Tempting the Devil

by Potter, Patricia;

  He forced himself to step back. He would stay here all day if she didn’t get dressed. If they didn’t get dressed.

  “No one should look as good as you do in the morning,” he murmured. “It should be against the law.”

  She gave him a delighted smile that touched him with its guilelessness, even a sweetness. “Thank you.”

  Damn but he wanted to put her back in that bed and stay there all day. So did a very important part of him. The towel he was wearing had a decided bulge.

  He went into the room and pulled on his jeans, wincing at the tightness around his crotch. Robin came out of the bathroom and reached for a shirt.

  He shook his head and dumped the contents of the bag holding his purchases from last night. The two T-shirts came tumbling out. “We might have to be Mr. and Mrs. today,” he said.

  Robin picked up one. “I like it.”

  She fastened her bra and pulled the T-shirt over it.

  “It looks a lot better on you than mine will on me,” he said. He wanted to touch her again. But then he would have to admit he felt far more than he should for her, that she had become far too important to him.

  Couldn’t happen. He hadn’t been enough for Dani, and he wouldn’t be enough for Robin. He didn’t know how to give someone else a part of himself. He’d lost that ability when he was a kid. Now the bureau was his life, a good one.

  Which I might be throwing down a well.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  He looked outside, then took out their belongings while she finished dressing. Then he searched under the car for any tracking device. Natural precaution only. He felt fairly sure they’d evaded any pursuit.

  They headed south. She curled up on her side of the front seat. Inches away yet really miles.

  They reached Fernandina two hours later.

  She had only very sketchy directions. “On the beach. Not far south of a restaurant with a net in the window. There was a blue pelican mailbox in front of a three-story cottage with blue trim.”

  That was all she had. “He said they came down in a van loaded with booze. I think they stayed drunk the whole time.”

  Hell, there must be dozens of restaurants. He hoped pelicans weren’t popular on mailboxes. He drove as Robin searched the road. Several times she asked him to slow down, then to continue.

  “It’s been how long?” he asked.

  “He said two years.”

  The pelican could well be gone.

  Then he saw a seafood restaurant. They went past several blocks of beach houses.

  “I see a pelican,” Robin said excitedly.

  He saw it then as well. A rakish pelican holding a street number. The house was a sprawling three stories that faced the beach.

  No cars in the driveway. Curtains drawn.

  The road was busy now with residents and tourists.

  He drove past the house and kept driving until they reached a store. “Got a bathing suit?”

  “No,” she said.

  “It’s time to get one. Both of us.” He stopped the car at the store.

  She hesitated. “My leg …”

  He turned. “What about it, other than it’s beautiful? Just like the other.”

  And it was. There were scars but they were fading into the skin, and it was just as shapely as the other one. In fact, she did have lovely legs. Long, and strong.

  “I can’t,” she protested.

  “Where’s the intrepid reporter I know?” he said. “Everyone will be looking at your body, anyway.” He whistled then. An appreciative girl whistle. Or at least he tried. It wasn’t very good.

  She didn’t look convinced.

  He tried a different tack. “I want to see the house from the beach. I think we’d stand out in jeans and slacks, even with the T-shirts. You can stay in the car, though,” he taunted.

  She gave him a dark look and opened the car door.

  They went inside. As with most beach stores there were bathing suits and beach gear. She picked out a simple one-piece suit and a cover-up. He chose some trunks and two beach towels, a small radio, and suntan lotion. He started to take Carl’s credit card out. She shook her head and took out cash.

  She was right and he knew it. He hadn’t been asked for identification at the motel. He might well be asked in a tourist area.

  She was in the wrong profession. The FBI should recruit her.

  They stopped for coffee in a restaurant and changed clothes in the restrooms before leaving. She looked even better in the bathing suit than he’d envisioned.

  He drove down to an area where cars parked for access to the beach. He put the two towels across his shoulder and carried the radio. She put the car keys in the pocket of her cover-up.

  They took off their shoes and walked down to the beach.

  He watched as she wriggled her toes in the sand. A look of utter joy crossed her face. “I haven’t done that in nearly three years. There were times I didn’t think I ever would.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “At one point there was talk of amputating my leg,” she said. “More than one point. Several doctors said I would never use it again.”

  He grabbed her hand and his fingers tightened around hers. He’d found himself forgetting about her damaged leg, mainly because she hadn’t allowed it to interfere in her life or job.

  “For our roles,” he said, looking down at their linked hands.

  She only nodded.

  She walked slowly, carefully on the sand, and he matched his pace to hers. They went down to the water’s edge and he treasured her look of pure bliss when the water washed over her feet.

  Then they walked down the beach toward the house. The house was easy to spot with its Victorian architecture and blue trim. The beach was becoming crowded. Colored beach towels were spread out over the sand, and music blared from radios. Kids ran in and out of the water and built sand castles.

  The house looked benign from their vantage point.

  They reached the beach in front of the house. It had huge glass windows, a wraparound porch on the first floor, and a wraparound deck on the second. Smaller decks jutted out from doors on the third floor. A white painted picket walkway led down to the beach.

