Tempting the Devil

by Potter, Patricia;

  “Okay. Go home and get some sleep,” Holland said.

  “I won’t argue with that. When will you have agents over there?”

  “You said the paper has some guards there now.”

  “Rent-a-cop. One of the better agencies, but still …”

  Holland cast a wary glance his way. “I’ll have a team start today, see if they can’t find an empty house nearby to keep an eye on her house.” He paused, then said, “I don’t want this to go bad. Jailing a reporter is bad publicity. A dead one is worse.”

  “I realize that.” He certainly didn’t intend on that happening.

  Holland speared him with his gaze. “Don’t get personally involved, Taylor.”

  “I never get personally involved. You know how I feel about reporters.”

  “Just keep feeling that way.”

  Ben turned and left.

  Damn it. Just what had Holland noticed?

  chapter sixteen

  The phone rang as Robin hobbled into the bathroom for as good a wash as she could manage with the bandages.

  Ben. Maybe. She hurried as fast as she could to the bedroom phone, plopped down on the bed, and stared at it as it continued to ring.

  It could be Ben, and that possibility tightened her stomach. Then again it could be her anonymous caller. Or Sandy.

  She grabbed the receiver.

  “Hi,” came a lazy voice.

  She recognized it immediately.

  “Michael?”

  “Mike,” the voice corrected. “Thought I would try again for dinner. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Michael from the pub. A date. Normalcy.

  Some time away from thoughts of Ben Taylor. How much of the attraction between them was real? How much was his job? How much came from adrenaline and danger? How much just plain sexual attraction?

  She still didn’t know why, of all the people she knew, she’d chosen him to call after the wreck. He’d been the first person who came to mind. The only one.

  But now she was filled with doubts.

  “Robin?”

  The question jerked her back to the moment. How long had she been lost in thought?

  “I’m sorry. This has been a rather strange night and day.”

  “Bad time? I can call back some other time.”

  “No,” she said. “When?”

  “Tonight?”

  If he came, Ben Taylor wouldn’t. Then again maybe he wouldn’t come anyway, and, heaven help her, she needed time to get her senses under control.

  But she knew today was not the time. She had a meeting with Wade, a session with a FBI sketch artist. Her head hurt, her chest ached, and all she wanted was to go to bed and pull up the covers around her.

  “I had an accident last night, and I’m pretty stiff. I’m supposed to stay home tonight.”

  “An accident? Was it bad?”

  She liked the warm concern in his voice. “Bruised ribs. Some cuts.”

  “What happened?”

  She didn’t want to go into the story now. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

  “Tomorrow?” he persisted.

  “Yes,” she said, “unless something happens on the story.” She had no intention of obeying the doctor’s orders to rest.

  “Tomorrow it is,” he said, though she thought she heard disappointment in his voice. “I’ll call you for a time. Anyplace special you would like to go?”

  “Depends on my ribs.”

  He hung up and she wondered what she’d just done. Made a date with a normal guy. An accountant. Her mother would have been ecstatic.

  Or maybe it was simply to show Ben Taylor that someone was interested in her. Someone who had no agenda.

  The phone rang again.

  “Robin?” Unlike Michael’s voice, Ben Taylor’s was clipped. None of the warmth from last night.

  “None other,” she said flippantly.

  “How are you?”

  “Alive.”

  “Above and beyond that?”

  “Still sore. Thanks for making the coffee.”

  Silence, then, “The sketch artist will be there at noon. Okay?”

  Her day was rapidly filling. And she still hadn’t called her insurance agency about the car. She had no transportation. If she needed anything …

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  “His name is Allen Cruise. Make him show his credentials before you open the door.” The phone went dead.

  Her heart sank. His voice had been cool. Reserved.

  So much for any wild fantasy.

  She went back into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and winced as she surveyed the ruins from yesterday. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Bruises covered her body and were particularly colorful across her chest. Her skin was punctuated by bandages. Every step jarred something inside.

  She washed her face, sponged the rest of her body, and pulled on a T-shirt and altered pair of jeans. She added some lipstick and a bit of makeup to conceal some of the bruises. Just as she finished, the phone rang yet again.

  Damn. She should have brought it into the bathroom with her. She limped as quickly as she could back to the phone.

  “You got out,” a voice said. “Maybe your sisters won’t be so lucky.”

  She froze as she recognized the voice. She would never forget it.

  I’ll see you again, sweetheart.

  “Think about it,” the voice continued. “We want the name before the cops. Think about your family. I will be calling back. You’d better have an answer.”

  Before she could respond, the phone went dead.

  She stood stunned. Terror, stark and vivid, swept through her. She could deal with fear for herself far better than for her sisters.

  What to do?

  Call Lark and Star?

  Lark’s hearing for custody was pending.

  She looked down at the phone clutched in her hand. It was shaking. Ben Taylor had left his phone numbers on her night table. She dialed his cell number.

  He answered on the second ring. “Taylor.”

  “It’s Robin.” Even she heard the panic in her voice.

  “Robin? Something wrong?”

