She went out into the hall, walked down the corridor to a window, and answered it.
“You’re spending a lot of time in the hospital,” came the metallic voice. “And with a certain FBI agent.”
She froze. How did he know that? Was the caller here now? Was he down the hall?
“The grand jury meets in a few hours,” the voice said. “Testify, and your sisters will die the way your neighbor almost did. They’re not very good at hiding.”
A suffocating sensation tightened her throat. Did they know where Star and Lark had gone?
“You shouldn’t have burned down Mrs. Jeffers’s house,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “That was a deal breaker.”
“Alas, it was too late to stop it.”
“You admit—”
“This is your last warning,” he cut her off. “Talk to the grand jury and people will die. We have someone who will know, someone … close to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You should be more careful about your friends.”
Then the phone went dead.
She stared at it for a moment. Did they mean Ben Taylor? Were they telling her he was involved. That he was their mole inside the FBI?
Or did they just want to separate her from him?
She started back down the hall to Mrs. Jeffers’s room. She would ask Ben about the fire. How had he happened to be there so quickly?
He was standing over Mrs. Jeffers.
She panicked for a moment, then reassured herself. He’d saved her neighbor. He wouldn’t harm her now.
He turned and must have seen something in her face because a muscle throbbed in his cheek. “Robin?”
“How did you happen to be at Mrs. Jeffers’s house?” she asked directly.
He stiffened.
“If you really want to know, I was keeping an eye on you.”
Just then a nurse knocked and came in. Damien chose that moment to complain with a loud bark.
The nurse raised an eyebrow.
“Toy dog that barks,” Robin explained.
“Heard that one before. Won’t work,” the nurse said, eyeing the bag, which was moving.
“I just … wanted her to know her dog is okay.”
The nurse smiled. “Good thing I’m a little hard of hearing, but you’d better leave now.”
Clutching the bag, she headed for the door. Any idea that she would confide in Ben had vanished. It was not only the disdain when he looked at her, but the call, the warning, that had been damning. Who else was close to her? Who else would know what happened in a grand jury room?
Who else would know where she was nearly every moment?
Saving her neighbor could well be a clever trick. Or, as he said, a diversion.
She was out the door before he could ask a question. Dave Campbell, her bodyguard, was there waiting for her.
She leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to focus. For several moments she’d thought—really believed—she could tell him everything and somehow the two of them, together, could end her nightmare.
What if she had been wrong about him being a good guy?
Blindly she walked with Campbell out of the hospital to his car. Not dawn yet, but it shortly would be.
With dawn came decisions that had to be made.
Ben knew he could have handled that better.
But the moment he’d looked at her earnest face, he’d known he was no longer an objective investigator. He saw entirely too much in her. She was suffering intensely about what had happened.
He didn’t want her to suffer at all.
He’d seen something else. A silent plea for understanding.
But he didn’t understand.
He didn’t understand the plea when obviously she didn’t trust him. For a moment, he’d thought …
But then her cell phone rang.
Her face had changed when she returned. Instead of anguish, there was suspicion again. Suspicion and determination. No more plea. No more gratitude.
He wondered whom he would trust if he were in her position. Probably no one.
He stood next to Mrs. Jeffers. In her hospital gown she looked small, like a broken sparrow. He doubted whether she knew anything, or had seen anything. She had been unconscious in bed when he’d found her, her miniature guard dog beside her.
“Agent Taylor?”
The words were barely audible within the oxygen mask.
He leaned over. “You’re going to be just fine, Mrs. Jeffers.”
She pulled the mask up off her mouth. “They say you … carried me out.”
“I had that privilege,” he said, taking her hand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve carried a lady downstairs. Or upstairs for that matter.”
“I wish … I’d been … awake. My …”
“List,” he finished when her words died off.
“Doesn’t count,” she struggled to say. “I don’t remember it.”
“Do you remember anything?” he said.
“No. Damien went outside to water the bush. I looked out, like I always do. Those nice men were in front of Robin’s house. I felt safe. Then we went to bed. I woke up with someone breathing into me.”
She looked up at him. “I don’t think I left the stove on.”
“You didn’t. The fire started outside.”
“There’s nothing …” She stopped. “That’s why … Robin was so upset. She thought it was her fault.”
“We think the same people who broke into her house might have set your house on fire.”
“But why?”
“Because they like to hurt people. To scare them.”
Mrs. Jeffers’s face grew even older, the lines deepening. “They used me to scare her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was a diversion of some kind.”
“You … will look out for her?”
“I’m trying. She doesn’t make it easy.”
“She’s … like a daughter to me.” The woman’s hand gripped his with unexpected strength. “She brought my Damien to me.” A faint smile creased her lips. “Broke rules.”
“I know,” he said, smiling at the vision of Robin’s wriggling purse and weak but valiant explanation to the nurse. She’d known Maude Jeffers wouldn’t rest until she’d seen Damien for herself.
