Tempting the Devil (20 page)

Mrs. Perkins looked disconcerted by the requests but nodded.

The doctor came in then. He looked at the cuts and wanted to take X-rays. “Air bags have been known to crack a rib,” he said. He looked at her leg. She was covered by the infamous hospital gown, the brace attached to her shoe obvious. So were the scars from the injury and surgeries.

She tolerated the next hour of waiting, X-rays, then waiting again. A nurse came in and swabbed, treated, and bandaged the cuts, including a small one on her face.

She was just finishing when Ben Taylor appeared.

The nurse blinked twice as he pushed aside the curtain. Maybe it was the deep scowl on his face.

“She had someone call me,” he said and showed his credentials. Then he turned to her and she saw a flash of real concern in his eyes before they turned cold. Furiously cold. “How is she?”

The doctor returned then with X-rays in hand. He looked curiously at Ben Taylor. “Mr. Stuart?”

“No. A friend.”

The doctor—Bruns, she remembered—turned back to her. “Nothing appears to be broken, but your ribs are going to hurt for the next week or so, probably several weeks. Doesn't seem to have injured your leg. Keep the wounds clean.” He scribbled something on a pad and handed her two prescriptions. “One's for pain. Take it as needed. There's also one for an antibiotic for those cuts.” He looked to Ben Taylor. “You're taking her home?”

He nodded.

“She needs to stay in bed for the next few days.”

“I don't think …,” she started.

Ben Taylor quelled her with a look. “I'll wait outside until you get dressed.”

She returned his hard stare even as she felt vulnerable in the shapeless and faded hospital gown with her scarred leg hanging down, and much of her skin covered with bandages. Her hair was probably a fright.

His frown didn't help.

He stepped outside and the nurse returned, fitting the brace back on her leg and then helping her dress in the bloody clothing. As she stood, the pain in her ribs made her breath catch. She swayed and caught the edge of the table.

Then Ben returned, and his hand steadied her.

“They tried to run me off the road,” she said, wondering if she made any sense.

“You can tell me about it in the car,” he said. He put an arm around her and steered her toward a wheelchair an orderly had brought.

“I don't need …”

“I know you don't,” he said, “but there are hospital rules.”

“Thank you for coming. I couldn't think …” She stopped again as she fell into the chair. She wasn't making any sense. And she certainly didn't want him to think she didn't have one person she could call after an accident. “It was just someone tried to kill me, and they're trying to make it my fault.”

She was babbling. She never babbled.

He didn't say anything until he had helped her into the front seat of his car. Then he turned to her. “Someone tried to kill you?”

“Yes. No. Not exactly. They wanted to know who my source was.”

“Who?”

“Two men—I think it was two—in an SUV. They tried to run me off the road. No. Not tried. Did. Kept hitting my car, first in the back, then on the driver's side. Pushed my car off the road. I was trapped inside. I couldn't move. Couldn't reach my gun. Then a man—he wore dark glasses—appeared at the door. My leg was trapped. I couldn't move, and I smelled gas. He threatened to light a match and explode the car if I didn't give him the name of my source.”

“Did you?” he said in a level voice but she saw a muscle throb in his cheek.

“No. Then he
would
have killed me. I saw it in his face. The only thing keeping me alive … was he needed that name.”

“What happened then?”

“A cell phone rang. He cursed. Apparently … told someone was approaching. He left but not before saying he could reach me. Anytime. Anywhere.”

“Who came along?”

“Hunters. Bobby Joe and Ernie. They pulled me out just before the car exploded.”

“Last names?”

She looked at him helplessly. How to explain she hadn't gotten the last names? “I don't know. They just brought me in and disappeared.” She felt stupid and terrified and out of her depth.

He swore. “Mahoney was supposed to look after you. He called me and said he'd lost you.”

“It's my fault. I tried to lose anyone who was following.”

“Why?”

“I … thought I was meeting the source. I didn't want to lead anyone to him.”

“Where were you going to meet?”

“Montcrest School.”

“Where's that?”

“The eastern part of the county.”

He glared at her. “Do you have any idea how completely stupid that was?”

She met his gaze. “Yes.” She hated the trembling in her voice. “But I don't know how they followed me. I was careful.” She paused, then added, “Or I thought I was.”

“Your source asked to meet you there?”

“I thought it was my source. There was a text message on my cell phone. Only a few people have that number. He just said to meet him at the school at seven p.m. We'd met there before. I assumed—”

“Where was your car earlier today?”

“In a parking garage near the paper.”

“You park there every day?”

“Yes.”

“It would have been easy enough to plant a GPS tracking device in your car. Maybe a bug as well. Looks like they were trying to find a good place to get you alone. They could track you without your seeing them. When they found their opportunity, they took it.”

“The hunters said there was a detour sign. They couldn't figure why it was there, so they went around it.”

“Which means there were several people involved. Once they had you on a lonely road, they could call for help to detour traffic on both ends.”

“Isn't that convoluted?” She didn't want to believe anyone had that kind of power. Then she remembered the smirk on the deputies' faces. Had they been involved in her attempted murder? She shivered. “Why not go after me more directly?”

“An accident on a lonely road?” he asked. “They would have the name they wanted, and no one would be the wiser. An explosion. A bottle of alcohol. You were drinking. Then they could go after whoever talked to you.”

“You believe those deputies who were at the hospital were involved?”

“Maybe. Maybe they were just giving you a hard time because they feel you blackened their department. Did you get those names?”

“Yes,” she said. “They had name badges. Staples and Murray.”

“I'll check them out.” He started the car. “Where to?”

“Home.”

“Not alone. You don't have the sense God gave a billy goat.” Fury accompanied every word.

