydream. To moon over someone who was worlds away, and should be.

  She stood, her legs still unsteady and her body too warm. She truly hated losing control as she had. She hated the lingering effects of his touch.

  Daisy.

  She grabbed her purse and left the house.

  Robin turned off her cell phone during the meeting as a matter of office protocol. She wouldn’t have done it had not Richard Reese, the publisher, been present, as well as Wade Carlton, Bob Greene, and Cleve Andrews.

  She’d picked up Daisy two hours earlier and left her with Mrs. Jeffers, who promised to spoil her. The cat had licked her hand, then settled into her bed, which Robin had brought with her. Damien hovered around her.

  They’d always liked each other, but now Damien was at his protective best.

  “That FBI artist was over here this morning,” Mrs. Jeffers said as Robin left. “She said I was real observant, had real good eyes.”

  “I always knew that, Mrs. Jeffers.”

  After arriving at the paper, the meeting was moved up to one p.m. The sheriff had scheduled a news conference at four p.m., timed, she thought, for maximum impact in the electronic media.

  Her paper had not received a notice, but they had picked up the news from a television news alert.

  Wade told the others about the break-in and phone call. Since nothing was taken, it was decided not to do a story on those two events. Crank calls were not that unusual for reporters, and there was no proof that it came from anyone other than an irate reader.

  “The paper has agreed, though, to hire protection, starting tonight,” Reese said. “We’ll play it by ear as to how long or until the FBI agrees to provide it.”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  “You sure you want to go to the press conference today?” Wade asked. “Either Cleve or Bob can catch it.”

  “I’m going,” she said.

  “Okay. I’m sending a photographer as well. I’ve asked for Kevin McConnell. Bob will work the Hydra angle, and Cleve, you keep working on the ownership of the property.”

  A surge of adrenaline ran through Robin. She’d feared they would take the story away from her. And Kevin was one of her favorites in the photo department.

  He was a great photographer, and he was also big. Very big. No gentle giant him. He protected reporters. He’d once bounced a camera off the head of the high wizard or whatever of the Ku Klux Klan when the man took exception to a reporter and tried to attack him.

  “I like that idea,” she said.

  “I thought you might.”

  “You can go with him in a company car.”

  She hesitated at that. She wanted to do a little poking around of her own. What she really wanted was for Sandy to try to contact her. She didn’t want anyone around when he did.

  She should be safe. It was daylight, after all, and any number of people would be around the courthouse square.

  “I’ll meet him at the press conference,” she said.

  Wade looked dubious. “I would prefer someone accompany you.”

  “Would that be true if I were a man?”

  He looked uncomfortable.

  “I will be careful,” she promised.

  He agreed reluctantly.

  After the meeting, she went to her desk and checked her cell phone. A text message. The rate of her heartbeat speeded.

  Meet me at the school. Seven p.m. tonight. Alone or you won’t see me. Don’t tell anyone.

  No name, but it had to be Sandy. He was one of very few people who had her cell number. And the warning sounded like him. She checked the number. It wasn’t Sandy’s, but then he couldn’t use his own cell phone. Too easily traced.

  Alone …

  Don’t be stupid. Tell Wade. Tell Ben Taylor.

  Alone … or you won�
��t see me.

  She had to talk him into going to the FBI, and she didn’t know how to reach him herself without leading the bad guys to him. He’d just given her a way.

  She’d picked up her gun this morning. She would have that, and her cell phone.

  The stupid heroine syndrome. How many times had she thrown a book against the wall because the heroine had done something utterly dumb.

  Perhaps my only chance to get the story of a lifetime. And convince him to go to the FBI.

  Why had she turned off the phone, even for an hour?

  She thought about telling Wade but she knew he would say no, at least alone. She couldn’t betray Sandy by taking someone with her. He wouldn’t trust her again.

  She hadn’t been hurt yesterday.

  She had already arranged for an alarm system for her house. It would be installed in two days. She’d picked up the gun from the safe-deposit box this morning.

  And she trusted Sandy.

  Ben stopped at his apartment long enough to put on a clean shirt, slacks, and dark sports coat as well as a different tie. He wasn’t in the mood to take any jokes about wearing the same clothes as yesterday. As the only bachelor in the office, he was too often the butt of wishful thinking.

  When he arrived at the office, he reported to his boss, telling everything—almost everything—that had happened the previous night and asking that his evidence bag be sent to the lab. To his surprise, Holland listened intently and agreed readily.

  “You seem to be making points with Ms. Stuart.”

  “Don’t know I would say that. But she did listen. I think she’ll try to get her source to come to us.”

  “Good. Very good. Our esteemed U.S. attorney doesn’t want to go through a First Amendment battle.”

  Ben didn’t want to disillusion him at this point. He’d definitely gotten the idea that it would take more than him driving her cat to the vet for Robin Stuart to reveal her source.

  “There’s a press conference this afternoon in Meredith County,” he said. “I think they’ll probably try to refute her story.”

  “You have a hearing this afternoon. Judge Becker won’t tolerate a postponement.”

  Ben nodded. The hearing was an appeal on bail for a particularly vicious thug who’d committed several carjackings, usually targeting older people and leaving them badly injured. He didn’t want the guy back on the street.