Tempting the Devil (25 page)

Mrs. Jeffers. There was nothing Mrs. Jeffers liked more than a good mystery unless it was conspiracy.

She called the older woman. “Mrs. Jeffers?”

“Oh, how are you, my dear? I've been wanting to come over, but you had a stream of visitors and I thought you might be worn out.”

“I need company,” she lied, unsure whether someone was listening. “May I come over?”

“I would love it.”

She checked the locks on all the doors, left on lights in the bedroom, living room, and kitchen, picked up a complaining Daisy, and left through the front door.

She stopped by the two men in the car. “I'm going next door for supper,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am. We'll keep watch. There's someone in the back as well.”

Good to know
.

She wished every step didn't jar the still wounded ribs. She had a long walk ahead of her. But there was no help for it.

The door opened as she gained the porch. Mrs. Jeffers clucked over her face and showed her inside.

“That nice FBI agent left you?”

“I chased him away.”

Mrs. Jeffers cocked her head like a curious bird.

“I have to get away from prying eyes. I need your help.”

Her sharp eyes caught Robin's. “Will it put you in danger?”

Robin shrugged. “I hope it will take me out of it. It's the only way.”

“What can I do?”

“I would like to use your phone to call a cab, then I need you to distract someone who's watching the back of my house.”

“Are you sure you should do this? That Agent Taylor …”

“He has his own agenda,” she said. “I have to talk to my source without anyone knowing who it is.” She hesitated, then added, “They threatened my family. You might be in danger, too, if they knew …”

“Hush, child. I have a pistol in my night table, and I'm a crack shot.”

Another surprise about her neighbor. The thought of plump Mrs. Jeffers going after someone with a gun blazing was mind-boggling. The last thing she wanted, though, was to draw someone else into the line of fire. After this, she would keep a distance from Mrs. Jeffers.

“If I can use the phone …”

Mrs. Jeffers pointed toward a phone on a table next to a big, overstuffed rocker.

Robin had already found a taxi that operated in her area. She called and asked that she be picked up at a deli, three blocks away. “Twenty minutes,” she promised.

She hung up the phone and turned to Mrs. Jeffers. “Can you take a cup of tea to the guy watching the house out back?”

Mrs. Jeffers's worried face creased into a smile. “An investigator?”

“Yep. Private.”

“It will be my pleasure. My dear, I haven't had this much excitement since I ran away with my first husband. Then I discovered he was a rounder.”

“It could be dangerous,” Robin warned again.

“I look at your poor, sweet face, and I realize that,” Mrs. Jeffers said. “I don't tolerate people who do such things, and I'm old enough not to worry about whether death comes tomorrow or next year.”

“But I do, Mrs. Jeffers.”

“Maude,” Mrs. Jeffers said softly. “If we are to be conspirators, it must be Maude.”

“Maude then,” Robin agreed. “One day you have to tell me about your first husband.”

“Maybe the others as well,” Maude Jeffers said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Robin restrained a giggle. She hadn't known there was a giggle left inside her.

Or perhaps it was a touch of hysteria.

Mrs. Jeffers made a cup of tea and carried it outside.

When Robin saw Mrs. Jeffers adroitly turn the man away from her, she slipped out the back door. She moved across the lawn as quickly as her bad leg allowed her, then through a yard to a side street. The effort winded her. Her breath came hard, and her ribs ached, though not as badly as last night.

Three more blocks. She turned left, then right, keeping to the shadows. She finally reached the deli. The cab was already there.

Thankfully, she sank inside the back seat, then checked the street. She saw no other cars going in their direction. And there could be no tracking device.

For a moment, she was proud of her subterfuge. It fled as quickly as it came. She'd also been proud of herself yesterday afternoon. She was a novice to this, and her only weapon, she hoped, was the unexpected.

An hour later she had her rental car. It hadn't been easy, not without a current driver's license in hand. It was even more difficult to explain why. That the last car she drove was a smoldering ruin. Explaining bad guys were after her didn't seem a good idea. Instead she pretended she didn't know it had expired.

“Oh dear,” she said. “I didn't realized it expired. I'll have it renewed in the morning.” She'd given him a game smile and asked him to speak to her insurance agent if he had a problem. Fortunately the company did not want to lose the business of that particular insurance carrier. She was finally given keys when she promised to stop back the next morning with a copy of a new license.

She got into the car and put the key into the ignition. It caught immediately and she hesitated. The image of a car on fire, of her leg caught under the dashboard flicked through her mind. The terror came back, paralyzing her …

Get a grip
. She only had a few hours. Someone would check on her when she hadn't returned to her cottage. That someone would, most likely, call her boss, who, in turn, would probably call the FBI. She hadn't used her credit card, since the insurance agency would pay the fee, but she feared Ben Taylor was beginning to know how her mind worked. He would probably charm Mrs. Jeffers into telling him everything. He would find the cab, then the car rental agency.

He would be mad as hell.

The late Sunday traffic was light for Atlanta. She took several detours through the city streets, always checking behind her until she felt no one was following.

She stopped at an ATM and used her one credit card to take out a cash advance, then drove to a large drugstore, where she purchased a small voice recorder and billfold.

Then she went to the Varsity, Atlanta's most frequented hamburger emporium, and used one of its multiple pay phones.

Sandy answered immediately.

She tried to deepen her voice. “You said you'd call.” She tried to sound like a distraught girlfriend if anyone was listening.

A silence, then, “I tried the number you gave me.”

She heard the stress in his voice. “I lost the phone. I have to see you.”

“My wife …”

“When can we meet again?”

“My wife is suspicious. Is there a number I can call?”

She gave him the number of the public phone.

He hung up.