  “I had another phone call. He threatened my sisters.”

  A mumbled curse came across the line, then, “What was said?”

  She told him the exact words.

  “Would you agree to a tap on your phone?”

  She paused. What if Sandy called? But since the story had come out he always used her cell phone.

  “I’m … not sure.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said.

  She wanted him there more than she thought possible. Much more than she should.

  She broke the connection and called Lark.

  In short sentences, Robin explained what had happened and that in any event she may not be able to make the deposition.

  Lark’s silence was painful.

  “I want you to be aware. Careful.”

  “The kids? They wouldn’t go after the kids?”

  “I don’t know. I’m talking to the FBI later. I’ll call you after I talk to them.”

  “Give that caller the name of your source,” Lark said, and Robin heard the panic in her voice.

  “I can’t.”

  “Who’s more important? Someone involved with corruption or your own flesh and blood?”

  The words were like a lance through her heart. Her niece, Kim, was seven and a beautiful little towhead. Kim’s brother, Hunter, was a precocious five-year-old. Robin loved them both dearly.

  “I’ll call you back tonight,” she told Lark.

  Her conversation with Star was as excruciating. Star had taken care of her in between hospital stays. It had been painful for both of them, Robin being so helpless, and Star in the unexpected role of caretaker. Robin owed her more than she could say. Now Star was expecting her first child, and Robin had unwittingly dragged her into danger.

  “I know you, Robin,” Star said. “I know how important your
word is. But now we’re involved. It’s no longer just you. Or your job. You should go to the FBI.”

  “If I do, the bad guys might go after you.”

  “And if you don’t, they may, anyway. I would prefer the FBI on my side rather than homicidal maniacs.”

  If she did reveal her source to the feds, then someone else’s family might die. Heartsick, Robin said good-bye and dropped the receiver. Daisy jumped up next to her and meowed softly.

  Robin held the cat for a moment and scratched her ear.

  Her doorbell pealed.

  She gently dislodged Daisy and headed for the door. She looked out the glass storm door she was keeping locked these days.

  Wade stood there, holding a bag and a laptop.

  She opened the door and he stared at her.

  “Christ,” he said, his eyes roaming over her with concern.

  “It’s not that bad,” she protested.

  “You look like you belong in the hospital.”

  “Not in Meredith County.” She stood aside for him to enter. She led the way to the kitchen. “Coffee is in the pot. Cups are in the cupboard above it.”

  In seconds he placed two cups on the table and opened a bag full of donuts. “There’s a bit of everything in there.”

  She wasn’t hungry. “Something just happened.”

  His hand stilled. “What?”

  She told him about the telephone call.

  “My God,” he said.

  “I’ve called Ben Taylor. He’s coming over. I’m not sure what to do. Maybe they’re bluffing.”

  “How would anyone know about your sisters?”

  “My address book. After the break-in two nights ago, I found it out of its usual place. Ben said they might have photographed the pages.”

  “Ben?” Wade’s eyebrows raised.

  She felt her cheeks warm. Probably turned red as a beet.

  “Ben Taylor. The FBI agent who helped me after the break-in. He … stayed here most of the night last night after the attack.”

  Wade’s brows knitted together and he hesitated for a moment, then said, “Keep in mind he’s the opposition right now.” He paused. “Unless you want to change your mind now. No one would blame you if you gave the FBI the name.”

  “Now the bad guys have threatened my sisters if I give it to anyone but them. They want the name. I don’t think they’ll stop at anything to get it.”

  “I’m sorry, Robin. I didn’t see this coming.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “Mason Parker has been in contact with the U.S. attorney’s office. He’s been told to expect you to be subpoenaed.”

  She looked down at the coffee.

  “Robin?” Wade’s voice brought her back to the present.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  He opened his laptop and put it on the table. “Let’s start with what happened last night. Tell me everything.”

  She recounted every moment. Up until she arrived home. She was a reporter, had trained herself to remember details. The color of the SUV, the shape of the attacker’s face, the voice. Every word. Then the deputies at the hospital.

  His fingers moved rapidly over the keys. His expression grew increasingly grim as she spoke.

  When she finished, he shook his head. “I never thought it would go this far.”

  “Neither did I,” she agreed.

  “You and Greene take time writing the story tomorrow. I want it right. No need to do it today. It has to go through Mason first, anyway, and he’s out of town this weekend.”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll keep the protection. Everywhere you go.”

  “My sisters?”

  “I don’t think the paper will do that. I’ll try.”

  She looked at her hand. It was trembling. She’d accepted the danger last night. For herself. Not for anyone else.

  Now she was caught between loyalties. To Sandy, to her sisters, and, to a lesser degree, to her story.

  “You don’t need to keep the story,” Wade said. “God knows you’ve done a great job. No one would fault you if someone took it over. Take time off. Go somewhere with your sisters.”

  “The subpoena?”

  “It hasn’t been served yet,” he said, his jaw setting.