“That’s why …” A fit of coughing interrupted the words.
He replaced the mask over her face. He leaned down. “I’ll take care of her,” he said.
Her mouth formed the words, “Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand and reluctantly went to the door. He looked back. Her eyes were closed.
He was surprised at the heaviness centered in his chest. He’d never had a mother. Or father, for that matter. None he knew, anyway. There had never been anyone but Dani, and that had been enough for him to keep-other relationships at bay.
You didn’t miss what you never had. He’d told himself that repeatedly. But he did, and with an ache that tore through him.
Heaven help whoever had caused Mrs. Jeffers’s pain. And terrorized Robin Stuart. Because he meant to make them pay.
chapter twenty-two
Dave Campbell drove her home. They arrived a few minutes before five a.m.
The air still smelled of smoke as she stepped out of the car. Her eyes were drawn to the blackened skeleton of Mrs. Jeffers’s home.
She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering it as it once was. Damien sitting up in the window. Mrs. Jeffers peering out at the world from a place she thought safe.
Tears welled up behind her eyes. Damien ran over to his old home and sniffed. Then stood there, looking confused.
“Come on, Damien,” she called and he pranced over to her as only poodles can do. But he kept looking back.
Two men stepped out of a dark sedan and approached her and Dave Campbell.
“FBI,” he said. “We’ve been assigned to look after Ms. Stuart.”
She remembered one from last night. He’d been
at the scene of the fire. So they’d been on duty earlier, just without her knowledge.
“I’m Agent Bill Maddox,” he continued. “And this is Agent Jerry Markum.”
“I have some guards.”
“We know,” he said. “The more the better. I’ve been assigned to take you to the courthouse,” he said. “Jerry will stay here.”
“Afraid I’ll skip?”
He smiled but there was little humor in it. “No, ma’am. It’s strictly for your protection.”
“I’ll be inside for about an hour,” she said. “Then I’m going to get some breakfast before going to the courthouse.”
He nodded. “I’ll be in front. Agent Markum will be in back.”
In other words, no sneaking out.
Damien growled and started toward Maddox with his ears standing up as much as a poodle’s ears could.
Maddox ignored him.
Robin picked him up and took him inside. Daisy immediately joined them, meowing. Robin fed them both.
Leaving both munching contentedly enough, she went to her room, found a plastic cosmetics bag. She filled it with her toothbrush, toothpaste, some cosmetics, and a hairbrush. She put the case in the purse vacated by Damien along with her two new cell phones. Then she found her gun permit and placed it, and her one remaining credit card, in the zipper compartment of the purse.
What to wear to a grand jury hearing? Then possibly jail?
She chose a dark blue pants suit. She thought about wearing the silk blue blouse but that may not be practical for what she had in mind. If, that was, she wasn’t in jail. Instead she chose a washable cotton shell.
Finished, she regarded herself in the mirror. She still had a bandage on her face. Her eyes looked bloodshot.
She looked at her watch. Six ten.
She went into her office and made copies of the photo Sandy had given her. She blew up several aspects, zeroing in on faces, then printed them out. The last copy jammed in the machine. She tried to fish it out, but the page was jammed internally. A glance at her watch again. She was already late. She replaced the top, then turned the computer off. She tucked the other copies in her purse, which was already beginning to bulge.
“I’m ready,” she said to the FBI agent waiting outside next to his car.
She directed him to a pancake restaurant two blocks away. Agent Maddox went in with her. She told him to order bacon and eggs for her while she went into the restroom, her purse clutched in her hand.
She knew this particular restroom. It had only had one large room, and a door that locked. She turned on the water, then started making calls on her new disposable phone.
Four of the six calls were successful. She found someone who promised to look after Daisy and Damien, and someone to tend to Mrs. Jeffers’s needs, including finding her a furnished apartment and purchasing some clothes. Then she called on a friend she hadn’t seen in a while but was the same size as herself. After explaining her need, there was a gasp, then a certain excitement. Done. Finally, she’d called Jack Ross, her mentor, and asked the biggest favor of all.
Then she made her way back to the table and a worried FBI agent who obviously had spent the entire fifteen minutes staring at the door and tapping his finger on the table.
Robin approached the grand jury room, Maddox in tow. The bacon and eggs had not settled well in her stomach. Perhaps nothing would have, but for Maddox’s sake, she had forced herself to eat every bite.
Bad move. Her stomach was a mass of writhing nerves.
She, who had so respected the law, been taught by her father to honor it, was about to defy it.
Dear God, but she was scared.
It was her against the force of the United States government. Not only the government, but something so evil she couldn’t totally comprehend it. She didn’t have much hope she would prevail.
Not having any rest didn’t help.
Nor did seeing Ben Taylor outside the courtroom help. His back was to her, but she recognized the lean body and dark hair, the impatience that was obvious even when he stood still. As if sensing her, he turned. Their gazes touched for a moment. Then he turned again back to the man standing with him, as if she didn’t exist.
