chapter twenty-eight

“Your wife?”

“My ex-wife.” He emphasized the ex. “And the subject isn’t open to discussion.”

She wanted to open it.

Had he made a Freudian slip when he said wife instead of ex-wife?

Why should she care? He’d shown disdain for her occupation, her decisions. He was here now because he wanted to know what she knew.

“Sorry,” she said coolly. “I didn’t mean to go somewhere sacred.”

“It’s not sacred. It’s just no one’s business but mine.”

Robin wasn’t hungry after the conversation, but Ben, as always, was. He ordered a steak sandwich and shoveled it down while she picked at a salad. Twenty minutes later, they went to the car and got inside. It was hot, having sat in the coastal sun, but Robin needed it to heat the chill in her bones.

Ben had completely shut her out with his comment about his ex-wife. He had become unreachable in that moment.

Rehab?

He’d said nothing about his wife in the short time she’d known him. But though it had been short, it had been a lifetime in some ways. He’d been there every time she’d needed him.

And then she’d turned that against him.

No wonder he was so angry. And he was that. There had been no recriminations. No second-guessing, but he was freezing her out.

She wanted the warmth back, that feeling of belonging they’d shared the night he’d brought her home from the Meredith County hospital and he’d massaged her leg.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have trusted you.”

He started the car. “No particular reason you should.”

He was wrong. There were lots of reasons she should have trusted him. “Why are you helping me?”

“I want these guys as much as you do,” he said. “And if you’re right about a mole in the FBI, I want to know who it is.”

She watched him as he drove. “We should return to the marina.”

“Why?”

“I think the attendant knows something. The registration would be there. So is whoever paid the rent in the slip. It’s all we have.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said.

“Then what?”

“I’m going to find out who owns the marina. Start at the top.”

She stared at him. “How did you happen to be at that particular marina?”

“I figured that’s where you would go. I’d already checked out several.”

She suspected that wasn’t the complete truth. “No other reason?”

He ignored her question. “You said the attendant at the marina knew something. Why?”

“He denied knowing anything about the Phantom but some people on a boat said it had been there for a while, and that the attendant really paid a lot of attention to the captain.”

A muscle throbbed in his cheek. “I might have led them to you.”

“How?”

“I left the deputy’s widow’s house and went directly to the airport. We were careful. But someone could have found out. I bought the ticket in my name. I didn’t have time to do anything else.”

“Could they still be following you?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m not underestimating them. Not again.”

A chill ran through her, and it had nothing to do with the air-conditioning. “Will your friend be okay?”

“Carl? He’s really quite competent. He’ll be all right.”

“I don’t want any one else hurt.”

“It’s a little late for second-guessing.”

“I’m not second-guessing. You have some leads now you wouldn’t have had before.”

“I would have gotten to them.”

“You’re infallible, and I’m an idiot. Is that it?”

“No, that’s not it. You’re definitely not an idiot. That’s the damn problem. But you are an amateur. And you’re alone. You have no resources.”

“I have you,” she defended herself.

“Not something to brag about,” he said.

“Where do we go now?”

“A library,” he said. “We can use their computers. No way to trace us.”

“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “I’m safe now. You can go back. No one saw you. No one would be the wiser.”

“And what would you do?”

“I want to protect my sisters and Mrs. Jeffers and the man who trusted me.”

“That means you would continue.”

She knew her silence answered him.

She also knew that he was driving toward Savannah. She loved Savannah, almost as much as she loved the Golden Isles. But he was taking her away from where she hoped answers would be.

Still, one look at his face, and she decided not to protest.

“Tell me everything that happened at the marina,” he said. “Your impressions. Trust your instincts.”

“The attendant gave me the creeps. I told him I was a travel writer and at first he seemed very receptive. Then I asked him about a boat named the Phantom, said a friend of mine told me what a great time he had fishing on it, and that gave me the idea for a story on marinas on the Southeast coast.

“He shook his head as if he didn’t know anything about it, but some people said the boat had been moored just a few slips down, and had been for a long time. Said the crew seemed to keep to themselves.

“I started back to the office. This time it was locked. That’s when someone approached me with a gun. The attendant must have called.”

“What else did those people tell you?”