She hovered near the phone. Her stomach rumbled. The aroma of frying onions and chili and burgers beckoned to her, but she couldn't chance losing the phone.

Finally the pay phone rang.

“What happened last night?” he asked. “I waited for you.”

“I was ambushed on the way,” she said. “You sent the message, then?”

“Yes. What do you mean, ambushed?”

“A SUV pushed me off the road. A man threatened to burn me alive if I didn't reveal your name.”

She heard him swear. “Did you?”

“No. Someone came along.” She told him the rest.

Then there was a silence.

“Why did you want to meet?” she asked.

Silence again.

“I heard they found a dead deputy,” she prompted.

“It might have been an accident.”

“I don't think you really believe that.” She paused, then said, “They've called me at home twice. This morning they threatened my sisters and their families if I don't give them a name.”

“You can't!” Panic raised his voice.

“You have to give me something I can use for barter. I need something strong enough that I can use as a threat this time.”

“I don't have anything.”

“Find it,” she said, ice in her voice. She owed him, but he owed her as well. He had used her to do something he was afraid to do. She sympathized with his motives, and his fear, but her family was involved now. If there was a way she could protect both of them she would. If not, she would bargain with the FBI to protect all of them.

“There may be something …,” he ventured.

“What?”

“A photo … maybe it could be useful.”

“I need it tonight.”

“Where?”

“There's a church in north Atlanta.” She gave directions. She'd done a lot of thinking about the “where.” She'd attended a wedding there, and it had a huge parking lot with more than a few exits. Not only that, it was on a busy road. Not easy to be trapped there. She sure wasn't going to return to Meredith County.

“It'll take a while. I'm at my brother-in-law's house with my kid. I told them I had to get out to get cigarettes.”

“No one is following you?”

“No.”

“You might check for a GPS. I think that's how they found me.”

Silence, then, “I'll see you in about two hours.”

She hung up the phone.
Two hours
.

Robin suddenly realized she'd had only a piece of bread and peanut butter since morning. She went to the counter, ordered a cola and two chili burgers and carried them to one of the many rooms, each featuring a television and furnished with school-type chairs. She found a chair in a corner, where she could look out over the room. An almost hysterical giggle rose in her. Wild Bill Hickok used to do that a hundred years earlier: choose a chair in a corner of a room. She never thought she'd have to emulate him. She hoped she didn't end up the same way.

She ignored the churning in her stomach and tried to enjoy the food. Apprehension and, she admitted to herself, cold hard fear had dulled her usually healthy appetite. She knew she was an amateur playing in a field of professionals. All she had were books and movies to give her guidance. She did know Ben and whoever else wanted to could quickly find the car rental. But what good would it do them? Hers was one car among hundreds of thousands in Atlanta. Even the license plate wouldn't help unless there was a BOLO, a Be On the Lookout notice, and even then it was unlikely the police would spot her car. She just had to stay out of Meredith County.

Had anyone noticed she was missing yet?

Her bodyguards? Ben?

Had he tried to call her?

Part of her wished he had. She couldn't believe how much she wanted to hear his voice, to feel his arms around her. She had never thought she would feel that way. She'd always yearned to be one of those journalists who traveled the world. No attachments.

Now she had a story that might take her to that exalted level. The price, though, was climbing.

If Ben Taylor knew she'd left her house, he would be furious. But she couldn't live in a bubble, knowing people were outside wanting to burst it, and her unable to do anything about it.

She finished the food and glanced at the television. She had selected an all-news room, not particularly because of the station that was on but because the room was closed in. Most of the other occupants at this time were students, some studying despite the noise from the television. There was one older man. Alone. Reading a newspaper. He occasionally looked over toward her. She studied him. Work pants. Work shirt. Hair graying. Tired looking.

Still, apprehension ran through her. She wondered if she would ever go anywhere again without searching a room for someone suspicious.

Probably he was only curious about the bandages on her face and arms.

She looked at her watch. Time to leave. This was one meeting she couldn't miss. Since she didn't have a valid driver's license, she couldn't risk getting stopped.

Robin wished she still had that gun. Buying a new one would be a high priority. Fortunately she had neglected to take the permit with her to the press conference, so that was still safe at home.

She got up stiffly. As the day progressed she was finding new aches. She limped outside to her car, turning every few seconds to see whether anyone was following. She took a labyrinthine path through the parking lot. When she reached the rental car, she drove out the quickest exit and drove through the Georgia Tech campus before heading for the expressway.

The final Sunday service over, the church parking lot was empty except for a couple of oversized vans with a church logo. She drove around to the back and moved into a space between two exits. She was prepared to race out one of them, horn blowing.

As minutes passed, she clenched her hands together to keep them from trembling. Every headlight on the road made her heart speed.

She didn't know whether he would show or not. Whether he might lead someone to her. But she had nowhere else to go.

This wasn't a good idea. She'd known it since she left her house. Her mother would have called it stubbornness. Maybe that was part of it. No one was going to terrorize her. But it was also the only way she might protect her sisters.

A car appeared at one of the entrances and cruised around before stopping a short distance from hers. She didn't recognize it. She stayed in hers, but started the engine. She remembered the first time she'd met Sandy, when everything had started. She wished now she could erase those moments. Not so much for herself. More for her sisters. Her niece and nephew. She'd never wanted to bring evil into their lives.

Sandy stepped out of the car and walked over to her. He held a flashlight in one hand, his pistol in the other.

She nearly stomped her foot on the gas, but forced herself to wait as he flashed the light into her face and along her bandaged arms. He was silent for a moment, then put his pistol in its holster. “God, I'm sorry, Robin.”

“You're alone?”

“Yeah, and I'm driving my brother-in-law's car. Told him I was having a bit of trouble with mine and asked him to look at it.”