Tempting the Devil

by Potter, Patricia;

  He went to her office and quickly surveyed the room. He had a good mind for crime scenes, for capturing individual details. Nothing appeared different. He went to the wastepaper basket. Ashes. So she’d burned something. He turned on the computer. She had e-mail but it was protected and he had no idea what the password was. He tried several possibilities. Daisy. Her sisters’ names. Her birth date. Nothing came up. He checked the last time she logged in. This morning.

  He checked the computer printer. Jammed. He opened the side of the printer and dug out the offending piece of paper, or the several pages of paper. The first apparently had been stopped during printing by a second page that was caught in the feeding mechanism. He took out both pieces of paper. One looked like a folding fan. The other contained half a photo of a boat and five men holding their catches. From the quality, he knew it had been enlarged and possibly other people had been cropped away at the edges.

  One man in the photo seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place him right away. He wasn’t worried, though. He knew it would come to him soon.

  He peered at the boat for a name. It was blocked, though, by the fishermen.

  He sat back in the chair. He’d never been on a fishing trip, but he judged this was an oceangoing boat. It appeared rigged for deep-sea fishing. And who were the other men standing there, beaming with pride as they held sizeable fish?

  More important, why was it in Robin’s printer, and what did it mean to her? Was that the reason for her disappearance?

  He made several copies of the photo. He’d finished when he heard Damien bark just a second before he heard the doorbell ring. He hesitated, then decided to answer it. Perhaps whoever it was had some answers.

  He stuffed the photos in his shirt, then went to the door and opened it. A thirties-something woman with warm brown eyes stood there, looking frazzled. She held a cat carrier.

  Startled, she stared at him. “Hello?” she said, a question in her eyes.

  “Hello,” he replied. “I’m Ben Taylor, FBI.”

  Her lips pursed into a big O.

  “Why are you here?” she blurted out.

  “Ms. Stuart appears to be missing.”

  “Oh, that. She decided to take several days’ vacation,” the woman said. “She asked me to look after her dog and cat.”

  “That’s kind of you, Mrs.…”

  “Meeks. Betsy Meeks. Do you mind if I see your credentials?”

  He took out his badge and watched as she examined it closely before handing it back to her.

  “I’m trying to find Ms. Stuart,” he said. “There’s been several attacks on her and I’m afraid she could be in danger.”

  Mrs. Meeks blinked several times. “She didn’t say anything like that. Only that she needed a few days rest.”

  “Why did she call you about picking up the animals?” he asked.

  “I work with an animal rescue group. Robin knows how much I enjoy animals. She’s written several stories about our organization. Our guardian angel, I call her. She’s brought in enough donations to keep us going. This is the least I could do for her. I would have been here sooner but we had an emergency … and, well, I’m late.” Mrs. Meeks said it all in nearly one breath.

  Guardian angel? He wouldn’t have suspected she would take that much interest in a story that wasn’t going to lead the front page. But then he’d been wrong about her from the beginning. About everything. “Did she say where she was going?”

  “No. Just that she needed to get away.”

  “And she didn’t say how long she’d be gone?”

  “Just ‘several days.’”

  “When did she call?”

  “This morning. About six thirty. I’ve been keeping up with the story, and knew she might go to jail. She asked me to foster the animals for several days, and said that if she didn’t go to jail, she would take a few days off. She sounded tired and stressed …”

  Her voice faded off as if she knew she’d said too much.

  “Did she mention a special place, a location she particularly liked?”

  “No. She just said she really didn’t know where she was going. She was just going to imitate a wild goose and go where instinct took her.”

  That sounded like her. Instinct and impulse ruled her. Yet instinct told him the photo had something to do with Robin’s abrupt disappearance.

  He stood aside. At least something was being done about Daisy and Damien.

  He waited, hoping to learn more as the woman went in search of Daisy, finally finding her in the laundry room.

  “Robin told me Daisy might be here.” Mrs. Meeks scooped up the cat and put her in the carrier. Daisy complained loudly.

  Then she picked up Damien, who trembled. With a few soft words the dog settled in her arms.

  “Do you know anything else? Anything at all?”

  “I don’t think I should be saying anything. She would have told you if she wanted you to know.” She turned and bulldozed her way past him.

  He watched as Betsy Meeks returned to her car. She had looked meek in the doorway. Now he knew there was nothing meek about her when protecting her charges.

  Just as Robin was.

  He left the house, copies of the photos folded and tucked out of sight.

  It was dark when Ben went to the home of Wade Carlton, Robin’s editor.

  The door opened to him immediately when he rang the doorbell.

  The editor’s face was lined with worry. “Have you heard anything from Robin?”

  “I was going to ask you that.”

  Accusation was in Carlton’s face as he said, “You said the FBI could protect her better than the people I hired.”

  “I thought they could. I didn’t bargain on the fact that she would try to evade them.”

  “Maybe you should have.”

  Ben wanted to retort that Wade Carlton might have been able to stop her as well. But that wouldn’t solve anything. He needed an ally, not an enemy.

  “What exactly did she tell you?”