At the moment, Robin couldn't deny it. Her hands still trembled. She'd come close to being burned to death because she thought she was smarter than the bad guys. She swallowed hard, then said softly, “You're right.”

He looked startled at the admission, but didn't amend his characterization. Instead his jaw clenched.

She gritted her teeth, then asked, “Can I use your cell phone? Mine was in the car. I think it's probably cinders now.”

He detached the phone from his belt, handed it to her, then pulled out of the parking lot. Even that movement sent pain pounding against her ribs. She looked at the numbers, blinked as she tried to concentrate.

She didn't have Wade's phone number with her. She dialed the night city editor.

“Robin, where in the hell are you? Wade and I have been going through hell since a nurse called from Meredith General Hospital. I tried to call back but they wouldn't put you through. Then they said you were being released. What the hell happened?”

“A car accident. Planned, I think, but I'm okay.”

“What kind of accident? Where are you?”

“On the way home. Can you give me Wade's home number? I'll explain everything to you tomorrow.”

Then Wade was on the phone. “Robin? Thank God. I've been worried sick.”

“I'm sore, but whole,” she said. “Someone is taking me home. My car is a total loss. It exploded. I don't think I'll be in tomorrow, but I'll phone the story in.”

“Damn it, Robin. How badly were you injured?”

“Just some cuts and bruises,” she said. “County deputies are claiming it was my fault.” She realized she wasn't making much sense. “An SUV forced me off the road. It rammed me. Then someone threatened me …”

Silence. Then, “I don't know who's the bigger fool. You for going, or me for letting you go.”

“I made the decision,” she replied.

“Do you need our attorney?”

“Not now, but I might later.”

“Give Greene the story tomorrow morning.”

“I can write it.”

“No,” he said. “You've become part of the story.”

“They're going to deny it.”

“Who?”

Robin tried to put her thoughts in order. They didn't want to cooperate.
I will not panic
.

“The sheriff's department. Deputies. They claim I was reckless. Drinking. I wasn't.” She hated the defensiveness in the statement.

“You say you're going home. You have a safe ride?”

“I … yes.”

“We've hired an agency to watch your house. They should be there now. I'm coming over.”

“No. I'm fine. Truly I am. I just need to get home.”

“Tomorrow then. I'll stop over before going in to the office.”

She ended the call, returned the phone to Taylor, and tried to think ahead. She didn't want to think about the last few hours. She didn't want to relive the terror.

So many things to do. So much lost. Notes. Transportation—her beloved car. Insurance. Finding another car. Then the thought she'd been avoiding. Someone wanted to kill her. Or was willing to risk killing her in a most unpleasant way to obtain a name from her.

Taylor was silent, a fact she appreciated. Outside of the comment about her stupidity, which she agreed with, there was no “I told you so.” She needed to think, to process everything that had happened. She was surprised, though, that he didn't take this opportunity to ask her for the name of her source.

She suddenly started shaking. She opened her eyes and looked at her hands. Willed them to stop moving. She clasped them to stop it.

Taylor reached out a hand and put it over hers. Just the touch was enough to stop the shivering. His hand was warm. Strong.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm not usually this …” Wobbly? Weak? She didn't want to admit to either.

“I don't know a cop alive that hasn't had a reaction after an experience like that.”

“I remembered two years ago when my car went off a cliff. It was happening all over again …” The shaking resumed.

“Can you give us a sketch of the face?”

“Yes … I think so. He wore dark glasses, though, and a cap.”

“I'll have one of our artists come over in the morning.”

She wanted to go home. She didn't want to go home. She wondered whether she would ever feel safe there again.

She considered blurting out the name that Ben Taylor wanted. That the bad guys wanted. But how could she exchange her life for Sandy's? She knew now why she'd heard the fear in his voice.

Ben moved his hand back to the steering wheel as they entered the interstate. He stepped down on the pedal and just that acceleration increased the aching pain in her chest.

“Why did you call me?” he asked.

“I don't know.”

But she
did
know. She had friends at the paper, but when she had to call someone his was the first name that came to her. She'd felt safe with him last night. She'd desperately wanted to feel safe again.

He didn't say anything else until they neared her neighborhood. He stopped at a drive-through pharmacy for the prescriptions. She realized she didn't have any money—or credit cards—to pay the bill.

Minor concern, considering she was still alive. And yet worrying about minor things diverted thoughts from bigger ones, about the absolute terror she'd felt just hours ago.

She'd thought she was going to die when her car had spun out of control and tumbled down the incline. But a malicious attempt to do her harm was far different from her own carelessness.

They waited in silence until the order was filled and came through the window.

Then he drove her home. The house looked the same from the outside. A car with two men was parked in front.

“My editor said he would hire someone to watch the house,” she said.

Ben parked behind it and took out his gun. “I'm leaving the key in the ignition. If you see anything suspicious, take off for the nearest station.” He didn't wait for her assent, but got out and went over to the driver's side of the other car.

Thank God, it was a bench seat. Easy enough for her to slide if necessary. She watched as he leaned over and talked to the driver. She saw him hand over his credentials and look at others. Then he made a call on his cell phone.

He returned to her side of the car. “They're legit. Decent enough agency. Mostly ex-cops.”

The lights were on next door.

“I want to get Daisy,” she said. “She's with Mrs. Jeffers.”

“I'll get her after you're inside.”

Robin shook her head. “I don't have a key. It was in the car.”

“Wait for me here, then, while I get the cat and key.”

Every muscle in her body ached. Too much to protest.

He sprinted across her lawn to Mrs. Jeffers's. The door opened almost immediately, and she knew that Mrs. Jeffers had watched them drive up. In seconds, Ben Taylor returned to the car with a key in hand.

He opened the car door for her. “Mrs. Jeffers is bringing Daisy and her bed over. I asked her to give us a few minutes to get inside.”