Tempting the Devil

by Potter, Patricia;

  “We can use a decoy,” Ben said.

  “You may not fool them then,” she said. “My photo’s been in the paper. You need an overt criminal act. Then you’ll have your building blocks.”

  Holland gave her a long, hard stare.

  “She has a vividly inventive mind,” Ben said wryly.

  Holland looked from one to the other, then shook his head. “If you ever want another job …,” Holland said.

  She watched Ben’s face harden. Dani. He was thinking of Dani, she knew with a heart-twisting certainty.

  “That still doesn’t prove Joseph Ames is part of a conspiracy,” Holland argued.

  “I realize that. But if we start catching the little fish, they can lead us to the big one. If nothing comes of it, no one needs to know he was one of the targets.”

  “If someone learns about it, I could be headed to Outer Siberia. Or worse.”

  “I know I’m asking a lot,” Ben said.

  “Oh, hell. If he’s guilty, he needs to be in jail.”

  “Do you have someone higher in the bureau you can go to?”

  Holland thought for a moment, then nodded. Then he turned back to Robin. “I want you to be sure you want to do this. I can get you the protection, but there’s always slipups, and now there’s a wild card. They might have penetrated the FBI.”

  She looked at Ben. His eyes were shuttered, but she knew he was opposed to it. But she wasn’t another Dani. She wasn’t reckless. But she had to do this to get her life back. And she would be protected. Ben would keep her safe, whether he liked it or not.

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  “I’ll set it up,” Holland said. “We’ll get a safe house. And electronic wiretap warrants.”

  “That might lure Kelley, or his thugs, out of hiding,” Robin said. “What about Ames?”

  Holland and Ben exchanged looks.

  Ben spoke first. “If Ames learns of the sting minutes before it goes down, what does he do? Would he risk a phone call?”

  “And if he doesn’t, and we do get Kelley, we can let Mr. Kelley know that the U.S attorney knew about the raid in advance. I really enjoy it when rats go after each other.”

  “We’ll have to get RICO warrants on both of them to tap their home and office phones as well as catch their cell phone conversations,” Ben said. “Can we get one for Ames?”

  “I’ll damn well try.”

  “A U.S. attorney?” Robin asked doubtfully. “We don’t have much.”

  “We have three dead cops and possibly a renegade prosecutor. We have a lot of latitude when it comes to organized crime. I’ll get them,” Holland said.

  “You could destroy your career.”

  “Yeah? Maybe. Maybe not. A U.S. attorney would be a big catch. Do wonders for my career. If it goes south, well, I hate pencil pushing, anyway,” Holland said with a quick grin. Then he turned to Robin. “You’re one gutsy lady.”

  With that, Holland left.

  Ben went over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you sure about this?”

  “I trust you,” she said simply.

  He folded his arms around her. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  She looked up at him. “Because of Dani?”

  “I never could protect Dani. She wanted more than I could give her. There were parts of me I couldn’t share, and she grew to resent that.” His gaze met hers. “She knew something was missing. She told me I was emotionally bankrupt, and she became more and more reckless.”

  She was indignant on his behalf. She’d felt his tenderness, seen his sweetness toward Mrs. Jeffers, his concern for others. She knew his anger and his sadness. She felt it now.

  She touched his cheek with her hand. “You care far more than you’re willing to admit.”

  “There are many who would disagree.”

  She took his hand and turned toward the bed. “I aim to convince you.”

  Robin prowled the safe house. The shades were partially closed, the curtains pulled. She glanced out of a corner and saw nothing but shadows that moved with the swaying trees.

  The house was in southern metropolitan Atlanta, in one of the few remaining undeveloped areas. The sprawling house and barn had seen far better days. The paint was peeling, the carpets inside worn, and the grass overgrown.

  It had been foreclosed on by the bank and was yet to be put on the market. The FBI had taken temporary custody for use as a safe house.