“That the captain’s name was Stefan, last name maybe Fisher, that he was foreign, and that the crew was arrogant. Seemed to think they got special privileges from the marina management. That’s all they knew.”

“Interesting,” he said.

She suddenly realized he knew something about that marina. It was simply too convenient that he “just happened by” at the right time.

“You know something about that marina? You weren’t there entirely by accident.”

His lips crooked into a tight smile. “I’m beginning to understand why you’re a good reporter.”

She waited for him to go on.

“I was here three years ago on a task force with the DEA. A cartel was running drugs into Brunswick. Used both steamers and smaller craft. Brunswick was perfect for their purposes. Access to the Intracoastal Waterway but away from the larger shipping channels. Not a big port, it wasn’t monitored that closely.”

“What happened?”

“We caught a shipment coming in on a small freighter delivering cars. We confiscated the ship, arrested some bit players, plus the connection in Brunswick, but we never got the money guys. The perps wouldn’t talk, not even to get a lighter sentence. It was obvious they were more afraid of the cartel than a long prison term.”

“And the marina?” she asked.

“We heard some smaller shipments of coke were coming into that marina but we could never prove it. Some thought it was just a decoy to keep our attention off the small freighters that used the port. The DEA continued to monitor it for a while but their agents never came up with anything, and the investigation was dropped. Prematurely, I thought.”

“Three years ago,” she mused aloud. “That’s when my source said the boat trips started. Could they have shifted operations up to the Atlanta area?”

“Makes sense. Their market was the Southeast. The DEA and the Coast Guard heightened their surveillance of ports on the southeast coast. The local police are really working at intercepting shipments traveling on the interstates. Private planes flying within the country are a natural.”

“And Meredith has private airstrips.”

“Several of them.”

A surge of excitement flowed through her. “You think all this is connected?”

“I don’t think anything at this point. I just remembered the suspicions about that marina and decided to wait there for you this morning. I figured you would show up, if you hadn’t already. It was my best chance.”

“Do you think the same people own the marina today that owned it three years ago?”

“Not on paper,” he said. “We made several visits, went through their books.”

“Won’t they be looking for whoever picks up my car, then? Isn’t Carl in danger?”

“He’s a pro. Plus he knows the picture as well as I do. He was almost killed in that drug bust. He’ll have someone else pick it up, make sure the car is clean and that he’s not followed. It’s what he does, Robin. He trains executives here and abroad to take precautions against kidnapping. He knows every trick in the book and then some.”

“Did you suspect your case three years ago might be connected with Meredith County?” she asked.

“Maybe I should have, but I didn’t. My boss suspected that Hydra and a money-laundering operation might be connected but it wasn’t until I saw a picture of that boat jammed in your printer that the pieces started coming together. When the widow I saw yesterday, Amy Boatright, confirmed it was Brunswick, I thought it was a heck of a coincidence. After your reception at the marina, I’m sure they’re related.”

The story danced in her head. She could see the headlines in 48-point boldface letters. INTERNATIONAL DRUG RING BUSTED. Even more important, her family would be safe. And Sandy.

“You don’t need my source any longer,” she said. “You know where to look now. You can go—” She stopped suddenly.

“Go where?” he said. “If you’re right, and there is someone in the FBI involved, then you and I are dead. You and that photo are the only link. I assume that whoever gave you that photo can in some way be traced back from it.” He steered the car off the interstate and stopped at a traffic light.

“There has to be someone you trust.”

“You weren’t listening just now,” he said.

She went back over the conversation, then remembered one important word. Prematurely. The investigation ended prematurely. Only someone very high up could cut short an investigation.

She saw a sign for Savannah, and he took the exit. So now she knew for sure where they were going. She wasn’t sure why yet.

She leaned back against the door and watched him. For the moment, they were no longer adversaries. But neither were they entirely united in common cause. Tension stretched between them like strung wire. She hadn’t trusted him, and now he didn’t trust her. He might never again.

She openly studied him. He obviously hadn’t shaved this morning. He had the dark hair and complexion that made five o’clock shadow more obvious than on men with a lighter complexion. She could well see him as a bandido in a film. He had a moody intensity and dark sensuality that radiated bad boy. Yet she’d discovered he was no bad boy at all, but a reluctant hero who was quietly present when needed.