  Stunned, Robin thought about what he was saying. Running to avoid testifying. The idea was tempting. She and her sisters could disappear for a few weeks. But what of Lark’s children? Their school? Their friends? Their father? If Lark took them, it could mean loss of custody. And Star was expecting after years of disappointment.

  Wherever she turned, she seemed trapped.

  “I don’t think I can do that,” she said. “I started this. And endangered people in doing so. I can’t run away now.”

  “From what you say, they might try to charge you with some traffic violations, maybe even DUI. That could mean the Meredith County jail.”

  “I know. I might be the only reporter in the history of the paper to go to both a local and a federal jail.”

  The small joke provoked a smile, but then his expression turned serious again. “You can stop this now. If you won’t leave the city, go talk to the FBI. Get protection for your source, yourself, your family.”

  “I don’t think they protect extended families. Even if they did, how can I ask my sisters to give up the lives they have now?”

  “Whatever you decide, the paper will support you.”

  “Everyone at the paper?”

  “Management certainly. I would think everyone else.”

  “Thanks for convincing them to give me bodyguards or whatever they are outside.”

  “I was afraid you would object.”

  “I’m not usually an idiot,” she said, “though I suspect I acted like one last night.”

  “You had every reason to believe the text message came from your source.”

  “I’m still not sure it didn’t. They might have followed me any place I went, especially if they could track the car.”

  “No way you can get in touch with him?”

  “Not without possibly leading someone to him.” She paused, then added, “Ben Taylor thinks they might have planted a device in my car that they followed. He had someone come over last night and sweep the house. They found two listening devices in my phone. One in the living room and one in my office.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I am now,” she said.

  “That’s it. You’re off the story.”

  “That’s not going to help, Wade. The problem of the source will still exist. That’s what everyone wants, whether or not I cover the story. So I might as well continue.”

  “I’ll see if we can’t double the protection.”

  She nodded.

  The FBI sketch artist followed Wade’s visit, and twenty minutes after he left, a florist truck arrived. She watched as one of the bodyguards approached it, apparently asked for identification, then allowed the delivery man to approach the house after checking the vase of flowers he carried.

  After thanking the delivery man she took the vase. It was huge and filled her arms as she took them to the table. They were lovely, an intricate mixture of colors. Not roses but an exotic arrangement of blue and purple blooms she couldn’t identify.

  She tore open the card. Hope you’re feeling better. Looking forward to dinner. Michael.

  She stood there and stared at them. She’d received many, many flowers when she’d had her accident. But she’d never received flowers just as a token. Under other circumstances, they would be a pleasant surprise. Now all she could think about was her sisters.

  She put the flowers on her coffee table. An uneasiness stirred inside. She’d instantly felt comfortable with Michael and at any other time would have no qualms about dating him. Now, though, she wanted to know more about him before inviting him in. She would call him tomorrow at the company he said he worked for, as well as check out the company itself.

  The last few days had made her ex
tra cautious.

  She wished she had been that cautious yesterday. She’d thought then she had been. She didn’t plan to take anything for granted again.

  Ben talked to the two men in front of Robin’s house. They were different from the ones last night. He tried to assure himself of their competence. Both were ex-cops, better than untrained rent-a-cops. Then he went to the door. He’d been chafing all morning, ever since the phone call, since she’d told him about the threats to her family.

  He didn’t know what they meant for the case. Or for the plan. The bad guys had upped the stakes, and he didn’t know if he had anything better to offer. He very much doubted that the FBI would protect the families of Robin’s two sisters.

  She must be going through hell.

  He wasn’t altogether prepared when he saw her face as she opened the door. The light in her eyes was gone. The dancing mischief. “Thanks for coming,” she said. Gratitude was etched in her face.

  He tried to ignore the rumbling of guilt inside. “The sketch artist been here?”

  “Came and gone. I don’t think I was as much help as I hoped. Those sunglasses …” Her voice faded off, and she looked as taut as a telephone wire.

  He had vowed not to touch her again. It was all he could do not to.

  She held the door open and he went inside, trying to avoid brushing against her. God, what had happened to his self-control?

  “Have you been up all day?”

  She nodded.

  “You don’t submit to authority very well, do you? The doctor told you to rest.”

  “It’s been a little busy.”

  He glanced around the room and couldn’t miss the huge bouquet of fresh flowers. The card was still among the stems.

  Her eyes met his, and a fine warmth ran through him. It was as if he was coming home, not just visiting a subject involved in an investigation. He should hand the case to someone else. He’d known it since he’d taken Daisy to the vet’s. But he’d told himself he could control it. Now he knew he couldn’t.

  “Back to bed,” he said, knowing he sounded like a stuffy old uncle.

  She didn’t protest. That told him a lot.

  He accompanied her back into the bedroom and found a T-shirt for her. “What about food?”

  “A donut for breakfast.”

  He shook his head, then left, closing the bedroom door behind him. He went into the living room and stared out the window. It was still midday and the sun shone on the street in front. The dark sedan with the bodyguards stuck out like a sore thumb. He only hoped that someone was watching the back as well. There should be an FBI team in the neighborhood tomorrow. It couldn’t be too fast for him.