The sky was blood red with flames, and he felt the moisture of steam as streams of water mixed with fire.
The air felt good. He took several deep breaths, then took the mask off and asked the EMT, “How’s the lady?”
“The older lady?” the paramedic asked. “Alive. She’s on her way to the hospital.”
Ben closed his eyes in relief.
The paramedic looked at his legs. “You have some burns there. Not bad, but they should be treated.”
“No hospital,” he mumbled. He breathed in the fresh air. His throat was scratchy but he didn’t think real damage had been done, but Mrs. Jeffers’s age went against her.
“Your lungs should be checked as well.”
“Go,” Robin ordered. She held Damien now, the dog squirming in her arms.
He realized he should. He wouldn’t do anyone any good if his legs became infected. They were beginning to burn like the furies. But he would do it on his own terms, not in an ambulance.
A fire department captain came over to him. “Understand you’re FBI?”
Ben nodded.
“Anything our fire inspector should know?”
“It moved fast,” he rasped. “I saw a flicker, then it seemed the entire house went up in flames.”
“He’ll want to talk to you.”
“I’ll be available tomorrow.” He gave the captain his card.
Something nagged at him. The fire had spread too rapidly not to be arson. So why the house next door to Robin’s, unless someone thought Mrs. Jeffers had helped her? Unless, of course, they wanted another lesson.
Or a diversion.
He turned toward another man who’d received oxygen. He was the private bodyguard—Burt Stanley—who’d grabbed Damien in the house. “Is anyone still watching Ms. Stuart’s house?”
“Campbell was watching the front. He’s here now, watching Ms. Stuart. Berryhill was at the back.” He looked around, then got to his feet and started toward the back of Robin’s house.
Ben went after him. He was aware that Robin was trailing behind. He turned. “Stay here with Campbell.”
She started to protest.
“Damn it, Robin, just listen for a change …”
She stopped, hesitated. Then nodded.
He followed Burt Stanley to the back. He saw a body lying on the ground and hurried over to it. The man still had a pulse.
Stanley disappeared and returned with two paramedics and a uniformed officer, who was already talking into his radio.
“Looks like a concussion. He was hit pretty good,” said the paramedic who was examining him.
“Maybe he saw something,” Stanley said hopefully.
“If he had he would be dead,” Ben said flatly.
He turned and Robin was standing there, still clutching the tiny poodle. “What …?” she started.
“Someone knocked one of your guards senseless.”
“He’s not …”
“No.”
“Why?”
“They probably didn’t want to take a chance he might see something. He’s lucky he’s not dead.”
A myriad of emotions crossed her face. Realization? Fear? Definitely sorrow and guilt.
Her eyes went over the burns, then to his face.
“They’re not going to stop,” she stated as fact.
“No,” he agreed. His leg burned and his voice was hoarse. He looked around, signaling to the FBI agent who’d been watching the house. He was standing on the fringes of the crowd, eyes intent on Robin. “Check out the house before the lady goes back in. Look for bugs or taping devices. Then don’t let her out of your sight.”
The agent nodded. “Damned if I know how someone got by us.”
“Maybe after he started the fire. You were calling 911. I was running toward the house.”
An EMT interrupted to say they were leaving. “You really need to go with us.”
“No,” he said but agreed to sign a statement waiving any liability or responsibility. He looked up from the papers and saw Robin standing straight. The robe she wore left little to the imagination.
“I think you’d better go home,” he said, his gaze running over her.
Her face blazed, realizing the robe was plastered to her body. It was the first time he’d seen her face that particular color. Or maybe it was the emergency lights that sent red blasts of color through the darkness.
“I’m going to get dressed and drive to the hospital,” she said. “Mrs. Jeffers doesn’t have anyone.” She hesitated. “Do you want to go with me?”
He wanted to accept. Perhaps those few moments had dulled that suspicion he’d seen earlier. But there were still questions in her eyes, and he needed his car. He needed privacy to make necessary phone calls and he had to go by his apartment to get some clothes. His slacks were burned and his shirt was covered with soot.
Robin still lingered. “Thank you for saving Mrs. Jeffers.”
“Not necessary,” he said. He hesitated, then added, “Thanks for the breaths of air.”
“Not necessary,” she echoed his words with a slight smile. Then it disappeared as her gaze moved to the gutted house. The blaze had been quenched, though embers drifted through the air. Robin’s house had been hosed down as had been the house on the other side. The fire department would probably stay through the night until there was no more danger of the fire spreading.
She’d dodged another bullet.
Or maybe not.
It depended on what the perps had wanted to accomplish.
One thing he knew. The quicker she went into jail, the safer she would be. Especially if they planted an agent in a cell with her.
Now she stood there with her damp hair curling and bare feet, trying to hold a tiny poodle while clasping her robe. She looked even more appealing to him than she had before.
“You’d better dress if you’re going to look after Mrs. Jeffers,” he said, “and put on that brace.”
“You’re right, of course.” She fixed him with an unblinking stare. “Are you always right?”
“No.”
“I think that’s comforting.”
“Think?”
“I don’t know anything, anymore,” she said sadly and turned back toward her house, Campbell behind her.