Dani. His wife. Robin longed to know more about her, how he still felt about her. There had been something earlier between Carl and Ben that was subtly antagonistic. Something about Dani. Dani Taylor. Something that had left a deep scar on him.

She had thrown away what small part of himself that he had given her, and she sensed that he was not a man to offer it again. Her loss. God, what a fool she’d been.

He parked at a meter in front of a row of buildings on Bay Street and guided her into a small storefront library. It was little more than a hole in the wall, but it had computers and a welcoming woman at the desk. He’d known exactly where to come. He’d obviously been here before.

Computers were available thanks to the fact it was summer, and few students were working. They each took a station side by side.

“I’ll go after ownership records of the marina,” he said. “Someone else checked them three years ago, and it might have been sold since then. In any event, I want to know the history of ownership. You check newspapers for advertisements of any charters of the Phantom. Or any mention of the boat.”

She used the library password to sign on to the Net and started searching for Phantom/boat. Over twenty-seven thousand entries. She immediately gave up on that and went to the Brunswick newspaper. She searched for Phantom there. Nothing.

She looked at sport fishing. Again nothing.

She glanced over at Ben, wondered whether he was using his FBI access. Property sales were public records, but were they available to the general public on the computer?

Loneliness filled her as she watched that intensity that had caught her the first day she’d seen him. He was hunched over, his eyes intent on the screen in front of him. She should have that same intensity. Instead, she was far too aware of him, angry at her vulnerability with him. She hungered for his touch, for that rare half smile that so attracted her.

He was obviously unaware.

She turned back to her computer. The people she’d talked to at the last marina had said the captain of the boat was named Stefan and he had an accent. The last name was something like Fisher.

Nothing under Stefan Fisher. She tried Fischer.

A hit. Thousands of hits. Stefan Fischer was evidently a very popular name. She started to narrow it. Brunswick. Captain. Nothing.

Ben had stopped. He glanced over at her screen. His eyes asked the question.

“The captain of the Phantom, according to the boaters I talked to. But the last name might be spelled wrong.”

“Time to go. We’ve already been here too long since I signed in, but I can access information you can’t.” He hesitated, then entered “Stefan Fischer.”

Ten minutes later, he exclaimed, “Bingo.”

“What is it?”

“If it’s your Fischer, he has an arrest record. Drug possession. Charges were dropped. No conviction.”

“When? Where?”

He cracked a slow smile. “Atlanta. Eight years ago.”

“Can you find out why?”

A librarian interrupted them then. “We’re closing.”

She turned off her computer, and Ben did as well. Then they left the library.

The street was nearly empty, and the sun was dipping in the west. Both of them studied the cars around them. Several other people were exiting a nearby parking lot and getting into cars, but nothing looked suspicious.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“No. Where do we go now?” She realized with those words that she had given up the last resistance to him. He was a partner now, a cool, objective partner.

“I want to make some phone calls,” he said. “Then we’ll find someplace to stay. You need some sleep.”

She needed much more than that. Much, much more, but he’d turned unapproachable.

She had to settle now for his help.

Ben thought about using Robin’s temporary phone but they’d used it too much now. Someone might have been able to track the number down. Choice now was another temporary phone, or a pay phone.

He decided on a pay phone. They wouldn’t be in Savannah much longer.

He called Mahoney’s cell phone. Hung up. Then rang again. No one answered.

Ben went back to the car. Mahoney would know what to do. Go down to the coffee shop they frequented. It was a code they’d worked out as they drove to the airport yesterday. Was it just yesterday?

He stood outside the car, waiting as the minutes ticked away. Robin was inside. He didn’t want to get back inside with her.

Hell he didn’t.

It had been all he could do to keep his hands off her these past few hours. No, all day. Ever since he saw the perp holding a gun on her, and the way she’d dived into the bad guy to deflect his shot. Otherwise, Ben might well be in a body bag.

He’d purposely kept her at a distance, though he’d wanted to pull her into his arms after they’d sped away. He knew she was receptive. It had been in her eyes. Gratitude. Regret. Confusion.

He didn’t want gratitude, or regret. He was damned tired of regret and gratitude. He wasn’t going down that street again. Dani hadn’t trusted him, either, until it was too late. Without trust, love was worthless.