  “She didn’t tell me anything. She left the office after finishing a story with Greene, then the agent with her rushed in and said he couldn’t find her. When I arrived home, I found a message on my answering machine that she had to get away for a few days. I’d already offered to give her the time, but I would have appreciated a warning.”

  “She’s not on assignment then?”

  “No. Greene’s taking over the story temporarily.”

  “She didn’t say anything about new information?”

  Carlton’s surprise was evident. “No.”

  “I think she met with her source the night before last. I think he, or she, gave her some lead she’s pursuing.”

  Carlton narrowed his eyes. “And not tell me? Or you?” He seemed to emphasize the last word. “Are you sure?”

  “She disappeared for hours Sunday night. You know that. She said she just wanted to get a rental car, but she was gone a very long time and said very little when she returned.”

  “That doesn’t mean she met with her source. And maybe it’s just as she said. She needed to get away after the hearing today. She knows you want to send her to jail.” The editor’s voice had turned harsh.

  “I don’t want to send her anywhere. I want to help her, damn it. She’s going to get herself killed, as well as others.”

  “Have you thought that maybe she doesn’t trust you?” Carlton said bluntly. “Apparently the Hydra has its tentacles in more than the Meredith sheriff’s department. Are you sure the FBI isn’t penetrated?”

  Ben stared at him for a moment. And Robin’s words came flooding back about him being there whenever anything had happened. “Has Robin learned anything …?”

  Carlton’s silence said it all.

  So that was why she’d suddenly shut him out. He tried to put himself in her place. So much had happened in a period of a few days. She’d almost been killed, her family threatened, her neighbor burned out. Trust must be running pretty thin. Still, the lack
of it hurt more than he thought possible.

  The ice man was no longer that.

  Carlton was still watching him, seeking his own truth.

  Was he sure the FBI wasn’t penetrated?

  No, he wasn’t. It had been penetrated before. And close to home. His home.

  He knew how destructive distrust was. Knew it only too well.

  For all the friends Robin had, he knew that right now she must feel like the loneliest person on earth.

  chapter twenty-four

  Despite her exhaustion, Robin hadn’t thought she could sleep.

  She’d suffered that kind of wakefulness before. When she was just too tired to sleep. Too many questions in her head.

  But the moment she laid her head on the pillow, she knew nothing else until light streamed through the cheap curtains.

  It took her a moment to remember where she was. Then it all came flooding back in terrifying detail. The fires. The threats. The grand jury hearing.

  Most of all she saw Ben Taylor in her mind. He would be angry. Puzzled. Frustrated.

  Because he’d lost her.

  She went to the window and searched around the parking lot. Nothing looked suspicious. In fact, it was mostly empty now that it was daylight. She took a quick shower, then pulled on a pair of jeans and the shell she’d worn yesterday.

  It felt good walking without the brace. The exercises she’d done religiously had made her left knee as flexible as the right one, but it didn’t yet have the strength. Or perhaps it was her caution.

  She longed for coffee, but there was no little coffeemaker in the room. Probably wouldn’t be any in the so-called lobby, either. In any event, she didn’t want anyone to remember her face.

  She looked at the photos again, praying that she was right, that the answer to her questions lay somewhere in them. Sandy had said Brunswick. Would the boat still be there? Could she find the registration or had it been registered someplace else?

  If it was in Brunswick. If she was lucky.

  She looked out the motel window again before opening the door. Still nothing. Clutching her purse and duffle, she left. She would get some coffee and breakfast somewhere, then head for Savannah. She was certain she could purchase a weapon there. Then she would drive to Brunswick. Anyone who owned a boat like that would probably be a member of a yacht club, or at the very least be moored at one of the marinas.

  That first. Then she would start looking for ownership records of the condos on the beach. Sooner or later, she would find a common denominator.

  The question was how long she could search without being noticed and becoming the hunted rather than the hunter. Again.

  She reached Savannah at midmorning.

  First order of business was a weapon. She found a gun shop, showed her permit, and paid for the pistol in cash. She spent another hour at a shooting range, recapturing long-ago skills her father had drilled into her.

  She found a discount store and purchased some underwear and a few other items she needed. She also purchased a prepaid credit card for a thousand dollars. No name necessary.

  She desperately missed her laptop, but she hadn’t figured out a way to put that in her purse and she couldn’t afford a new one. Instead, she stopped at a Kinko’s in Savannah, and used one of their computers to log on to the Internet, then she linked to the city of Brunswick.

  In minutes she had a list of fourteen marinas in the Brunswick area. What she didn’t know was whether the boat was docked in Brunswick permanently or merely sailed there for the various outings. But it would have had to be docked there at least temporarily.

  She wished she had a name for the boat. But it could be easily changed in any event. It was the registration number that might lead to the owner.

  She used a public telephone to call her attorney friend in California. He’d heard from Star’s husband, who reported they were all safe. They didn’t say where, but it didn’t matter. It was enough that they had evidently gotten away.

  Then she checked her voice mail service, since she’d turned off her cell phone when she left Atlanta. She didn’t know if someone could trace cell phone signals even when she wasn’t making a call. She made a mental note to propose doing a story for the paper on the traceability of cell phones when her life returned to normal. If she still had a job.

