chapter thirteen

Robin saw Kevin leaning against the company car almost immediately after she arrived at the courthouse. He gave her a broad grin as he shouldered his camera gear.

“Lead the way,” he said.

“I have to warn you, they might not like anyone from the Observer.”

“I was already warned. I doubt anyone will try anything with all those TV types around.”

He had the print photographer’s disdain for TV cameramen. They were technicians. He was an artist, with several awards to prove it.

She looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes before the conference and the courthouse steps were crowded. TV cameras were already in place and reporters were huddled in the usual groups.

She looked around for Ben Taylor, but he wasn’t there. Disappointment rushed through her. She did see his partner, though, who stood a short distance away.

Hank Conrad from the local paper rushed over to her. “You’ve really stirred a hornet’s nest. The sheriff is mad as hell. Talking about suing you and the paper.”

“I know.”

His eyes narrowed. “Was that story for real? Do you really have a witness?”

She stared back at him, refusing to dignify the question with an answer.

“Every deputy feels he is being accused,” he said after an uncomfortable silence. “Not only accused of murder, but murdering fellow officers.”

“No one was accused. It was merely pointed out that officers were steered away from the area that night.”

“Same thing in their eyes. Be prepared for a hit during the press conference.”

“I thought as much. Our paper was told I was no longer welcome at the courthouse.”

“You’re definitely persona non grata.” He paused. “You don’t really think anyone in the sheriff’s department was involved, do you?”

“Just think, Hank. What is so big that three cops would be killed, and killed so dramatically? Whoever did it could have dragged the bodies off somewhere, even buried them in those woods back there. Let the county look for them. Maybe forever. There was a message here. Someone doesn’t want interference and doesn’t mind if everyone knows it. There’s a certain arrogance there.”

“It’s all supposition.”

“You write your story, and I’ll write mine.”

“I’m surprised your paper let you get away with it.”

She was, too. But she wasn’t going to admit it.

The sheriff, Chief Deputy Paul Joyner, and the county police chief appeared on the steps and moved to the podium. Kevin moved away from her and took several shots of the three, then the crowd. His eyes, though, kept returning to her.

Sheriff Sammons stepped to the podium. “I have a statement.”

He paused, waited for dramatic emphasis, then continued. “The Atlanta Observer printed a story, under the byline of Robin Stuart, in yesterday’s editions intimating that someone in this department could be involved in the murders of three Meredith County police officers.

“I categorically deny the accusation and I have instructed our county attorney to begin legal proceedings immediately.”

He looked out, his gaze settling on her. “I see Miss Stuart is here, although our legal counsel advised her paper that we would prefer another reporter. Evidently the Atlanta Observer doesn’t care about truth and accuracy.”

She tried to keep her face masklike. However, she felt the heat in her cheeks as everyone, including the television cameras, turned toward her like vultures eyeing a particularly tasty mouse. Of all of them, though, the glare that came from Chief Deputy Joyner was the most malevolent. She shivered under its impact.

Kevin moved closer to her. She also saw the FBI agent, Ben Taylor’s partner, head in her direction.

“Are you saying it couldn’t have happened?” one reporter yelled out.

“What happened last week was like losing a brother, a family member, no matter which department we work for,” the sheriff said. “Any suggestion that one of us would have anything to do with it is a stain on all of us.”

“What about the Hydra?” yelled out one reporter. “Is there any indication Hydra could have been involved?”

“We think our officers interrupted a drug deal. We think it’s out-of-state people.”

“How would they know about this particular piece of property? The place where the bodies were found?” another reporter asked.

“There could be a local connection of some kind,” the sheriff said reluctantly.

“I heard it was a clean crime scene,” one reporter said. “Can you tell us what progress you’ve made?”

“Now, you folks know we don’t discuss details of an investigation, but we do have some good leads.”

“Are you saying the Observer made up the story?” one television reporter yelled.

“Made it up or talked to someone who was making it up. We would certainly like the name of whoever it was.”

“You going to subpoena her?”

“I’m not going to talk about what we will or will not do.”