  Mahoney explained that it was perfect for their purposes. The woods surrounding the house made good protection for the handpicked agents outside. Yet it would give any invaders a sense of privacy as well.

  It was Monday evening, and they’d been here since morning. Mahoney came first, then other agents filtered in and took position. Michael called Kelley this afternoon, saying that he had visited Mrs. Jeffers, that she had told him that the FBI agent and her neighbor were staying at an old house she had told them about. She’d made him promise not to tell anyone.

  She both hoped and feared that Kelley would react. He basically had an entire sheriff’s department to call upon.

  The moment anything happened, Holland was to call Ames and tell him about the sting. He only hoped Ames would use his cell phone or home phone to call Kelley and warn him.

  Ben was outside taking a walk but really checking on the agents.

  She smiled as she watched his brisk pace. He didn’t do anything leisurely. And he always looked alone, even when he was with other people. There had always been a detachment, a deliberate separation between him and others.

  Not so much last night as they spent the hours in each other’s arms. She had purchased protection. Learned he’d done the same. They’d produced the small packages at the same time, then chuckled together at the evidence of joint desire.

  She felt a warm rush inside at the memory.

  She didn’t know how long it would last. He’d said nothing about a future.

  It has only been a few weeks.

  Yet she knew. She knew with all her heart that he was the one she wanted. Needed. Loved.

  He would say it was adrenaline.

  Last night, lying in his arms, she knew the difference. She belonged there.

  “How long have you known him?” she asked Mahoney, who was sitting in a chair in a corner. It couldn’t be seen from the outside.

  “Five years. Since he was transferred here.”

  “After Dani?” she asked.

  “There is no ‘after Dani,’” he said wryly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Only that he still feels responsible. He still pays for rehab. It never works. He’s hoping it will this time, but I don’t think his heart believes it.”

  “But they’re divorced.”

  “Doesn’t matter to Ben. She doesn’t have any family. Her mother died when she was at Quantico. He feels responsible for her.” He looked at her shrewdly. “Her rehab bills take nearly all his salary. That won’t change,” he said, obviously warning her. “Ben doesn’t change.”

  Pain surged through her. It seemed bottomless, as if it would swallow her whole. Ben obviously still loved Dani. Always would. No wonder he’d never voiced words she wanted to hear.

  She turned away from the window and looked at her watch. Another hour and it would be pitch black. Lights were on in the bedroom, in this room. In the kitchen. For want of anything else to do, she went into the kitchen and made sandwiches and coffee.

  Would they come tonight?

  Or would they sense a trap?

  She took Mahoney a cup of coffee and sandwich. She couldn’t eat but sipped on the coffee, mulling over what Mahoney had said. Her thoughts must have been on her face because after a moment, Mahoney spoke up again.

  “I didn’t mean he’s still in love with her. I meant that he loved her, and he doesn’t give up on people when they don’t do what he likes. He’s unusual that way. He takes care of them.”

  “He said she called him emotionally bankrupt.”
>
  His eyebrows went straight up. “He told you that? Well, she’s wrong.”

  Ben came back inside. “Everything’s good outside. There’s not much moon tonight, but our people have night-vision glasses.”

  She fought to keep from gazing at him, afraid all her feelings would be only too evident.

  “What about a game of poker?” Mahoney asked.

  “Why not?” she said. “But I don’t have much money.”

  “We play for imaginary pennies,” Mahoney said, obviously choosing to ignore the intensity in the room.

  “I owe him about ten thousand dollars in pennies,” Ben said. “He’s a card sharp.”

  “Ah, you wound me,” Mahoney said and took a deck of cards from his pocket.

  “I don’t understand why I have to go,” Michael protested, as the driver of the van turned a corner. “I told Kelley what you needed to know.”

  “Time for you to get more involved,” the man named Luis, said. “Mr. Kelley wants to be sure of your loyalty.”

  Luis had shown up at his condo an hour earlier, five hours after Michael had called and told him that he believed that Robin Stuart and an FBI agent were staying at a farmhouse. The agent, he said, apparently had gone off the reservation, ignoring summonses by his boss and the U.S. attorney.