  There were ten calls, including two from Ben Taylor, three from her editor, and others by various friends indicating concern. She wished she could call them all back, but she couldn’t risk it. Wade would ask too many questions and probably tell her to return.

  And Ben …

  She thought how safe she’d felt in his arms, in his presence after the attack in Meredith County. Could it have been fool’s gold? Could she have been that wrong? Were her instincts that awry?

  Forget it! Even if he was gold of the purest kind, his superiors may not be. The result could be just as deadly.

  The list of marinas in hand, she got back into her car and turned south.

  Ben arrived at the office at eight the morning after Robin’s disappearance. He’d tried to grab some sleep. There had been none the night of the fire, and precious little the night before that, and he knew he couldn’t function any longer without some. He slept a little, but it had been restless sleep, and he woke early. He ran a mile, trying to clear his head. The only clue he had to Robin’s whereabouts was that photo. A boat. Some men. He had no idea where it was docked or why it was important.

  The fishermen in the photo. He thought one had seemed familiar last night but he hadn’t been able to place it. When he returned to his apartment, he looked at it again. Now it tumbled into place. Ben had seen him at the press conference. He’d been standing at the side of the sheriff.

  He had a place to start. Mahoney and several other agents were already doing extensive investigations on every deputy in the Meredith County Sheriff’s office. They would have photos of them. He wanted to see if more officers were in that photo. Then he could learn where the boat was.

  And he planned to do it fast.

  He took a cold shower, the icy water thoroughly waking him as his mind raced ahead.

  Once dried and dressed, he tried to call Robin again, but her cell phone was off. He didn’t try to leave a number this time. It was his third call. He grabbed the photo and drove downtown to the office.

  Mahoney was already there. “The U.S. attorney called. Wants to see you at his office.”

  “He’s in this early?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Me alone? Not us?”

  Mahoney shrugged. “You’ve been the Lone Ranger lately. I don’t think he’s happy.”

  “What about Holland?”

  “Holland wants what Joseph Ames wants. And Ames is feeling the heat. He doesn’t really want to send a reporter to jail. Bad press might hurt his chances on his climb to the top.”

  “I’ll call him later,” Ben said. “I have something that might help the case.” He pulled out the photograph. “I don’t want Holland to know about this yet,” he said. “Not until we know if it pans out.”

  Mahoney glanced at the photo, then looked puzzled.

  “You’ve been going over the backgrounds of the deputies,” Ben said. “Do any of the men in this picture look familiar?”

  Mahoney looked again and slowly nodded. He picked up a file on his desk which included photos and information on members of the sheriff’s department. Twenty minutes later, they had matched all five of the men in Robin’s photo to photos in the file.

  Four were currently with the department. The fifth had been killed at a traffic stop seven months ago.

  Ben seized on that information. “Did they catch the perp?”

  “I checked on that. No. It’s a cold case. The officer—Mark Boatright—he called in to report he was stopping a car. Gave a license number that later turned out to be stolen. There was nothing else.”

  “Another death in Meredith law enforcement. Obviously not a good place to be a cop,” Ben said. “
Was he married?”

  “Yep.”

  “I think someone should talk to the widow.”

  Not just someone. He damned well was going to do it. He wanted to know whether she remembered a fishing trip, and where it was.

  “Do you have an address?”

  Mahoney went back to work and came up with both an address and a phone number.

  Ben debated calling or visiting. He decided a call would forewarn her. Surprise always trumped warning. If she wasn’t there, they should be able to find out from neighbors where she worked.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “What about Ames?”

  Ben shrugged. “That can wait.”

  “You know what you’re doing?”

  “I know we have a missing witness who might be running hellbent into trouble.”

  Mahoney groaned. “My pension …” But he got up and followed Ben out the door.

  Fifty minutes later, Ben drove up in front of a modest frame house. A bicycle leaned against the porch and a tricycle was nearby. The grass looked ragged and untended, but the house was newly painted.

  He and Mahoney went together to the door. He took out his badge and held it in his hand, then rang the bell.

  A dog barked inside, but no one answered.

  He rang a few more times, then Mahoney went to the left and he to the nearest house on the right. Two homes down Ben found a woman home. She stood behind a locked door while he showed his badge, then she opened it.

  “I’m Special Agent Ben Taylor. Mrs.…”

  “Allen. Jean Allen.” She paused as she opened the door wider, inviting him in. “Wouldn’t have been this cautious two weeks ago,” she said. “This was always a real peaceful place.”

  “We’re looking for Amy Boatright.”

  “No. We’re just following up on her husband’s death. Do you know where she might be?”

  “She works at the school cafeteria. I’m keeping her youngest now. She should be home at two.”

  He looked at his watch. Almost eleven. He didn’t want to wait until two. Every minute counted. Robin Stuart was out there on her own, probably thinking she was smarter than the perps. Always a big mistake. He’d disabused himself of that a long time ago. Despite the television programs, there were smart bad guys out there, and he’d discovered that whoever led Hydra was very smart indeed.