  They stopped, spread out the towels, and sat down. Ben turned the towels parallel to the ocean to catch the sun. Others had already staked out nearby spots. “Take off the cover-up,” he told Robin. “I’ll douse you with lotion.”

  She took it off, and he rubbed lotion onto her back and neck. It gave him a good opportunity to eye the house, even as his hands ran over her smooth skin.

  Concentrate.

  No signs of life or activity.

  Her skin was so damned soft.

  Hell, Taylor, do your job.

  He finished and turned his back while Robin applied the lotion to him, her hands kneading it into his shoulders, re-igniting all those fires that had raged last night.

  “That’s enough,” he said curtly. Hopefully, they’d established themselves as another sun-loving couple. He looked for any glimpse of a light inside, movement. None.

  Probably used only for entertaining. If so, it meant that some real estate firm provided management services. There had to be a contact person in the event of an emergency.

  They stayed two more hours, at one point going into the ocean. She held out her hand to him and tempted him into the water. “We’re tourists, remember,” she said. “Beach lovers.”

  She was right. They did need to act like vacationers. He swam out beyond the breakers and she followed. She was a strong swimmer and he’d learned to swim in the army. They treaded water, moving with the swells, as they kept an eye on the cottage. Still no movement. If anyone was inside, they were hunkered down.

  He touched her, relishing the feel of her wet and salty skin. Then a wave hit them and swept them under. She came up laughing, looking like a beautiful sea sprite. Tenderness hit him like a sledgehammer. It had been a long time since he’d felt that emotion that str
ongly. He’d forgotten how painful it was.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  Her grin disappeared, and she followed him out of the water. He used one of the towels to dry himself off. He didn’t offer to wipe her off. Proximity had a disastrous effect on him. He needed all his attention on the case at hand.

  When they were through, he took her hand again and instead of returning along the beach, he ignored a Private Property sign and led her straight through the property. To the road. They passed trash cans hidden from the road by a decorative fence.

  He stopped at one, put on his shoes. She followed suit. Then he lifted the top off the can and peered inside as she glanced around. One small bag. How often did they pick up the garbage? Once a week? Twice? This was Friday.

  Probably just trash from a routine cleaning.

  Nonetheless, he reached inside and took it.

  They walked out on the road. Civic-minded citizens carrying their own garbage from the beach.

  They looked through the contents in the car. Rags. Shredded papers, probably from a wastebasket. A crumpled paper bag from a fast-food restaurant. Then an empty envelope from a property management firm.

  “Bingo,” he said.

  But Robin was disappointed. She had hoped for more.

  Her skin was hot from the sun, despite the lotion, and her body still hummed from last night and his touches today. She might have a taste of sunburn but she didn’t care. Despite the pressure to find something, she’d never enjoyed herself as much as she had today.

  Watching him relax for the first time, really relax, had made her heart thud harder. She wanted him to grin far more often, to laugh, to enjoy watching a flower grow.

  But she’d been caught up in the chase again when he found the garbage, and she hoped for some dramatic television moment. Something far more substantial than the name of a management company.

  Still … it was a beginning.

  She flipped on her cell phone. She’d had it off for the last day, not wanting anyone to be able to trace it. But she had been gone three days now, and she needed to know whether there were any emergencies.

  She checked the voice mail system. There were several messages. A list of them, in fact, since yesterday. Two were from the U.S. attorney, one from her paper’s attorney, and two from her editor. She wasn’t going to answer any of them. She didn’t want to explain anything. Not yet. Then there was a text message from her editor. “Urgent. Someone says they have information about the murders. Will talk only to you. Needs answer this afternoon.”

  It was after noon. Just shortly, but after.

  She relayed the message to Ben.

  His lips thinned. “Could be a trap.”

  “I know. But I can’t pass on it, either.”

  “I don’t want you calling from here. Not yet. We can’t be sure Ames can’t get telephone records for the newspaper. It’s not that difficult now to get warrants these days under the RICO statutes. I don’t want anyone to know we’ve been here until we’re gone.”

  “There are hundreds of calls going in and out of the office,” she said.

  “And your editor has one extension.”

  “I have to call,” she said stubbornly.

  He offered a compromise. “We’ll stop at the management company first. Then I’ll drive up into Georgia. A few miles away but hopefully if anyone’s tracing the call, they’ll think we’re still lingering around Brunswick.”

  They changed clothes in the restroom of a fast-food restaurant. She changed back into slacks and a shirt, he to jeans and flowered shirt he bought at the beach shop.

  Then they found the management company. The firm was located in a real estate office. They were met at the door by an associate. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, I hope so. Looking to buy a beach house. Ruthie and I just came into an inheritance. We always wanted a beach house and, well, now we can afford it.”

  The woman stuck her hand out. “We can certainly help you. I’m Carolyn Sawyer.”

  Ben introduced them as Bob and Ruthie Diddley from Atlanta, formerly from Texas. “Just call me Bo,” he said. “Everyone does. Hell of a name, but what can you do.”