  Michael was cold, despite the heat of the Atlanta night. He’d agreed to help the FBI by setting this trap. He had not bargained on being a part of it.

  Did James Kelley suspect something?

  A number of automatic weapons lay on the floor of the van, along with several packages of ammunition. In addition to Luis and himself, there were two dangerous-looking men accompanying them. Four more were in a car behind them.

  So this was what he had worked for?

  “Your hands are shaking, friend,” Luis said in what could only be termed a sneer. Michael looked at his face, and knew he probably wouldn’t live out the night.

  “Don’t worry,” Luis said. “We took those three cops like they were in nursery school.”

  “The FBI is a little different.”

  Luis laughed his disagreement.

  The car turned again and then parked. “You sure this is the house?”

  Michael peered out the window. “I haven’t been here but it’s the right address.”

  “Now why don’t you wander on up there and ask if your friend Robin is there?”

  “Won’t that be suspicious?”

  “An old friend paying respects?” Luis said.

  “What about you?”

  “Don’t worry about us.”

  Michael got out, hoping he didn’t wobble. His legs felt like rubber. He walked slowly up to the door. He glanced around, noticed a few shadows moving away from the car. So he was the diversion.

  The curtain moved slightly. Then he heard a lock being turned. The door opened.

  A tall man stood in the doorway, a gun in his hand. Must be Ben Taylor. He hadn’t met with him in person. Too dangerous. But they had talked.

  “What the hell?” the agent said.

  “Michael. I’m Michael Caldwell.” Just then a shot ripped by him, and a number of shots sounded toward the back of the house.

  Michael stood there, feeling like a truck had struck him. Then he saw blood starting to splotch his shirt.

  The agent opened the door, sprayed the area beyond him. Then an arm went around his shoulder. Not a masculine one. Softer yet strong. Robin. Exposing herself to help drag him inside. Two shots hit the door, then he heard a soft sigh, and he fell as his support fell.

  The cacophony of shots blasted through the building like the hell of war. He tried to crawl to Robin. Then everything went black.

  “Damn it, don’t you ever do what you’re told?”

  The words fought into Robin’s consciousness, keeping the gray fog at bay.

  “Don’t you dare die,” the voice intruded again.

  The noise outside was gone, but the silence had its own thunder.

  “Michael?”

  “He’ll live. Shouldn’t, but he will.”

  She was tired. Really tired.

  “Any … agent hurt?”

  “Just you and Caldwell and some bad guys.”

  “Good,” she said. He was pressing down on something, but everything was numb. She tried to move, but nothing seemed to work. Others crowded around her. She drifted off again. Ben was safe. Michael would live.

  Good enough.

  Robin woke in the hospital. Ben was sleeping in a chair next to her.

  She moved and an involuntary groan woke him.

  He was immediately at her side. His face was covered with dark bristle again, and his eyes were bloodshot.

  “What …?”

  “A bullet hit an artery,” he said. “You almost died from loss of blood. Nearly every FBI agent gave blood.”

  “You can’t dislike reporters now. At least this reporter. I’m … a blood sister.”

  “You’re a damn fool.” But there wasn’t any derision in the words. Rather something like worry. Affection. Maybe even … more than that.

  “What … how long has it been?”

  “It’s Wednesday morning. You should rest now.”

  “What happened?”

  “Their whole wall of cards collapsed. Lou Belize—a big drug lord—was killed but not before he implicated James Kelley. Four of their shooters were killed. Two survived and they’re talking. Ron Holland called Ames to warn him about the raid, and in his arrogance Ames called Kelley. Apparently thought he was immune from electronic surveillance. He’s been arrested. They’re all fighting to make deals.”

  “The story?”

  “All over the country.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. Her big story.

  “I think there’s still a lot of story untold,” he said softly, taking her hand.

  “Have you been here long?”