No wishing her well. No quirky smile. But then she had tried to tune him out, afraid to trust him. Afraid to trust anyone at this juncture.
The hallways filled. A cross section of America entered the room before the door closed and a bailiff took his position next to it. The grand jury was to meet at eight. She was scheduled to testify—or not—at ten. A large number of men and women, all in suits, including Ben and his partner, waited outside as well. Some sitting on benches. Some leaning against the wall. She took the wall. She was too edgy for a seat.
To her relief, she saw Mason hurry down the hall. He approached her with a smile, then steered her down the hallway, out of earshot from others apparently waiting to go inside the room. “Heard about the fire last night. I’m sorry about your neighbor.”
She nodded.
“How is she?”
“Angry at the bad guys,” she replied.
“Good for her.” His gaze bore into her. “Did it change your mind?”
She shook her head.
“As I told you, I can’t go in with you. You’re on your own. But you can ask to come out and talk to me.”
“Do you really think they’ll hold me in contempt?”
“I don’t know, Robin. I know the U.S. attorney said he intended to ask that you be held for contempt if you don’t tell them what he wants to know. But that might have been a ploy. Judges, even federal judges, are notoriously loath to send reporters to jail.”
“What about this judge? Do you know much about him?”
“I’ve asked around. He’s tough,” Mason said. “Defense attorneys don’t like coming before him. But on something like this, I just don’t know.” He paused, then added quietly, “No one will think less of you if you tell them what they want to know. Grand jury sessions are secret. No one will know what you said.”
“Not according to the phone call I received.”
“What call?”
“Early this morning after the fire. The caller said they have someone on the inside, that they will know exactly what I say.”
He stared at her. “Did you report it?”
“To whom?” she asked. “He claims they have someone who will know what went on in the courtroom. That could be a U.S. attorney, his assistants, FBI agents. Even members of the grand jury themselves. He threatened to kill my sisters if I said anything.”
“You should have called me. I could have gone to the judge.”
“It just happened hours ago. After the fire. And why would anyone believe it? The U.S. attorney could claim I was making it up to avoid obeying the court.”
“The fire gives you credibility,” he said. “So does the attack in Meredith County.”
“The accident in Meredith County, according to the sheriff’s department.”
“I think I should take this to the judge.”
“And he would have to take it to the U.S. attorney. I can’t afford to take the chance that he might say something to the wrong people.”
“Be careful of that tightwire you’re walking,” he said.
“I don’t know what else to do,” she said, hearing the uncertainty in her voice and hating it.
“Tell me everything.”
She told him about the earlier threatening call. But she didn’t tell him about the meeting with Sandy, nor the photos. He was the paper’s attorney, not hers. She didn’t know his legal obligations. Were they to her? Or to the paper? If she told him, would he tell her editor? The publisher? Would they try to force her to drop the story? Without the newspaper behind her, she had no chance against Hydra. But if she was able to get evidence … hard evidence …
“You believed them?” Mason said. “About an insider?”
“They seem to know too much about me,” she said. “They said they knew where my
sisters went to hide. Yeah, I believe them.”
“Ben Taylor.” His name seemed to echo through the corridor as an officer of the court announced it. She turned and watched as he moved toward the door. His gaze met hers, but it was as indecipherable as it had been the first time she saw him.
Mason watched her face. “You don’t think he’s involved?”
“I don’t think so. But I’m not sure of anything now.”
Just then Mason’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number. “I have to take this. I’ll be back.” He went down the hall.
Twenty minutes later, he returned. “I talked to Reese. We’ll go ahead as planned today,” Mason said. “If there is a contempt citation, we’ll appeal immediately and talk to the judge.”
Ben left the grand jury room then. He glanced at her, his face softening slightly, then he approached her. “We have someone guarding Mrs. Jeffers,” he said.
His eyes met hers but she couldn’t read them, any more than she had read them that first day she saw him. Had he just recommended that she be cited for contempt? Or had he fought against it?
Or was he a conduit for someone else?
“Thank you,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the pounding of her heart.
“How is Damien?”
“Missing his mistress.” Her voice broke slightly. She hated to hand Damien over to someone who was a stranger to him. Daisy as well. And she hated the uncertainty she felt about Ben.
She turned away, back to Mason.
“Robin Stuart.” The same man, the same sonorous voice that had called Ben earlier, called her.
Mason reached out and squeezed her arm. “Remember …”
“I know,” she said. “The paper will support me. Thank you.” Then she turned, stiffened her back, and went inside.
She’d been in the federal courthouse before and had covered several civil and criminal trials. But this room was different. It was meant for the members of the grand jury, not spectators and certainly not anyone on her side.
She was directed to the witness chair and sworn in.
A cold knot formed in her stomach.
Joseph Ames, the U.S. attorney, approached her.
“Miss Stuart. I have an article you wrote.” He handed it to her. “Who gave you the information in that article?”
Tempting the Devil Page 24