He wanted to go after her, but her earlier words stopped him. Because every time anything happens you’re there.
Now they hit like a sword in his gut.
Obviously she’d considered the possibility that he was involved in some way.
He’d been there again tonight. She would remember that soon. What trust he thought he’d built was gone.
He was startled at the dismay he felt, and not because it was his job.
Trust, once gone, was difficult to mend. No one knew that better than him.
He would recommend that another agent be assigned to her.
With that in mind, he walked to his car. He called his boss and told him what had happened, asked for additional agents to protect Robin Stuart. “She’ll be at Eastside. A private bodyguard will be with her, but I want more.”
Then, ignoring the pain in his legs, he pressed down on the gas pedal and headed for his apartment to pick up clothes, then to the hospital.
All the way he remembered her face. Damn it, she’d looked more angry than frightened. And that scared the bloody hell out of him.
chapter twenty-one
Robin found Mrs. Jeffers in a cubicle in the emergency room, her mouth and nose covered by an oxygen mask.
She went over immediately and clasped Mrs. Jeffers’s hand, which tightened around Robin’s fingers.
Pain squeezed Robin’s heart as she rested her huge purse on the bed. Mrs. Jeffers looked so small in the bed with an IV seeping its magic into her veins.
Dave Campbell, the bodyguard who had driven her to the hospital, waited outside. She had asked him to tell her when Ben Taylor came in—if he came in.
Her purse wriggled and she put a hand inside, praying Dam
ien wouldn’t bark.
She knew, though, that Mrs. Jeffers could not rest unless she was assured that Damien was okay.
Through the oxygen mask, she heard Mrs. Jeffers’s labored breathing but those bright, sharp eyes were undaunted.
The older woman tried to say something but Robin couldn’t catch the words. Mrs. Jeffers pulled the mask off with one hand. A nurse in blue scrubs tried to stop her, but Mrs. Jeffers turned to Robin. “Damien?” she asked in a barely audible voice.
“He’s fine,” she said. The purse moved.
Mrs. Jeffers apparently caught the movement and she tried to smile but it was more grimace and she started to cough.
Robin quickly lowered the purse to the floor and caught Mrs. Jeffers’s hand with her free one and squeezed it. “He’s safe,” she said.
“A fire wasn’t … on my list,” Mrs. Jeffers said in a hoarse voice.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Robin said, squeezing the plump hand tighter.
Then Mrs. Jeffers’s lips quirked upward. “But a handsome man saving me was. They told me in the ambulance Agent Taylor carried me out.”
Robin chuckled. Mrs. Jeffers had just lost everything, and she’d found a silver lining. Like the Unsinkable Molly Brown.
“I imagine that was high on your list.”
“Right in there with finding a husband for—” A spasm of coughing interrupted her words. The nurse replaced the mask, then asked Robin, “Are you a relative?”
“A friend.”
“Do you know if she’s allergic to anything?”
“I don’t know.”
The nurse repeated the question to Mrs. Jeffers, who shook her head.
“Any relatives?” the nurse asked.
“I don’t know,” Robin replied, realizing how little she really knew about Mrs. Jeffers. She’d never spoken of family members. All the photographs in her home were old ones.
Mrs. Jeffers evidently heard the question because again she shook her head.
Terrible regrets racked Robin. There apparently was no one but herself who cared.
So much was gone. All of Mrs. Jeffers’s treasures. Her photographs. Keepsakes memorializing successes on her list. A ticket from Carnegie Hall. A stuffed bear she won at a carnival. A record—not a CD—from a play she’d seen. letters from a child she sponsored in Chile. They’d meant so much to her. Those small symbols she treasured when she’d crossed off a goal on her list.
And it was her fault.
Robin had no doubt she was responsible. Whether it was another warning, or a diversion, she didn’t know. She only knew she was responsible for the pain of someone she cared deeply about.
And she didn’t know what to do about it. Except expose the people who’d committed the act.
A woman who identified herself as a patients’ representative appeared at the door. “Are you a relative?”
“Friend,” she said again.
“I need some information.”
“I can’t help you much. Name. Address. Phone number. That’s it.”
“Age?”
“Eighty-two and proud of it.”
“Next of kin?”
Robin shook her head. “She never spoke of anyone.”
“Insurance?”
Robin shook her head. “I imagine Medicare. But I’ll be responsible for what isn’t covered.”
“What happened?”
“A house fire. She lives next door.”
“Your name?”
Robin gave her name, address, and phone number. The purse wriggled at her feet. Robin leaned over and put her hand inside as if looking for something. She soothed Damien with her hand.
A doctor appeared, looked at the chart, asked some questions, then ordered that blood samples be taken. He added that she should be fine, but he wanted to keep her at least overnight for observation and probably several days longer to make sure her lungs weren’t damaged.
Robin followed her up to a room and watched as she was moved to a bed and the oxygen adjusted. When the last staff person left, she took Damien from her purse. He’d been amazingly good, as if he knew he had to be still. Once out, he frantically licked Mrs. Jeffers’s hand.
Mrs. Jeffers looked at her gratefully, though the oxygen mask was still in place. Then her eyes closed.