  “One day. Two nights,” he said. He looked out the window. “There’s been a stream of visitors to see you.”

  “I only want one,” she said, her fingers tightening around his. “And only one story I want to tell.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, a touching of lips so light it was more like a soft breeze. “I’m kinda getting used to you,” he said. “I didn’t realize how much until I thought I would lose you.”

  “A reporter?”

  “I suppose,” he said with that half smile that had always fascinated her. “If you’ll have a cynical worn-out agent with hardly a penny to his name.”

  She knew why now. Emotionally bankrupt? He was the richest man she knew. He had the biggest heart, even if he had tried to fence it with steel.

  “Just try me,” she said. “As long as he kisses better than he did a second ago.”

  And he did.

  epilogue

  A YEAR LATER

  The guest list kept growing, though all the intentions had been for a small wedding.

  Small. Informal. Simple. That’s what both Robin and Ben wanted.

  Even then, Robin had three attendants, including Mrs. Jeffers, who served as her matron of honor. Being a matron of honor had been on her list. Another goal crossed off.

  Considering what her neighbor had lost with good humor, Robin figured it was the least she could do. Her sisters, after hearing the story, had readily agreed.

  Ben had only Mahoney as his best man. Carl Andrews, the former agent from Savannah, was among the invitees, though, and he sat with Dani Taylor, soon to be Mrs. Andrews. She had finished rehab nine months earlier and had remained free of drugs since.

  Robin and Dani had become friends. After finishing rehab, Dani had moved to Atlanta, and Robin had helped her find a job with a recovery non-profit organization she’d featured in an article. Then Carl had started making frequent trips to Atlanta, and occasionally the four would go out to dinner together or have dinner at Robin’s cottage.

  “Ben doesn’t give up on people,” Mahoney had said the night she was shot. Robin had realized in
the past months that her quiet, intense, introverted FBI agent had a heart far bigger than he admitted.

  It had taken nearly a year for him to propose, partly because he’d been so busy with the case. But he also insisted that she be sure of her feelings, that she wasn’t feeling gratitude or simply the remnants of the intense adrenaline they’d shared. He still felt that the failure of his first marriage was his fault. “You have to know me,” he said. “I … I have a hard time sharing feelings. It destroyed my first marriage. I want you to be sure.”

  But he was wrong. He didn’t have a hard time sharing, not once the barriers were broken. He protected. He gave. Not in superficial ways, but in the gut-deep meaningful ways. She’d known that in the beginning, and the next months only made her more sure. He was a caring man who’d created a hard shell to protect himself, and she saw more and more cracks as he helped Dani get a life back and helped Mrs. Jeffers build a new house and Michael Caldwell start again.

  As for the Hydra case, they had been allies and opponents, she always wanting to know more than he could give her. She’d watched as one arrest had led to others. Lou Belize had been killed in the shoot-out at the safe house, but one of his companions—to avoid a death sentence—had confessed, and the walls started crumbling.

  Hydra had been moving a shipment of cocaine from a private plane owned by James Kelley to a van for distribution among smaller dealers in Altanta when the Meredith County officers accidently stumbled on them.

  Unfortunately, one recognized Belize, who was a suspected, but never convicted, drug dealer, along with Meredith Chief Deputy Sheriff Paul Joyner. The sheriff, apparently, had not been involved with Hydra but was convicted of taking bribes over the past twenty years. He had initiated—or continued—the systematic corruption that Hydra had exploited.

  Those arrests led to others. James Kelley, largely due to Michael Caldwell’s testimony, was recently convicted of numerous accounts of criminal conspiracy, tax evasion, and money laundering, and sentenced to forty years in prison. He turned on Joseph Ames to keep from spending his entire life in prison. Ames killed himself minutes before police arrived to arrest him.

  Several Meredith County deputies were arrested as accomplices to a criminal conspiracy, and Sandy testified as to what he heard. He wouldn’t be a coward again, he’d told her. He would always live with the regret he hadn’t done more.