It went on that way for thirty minutes. The same questions were asked over and over again. The only offered information was that the Observer and Robin Stuart were bad, and progress was being made.

The press conference finally broke up.

Kevin turned to her. “I’ll walk you to your car and follow you into the city.”

She shook her head. “I have a few stops to make.”

“I have to get the photos back.”

“I understand. You go on. I’ll be fine.”

He gave her a dubious look. “There’s some angry people here.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said. “I have my cell phone with me. I’ll call my story in.”

He frowned. “I don’t like it.”

“If I were a man would you worry as much?”

“Damn square I would. It’s poisonous here.”

So he’d felt it, too. It hadn’t just been anger or righteous indignation. It had been pure hatred.

But the message today had made it clear she was to come alone. Sandy had not been visible today, and she knew that he would not risk a phone call.

“Go,” she said.

“At least let me see you to the car before they try to lynch you.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

On the way, she stopped Hank Conrad, who was walking toward his office.

“See that guy in the blue suit?” she said. “He’s FBI. You might ask him why he’s here.”

She saw him head toward Ben’s partner, Agent Mahoney, and engage his attention.

She hopped in her car, turned on the ignition, and darted into the traffic. As she looked back, she saw Mahoney running for his car. She turned down a side road, took a left, then a right, and parked behind a grocery store.

Guilt filled her. She knew he was probably there to watch her, but she couldn’t lead him to Sandy.

She looked at her watch. Almost five p.m. A couple of hours before meeting Sandy.

Glancing often at the rearview mirror, she headed for the east side of the county, even as she kept an eye on the speedometer. She planned to stay at least five miles under the speed limit. She had no doubt that the sheriff’s office, and possibly the police department, would love to give her a ticket.

She wasn’t going to lead anyone to Sandy. Not the FBI. Not the bad guys.

She stopped at a chain restaurant and ordered a hamburger only because she knew she had to. She’d had only a cup of coffee for breakfast and a package of crackers for lunch, and she didn’t do well without food. But the burger tasted like sawdust. She couldn’t shake the apprehension that had been hovering in her since last night. Not only for herself but for Sandy.

She had to convince him to go to the FBI.

Robin left half of the burger on the plate, paid the bill, and went back outside. She had more than a few second thoughts about this. But she didn’t feel she had a choice. He had more information for her, information he obviously didn’t want to give to the FBI. She wanted the story but even more she wanted Sandy to go to the FBI.

Thank God for the daylight that lingered far into evening. It would still be light when she met him.

When she got back in the car, she checked her glove compartment. Her gun was there. Then she called Wade and told him she was going to meet her source.

“Alone?”

“That’s the only way he’ll show.”

“Where?”

Reluctantly she gave him the name of the school. “If you don’t hear from me before seven thirty, call the FBI. Not the locals.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Wade said.

“I trust my source,” she said. “The school’s safe.”

Still, a hard fist of fear grew in her stomach even as her adrenaline level started to rise. This could be the biggest story of her career. A major crime organization brought down. Corruption in the sheriff’s department.

And justice. There would be justice for three slain police officers.

She drove three miles and turned down a two-lane road. She glanced at the clock. Twenty to seven. She remembered the road. The school was about five miles away.

Something made her glance in the rearview mirror.

A dark SUV was behind her. She tensed. Then tried to relax. Nothing to worry about. She hadn’t seen it before; it couldn’t be following her. She turned her attention to the winding road ahead. It was empty. She glanced at the rearview mirror again. The SUV had closed on her car.

She speeded up, trying to keep an eye on the mirror even as the winding road demanded her attention. The SUV moved even closer. Her car lurched at the same time she heard the clash of metal in back. She jerked in her seat, grateful for the seat belt.

She pressed down on the accelerator. A whisper of terror shot through her. She’d seen enough movies to guess at what was happening. She also knew how much damage metal could do to a body.

Her left hand clamped around the steering wheel. She picked up her cell phone and pressed the button to ring the paper. Another jarring bump. Harder than the last. The cell phone flew from her right hand as she grabbed the steering wheel with both fists.

The next crash almost sent her into a ditch. The phone bounced to the floor.