Not that he loved Robin Stuart. He lusted over her. She intrigued him. She challenged him. And God knew it had been a long time since he’d held a woman in his arms. She’d responded to him with all the passion she brought to everything she did. All the fire he’d once had and lost.

But he’d learned in the past few days that law and press didn’t mix. Would never mix. And he was damned if he was going to go through the same agony he did years ago.

So far, just getting away from killers had kept him occupied. So had the need to find answers. The fact that he hadn’t finished the job three years ago grated on him. The fact that three police officers, and maybe more, had died because of that failure was lead in his gut.

He glanced at his watch. Twelve minutes. He only hoped that Mahoney had been at the office, that he could get to the coffee shop. The door of the car opened and Robin stood, stretched. Her eyes were red-rimmed, probably from exhaustion, but the light was in them. Light of battle? Or something else?

He went back to the pay phone and called the pay phone at the coffee shop. Mahoney answered immediately. “Where are you? The U.S. attorney is going nuts.”

“What about Holland?”

“He wants to be able to give Ames some answers.”

“Anything happening with the case?”

“Nada. Zero. Zip.”

“Did Ames ever say why he wanted to see me?”

“He thinks you might know something about Robin Stuart’s disappearance. He swears that if you helped her he will have your badge.”

“He doesn’t have any authority to do that.”

“Well, he has Holland antsy.” He paused. “Find anything?”

“Maybe. Can you check back on a case involving a Stefan Fischer? He was arrested for drug possession eight years ago in Atlanta. No conviction. I want to know what happened. Why it was dropped. Who the attorneys were.”

“Will do.”

“As quietly as possible.”

“What does he have to do with anything?”

“He’s captain of the boat that took out the sheriff’s deputies off the coast of Georgia.”

Silence. “You’re not suggesting there might be some connection with the drug case down there?”

“I think there’s a chance that Hydra might have moved to Atlanta, though some drugs may still come in through Brunswick. What better cover than a boat frequented by law enforcement?”

Mahoney swore. “I remember how we protested that the investigation was being concluded too rapidly.”

“Yeah. See if you can get that information.”

“What do I tell Holland?”

“That I’m on vacation and must have lost my cell phone.”

“And if someone finds out I’ve been looking into this Fischer?”

“You’re going back over old drug cases.”

“You’re going to get me fired.”

“I hope to hell I get someone fired. And indicted.”

“Who?”

“I’m narrowing the possibilities.”

“How’s Ms. Stuart?”

“The less you know, the better.”

“Yeah, I know. How do I reach you if I find anything?”

“I’ll find you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mahoney grumped.

Ben hung up. He hated to involve Mahoney, but his partner was in a better position than he to check on an old case. If he could find the case, he could go to the cops who handled it.

He went back to the car.

Robin was still outside, leaning against the car. He wondered how her leg was doing. She had the brace in the car but wasn’t wearing it.

They both got into the car.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?”

“The U.S. attorney is after my scalp. He believes I helped you escape.”

“I’m not under arrest.”

“No. You have every right to be here. Which makes me wonder …”

“Joseph Ames?” Her eyes widened. “You don’t think he can be involved.”

“I don’t think anything at the moment.”

“He has a great reputation as a prosecutor.”

“Yeah,” Ben said unenthusiastically.

He started the car, then glanced at her. He saw the wheels turning inside. The U.S. attorney. The one person who would have the authority to gather information, to continue investigations. To stop them.

The one person no one would suspect.

He dismissed the notion. All he had was the fact that he was angry about Ben’s disappearance during an important case.

He turned on the ignition. He really wanted a different car, and now with Carl’s credit card he could get one. If anyone was on their trail, he meant to shake them off.

He wasn’t ready to take Robin back to Atlanta. Not until he knew one way or another whether Ames was involved. The likelihood of being believed was dim, and most certainly he would be taken off the case at best, killed at worse, with suspension and a career loss very real possibilities.

And Robin … even worse.

He knew one thing. They had to leave Savannah.

He found a map in the glove compartment. He wanted to revisit the marina. He wanted to break in and find what records they had. A few moments on their computer. The pure idiocy of that thought showed his desperation.

Robin looked at him intently, then said, “I didn’t tell you everything. There’s a beach house.”