Robin tucked Damien back into the bag as a male nurse came in to check Mrs. Jeffers’s vital signs.
The room looked stark and empty. No personal possessions to personalize it even a little. No clothes. Not even a pair of slippers or a hairbrush. Robin swallowed hard. She knew how she felt when her car had exploded with so much in it. Mrs. Jeffers had lost so much more. Every piece of clothing. Every personal belonging.
And where would she go after being released by the hospital?
Robin would ask Mrs. Jeffers to stay with her until her insurance money came, but her home was no safer than her neighbor’s had proven to be.
A dark, terrible rage filled her. She could take whatever was thrown at her. She’d grabbed hold of the tiger’s tail and accepted the consequences, but to hurt an innocent old lady and her beloved, harmless dog …
What did that mean for her sisters and Lark’s kids? Had they done as she’d asked? Had they left their cities? Had they been careful enough?
Had her own threat ensured their safety or infuriated the Hydra into burning her neighbor’s home? She had no way of knowing. No way to find out. She had to wait for her sisters to contact her. And Hydra.
And she had to be in front of a grand jury in a few hours. Maybe go to jail.
The magnitude of what was happening momentarily stunned her into paralysis.
No! They won’t win.
She took out the notebook that was sharing her purse with Damien. He had nestled down in a wool scarf she’d provided for him.
Make a list. She thrived on lists.
First on the list: Find a safe place for Damien and her own Daisy. She knew an animal-loving friend who would probably take them for several days. Robin glanced up at the clock on the wall. Three in the morning.
She would call at seven.
Second: Find Ben Taylor. Make sure he was all right.
Third: Fax Star’s husband’s office. He would probably maintain contact with it. She had to tell him what had happened.
Fourth: Have a friend get some clothes and personal items for Mrs. Jeffers and keep her company. If Maude Jeffers was released, find her a safe place at Robin’s expense. Try to find a relative or friend.
Five: Grand jury appearance at ten a.m.
Six: Call her boss and Mason.
She concluded the notes with large bold letters. GET THE BASTARDS!!!!!
When she looked at Mrs. Jeffers again, her friend’s eyes were open. She pulled down the oxygen mask again. “That FBI agent … Ben Taylor … is he all right?”
“I think so. He had some minor burns.”
“Is he at the hospital? Can I thank him?”
“I’m not sure where he is.”
“He’s … a hunk.”
Robin couldn’t suppress a smile. The words coming from the tea-drinking, dignified Mrs. Jeffers were incongruous, but then her neighbor frequently surprised her.
But then guilt settled over her. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “The fire was my fault.”
“Did you burn my house down?”
“No, but …”
“No ‘but’ about it,” Mrs. Jeffers said. “Don’t you fret. Nothing but things. Damien is safe. You’re safe. That’s what matters.”
The fact that Mrs. Jeffers worried more about her than her own losses made her blink back tears. Surely Mrs. Jeffers must have friends. A relative somewhere?
If Robin went to jail later today, who would look after Mrs. Jeffers? She leaned over. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone I can call?” she asked. “A relative?”
Mrs. Jeffers’s eyes clouded. Then she shook her head.
“No sisters or nieces or anyone?”
She hesitated, then said rel
uctantly. “A … sister in Memphis. We haven’t talked in years.”
“What’s her name?”
Again a reluctance, then, “Evans. Mrs. Jason Evans.”
Not a first name. Just the married name.
But at least it was something.
Then Mrs. Jeffers started coughing again, and Robin replaced the mask. A few moments later, she closed her eyes.
Robin stood stiffly. She wrote a note, placed it on the table next to the bed, grabbed the purse containing Damien. She was near the door when it opened and she faced Ben Taylor.
He wore a denim blue shirt and jeans, and he was clean shaven.
There was little friendliness in his dark eyes. None of the warmth she’d felt days earlier, or even hours ago when he’d thanked her. It was as if a spigot had turned off. Or summer had changed into winter.
“Robin,” he acknowledged. But he might as well have called her Ms. Stuart for all the warmth in his voice. Or lack of it. She was left with an inexplicable sense of emptiness.
“You didn’t wait for me,” she said.
“No,” he said without explanation.
He went over to Mrs. Jeffers, who was sleeping. He didn’t look at Robin as he asked, “How is she?”
“Holding in there.” Her voice broke. “And more gracious than I deserve. She should be okay physically, but she’s lost everything but Damien. I’m trying to find a relative.”
He turned to her, his eyes dark and forbidding. Tension coiled between them.
She ached with the need to touch him, to feel his arms around her, to see that rare smile and know that he understood her desperate attempt to make things right.
Instead, his lips thinned. “How many more people are you going to hurt while playing Brenda Starr?” His anger was palpable.
She had decided to tell him everything. She’d decided in the past few hours with Mrs. Jeffers that she had to trust someone, that altogether too many lives had already been taken or risked. And surely he couldn’t be involved if he’d risked his life for Mrs. Jeffers.
She owed him for that. A lot.
Her cell phone vibrated.
She tore her gaze away from his. “My cell phone …”
Tempting the Devil Page 23