She managed to straighten the car and accelerate. The vehicle behind was more dangerous than the winding road ahead.

Then the SUV passed. She saw a man on the passenger side. Despite the fact that he wore dark glasses, she knew she’d never seen him before.

She pressed down on the brake, hoping that the SUV would go ahead as they reached a blind turn. Instead it also slowed, then turned in to her car, striking it on the driver’s side. She was jerked against the seat belt by the impact and frantically tried to keep on the road. Her car veered off the pavement, but she managed to turn it in a half circle and get back on the road going in the opposite direction.

Where was other traffic?

Her gun! The gun was in her glove compartment, but she needed two hands on the steering wheel to keep the car on the road.

She looked in the rearview mirror. The SUV had also turned and was bearing back down on her again.

Her heart pumped and she fought to keep a scream down. Too many memories. Car going off a cliff. Her leg barely hanging together by muscles. The bone protruding and blood spreading in a pool. Months of operations and pain.

She accelerated again, but the SUV overtook her. She glanced to the right and saw the ground falling away on her right side. She pressed the pedal as far as it would go, but her car was no match for the SUV. The roar of its engine grew louder, and dread whirled inside her. Dread, but not acceptance.

She steered her car to the middle of the road to block her opponent, but the SUV rammed her again and this time the force of the impact sent her car careening off the side of the road.

Another accident. Another car going off the road. A scream clawed in her throat. Two years ago she’d flown off the road. Now someone else was re-creating the horror.

Did they know?!

She stomped on the brake as the car tumbled down a ditch and sped toward a clump of trees.

A hammer slammed into her chest. A cloud of powder nearly suffocated her. Glass flew over the seat and she felt pinpricks of pain on her left arm. Dozens of small slices leaked blood over her clothes.

Struggling to keep conscious, she was vaguely aware that someone had approached the broken window. A face under a baseball cap, eyes shaded by dark glasses, peered at her.

God, she hurt. She could barely breathe. She tried to move but the brace was caught by the crushed dashboard. Ignoring the stabbing pain in her chest she tried to lunge for the glove compartment—and the gun—but the seat belt and trapped leg put it a few inches too far away.

To her horror, she smelled gas.

“Miss Stuart?” The words were innocent enough, but the voice reeked of malice.

“Who are you?” Stupid question but she couldn’t come up with anything better.

“Who was it?” the man asked. “Who talked to you?”

The words sank in. She shook her head.

He looked down at her.

“A match. That’s all it would take to send this car into a fireball.”

She heard the sound of a cell phone ringing. It was close. Very close. The man’s face disappeared and she struggled against the seat belt still holding her firm. She smelled smoke.

Then she heard another voice. “Gotta get out of here. Someone’s coming.”

Cursing. Words she’d never heard spoken before. The meaning, though, was clear. “Fire,” the man whispered. “It’s so easy. A name? Just a name.”

But she knew if she gave him the name there was no reason to keep her alive.

She dropped her head as if unconscious.

The smoke became more dense. “I’ll see you again, sweetheart,” the voice said.

Silence.

She opened her eyes. No one was there.

She struggled to release the seat belt again. Finally. She tried to get out of the open door, but her brace was still caught under the dashboard. Every movement felt like someone was pounding against her chest, and she could barely breathe.

She was going to die.

Because of a name.

Ignoring the pain, she scrambled to get out of the car. She pulled her leg but a piece of dashboard had caught the metal. She felt blood on the leg and prayed there was no more damage.

But it wouldn’t matter, if she couldn’t get out. She screamed even though she knew it was probably hopeless, then the smoke filled her throat and she heard the crackle of flames.

Hands grabbed her and started to pull.

“Her leg is caught,” a voice said.

Someone leaned over and pulled on her leg. New pain streaked through her. But she felt herself moving. Then she was dragged outside.

“Come on, lady. We got to get the hell out of here.”

She tried to stand, but she couldn’t. Her chest hurt too badly. She couldn’t catch her breath. The men pulled her away from her car and up the embankment.

The flames flared and she felt intense heat.

An explosion rocked her, and flaming pieces of her car flew in a hundred directions.