  Robin tried to look like someone named Ruthie Diddley.

  “What exactly are you looking for?”

  “Ruthie here found just the house she wanted.”

  A gleam came into the associate’s eyes. “Come into my office.”

  It was more a cubicle than office. The woman sat down at her terminal. “What’s the address?”

  Ben gave it to her, and she sat down at a terminal and entered it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We manage the property, but it’s not for sale. We have other great houses right on the beach.”

  “Everything is for sale,” Ben said. “For Ruthie here, I’ll pay just about anything. Maybe you can get in touch with the owner and make an offer.”

  He saw her write down a name on a pad. “Let me ask the property manager who handles it. If you’ll just wait …”

  “Maybe Ruthie can look at other properties while you do that.”

  “Sure,” the woman said. She pressed a couple of buttons, then slid from the seat. “I’ll be right back.”

  Robin quickly took the associate’s seat, waited until she left the office, then pressed the back arrow. Nothing. The woman had closed that window. She typed in the address of the house, as Ben went to the door.

  It came up on the screen, along with a corporation name and contact name. She pressed a key for billing information. Access denied. Apparently the woman’s password would get her to the address but wouldn’t go further.

  “Darlin’, you just might have to decide on something else,” Ben said in a loud voice. She pressed the escape button, then pressed Listings on the menu.

  The woman returned. “The person handling the property is out right now, but I’ll pass on your offer. Or have you found something else you like? There’s some outstanding values.”

  “Ruthie has set her heart on that house.”

  “I would be happy to show you others.”

  Robin managed to bring a tear to her eye. “I dreamt of a house just like that. Maybe you can convince whoever owns it. Like it doesn’t seem anyone really lives there. Maybe,” she added hopefully, “you know him.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “I asked several other people. They don’t, either.”

  “Well, thank you, ma’am,” Ben said. “We’ll keep in touch.”

  “If I can have your number and address …”

  “We’ll be moving right fast,” Ben said. “And I don’t believe in cell phones. Takes away your peace of mind, always screaming at you. Don’t you think?” He paused, then added, “We’ll check back with you, though. My Ruthie is as stubborn as they come. If she wants that house, no other will do.”

  Then he was ushering her out of the office before the woman could stop them.

  Once in the hot car, she turned to him. “Bo Diddley?”

  “Better than John Smith,” he said. “No one would make up a name like that. Shouldn’t alert anyone.”

  “And Ruthie?”

  He grinned. “I always liked that name.”

  The grin went straight to her heart. In the two weeks she’d known him, he’d never grinned. A slight, pained smile, maybe. But a sense of humor?

  Never would have guessed it.

  The smile left his face. “Did you get a name?”

  “I did.” She told him.

  And watched his face change.

  chapter thirty-one

  “Say that again?” Ben asked.

  “James Edward Kelley. You know it?”

  Yes, he knew it. Everything was beginning to fit.

  “James Edward Kelley,” he said, repeating her words. “He’s president of a company called Exotic Imports. He’s also one of the developers of a ‘fly-in’ community in Meredith County.” He paused, then added, “He’s involved in other developments throughout Atlanta. A mover-and-shaker type. Active
in politics.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” she said, “but I’ve never met him.”

  “We’re beginning an investigation of his companies in a money-laundering case. There were hints he might have connections with Hydra. I was just assigned to that case when the murders happened. You sidetracked me.”

  “Why would he use his own house for something that could be traced back to him?”

  Ben shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense unless it’s his private home and for some reason let it be used one or two times.”

  “Would it help to find a connection between him and our fishing boat captain?”

  “It would be a trail, but only that. All we know is that someone has been providing free trips for county deputies. On the face of it, nothing too sinister.”

  “Except one of those deputies thinks it is,” Robin said. She looked at him curiously. “Why didn’t you tell the Realtor you were FBI?”

  “And alert them? Give the bad guys time to clean up the books? There’s a good chance that the realty company will take us at our word. Two new obnoxious millionaires with more money than sense.” He paused, then said, “Robin, it’s time to tell me who your source is.”

  She wanted to. She wanted to yell out the name. She wanted to tell him every word Sandy had said. But Jack Ross’s experience had burned a hole in him, a hole that destroyed his career. It wasn’t her secret to give. “I can’t. You’d have to tell a judge if asked. Your boss. I just can’t do it.”

  “You’ve been nearly killed twice—and Mrs. Jeffers almost died, too. I think you’ve respected your promise long enough. And I won’t reveal it unless you agree. Now I feel like I’m fighting with one hand tied behind me.”

  She was silent.

  His face turned grim as he started the car. “Time to get out of here,” he said.

  The companionship between them was broken. She sat in stiff silence as he drove off the island. He’d trusted her with what he knew. She hadn’t done the same.

  Why couldn’t he understand that it wasn’t her secret to share?

  They stopped on the other side of the Georgia line, and Robin used the pay phone to call Wade Carlton, her boss.

  As soon as she said “Wade,” he demanded, “Where are you? Everyone’s going crazy looking for you, including me.”