One Summer’s Knight Read online

  “Of course” The man took his ID case from his inside jacket pocket as he settled into the seat beside her He gave the driver’s shoulder a tap and the car moved silently forward.

  Summer studied the photo ID carefully, glancing up several times to compare it with the man sitting next to her. He returned her gaze obligingly with somber brown eyes. Not a bad-looking guy, she decided, handing the ID back to him with a sniff. A long, rather melancholy face, dark brown hair with a tendency to disobey orders, a perpetual case of five-o’clock shadow…somehow not exactly what she’d have imagined an FBI agent would look like.

  “Is this about the phone calls?” Her voice trembled; the adrenaline was ebbing, leaving her jangly and cold.

  Special Agent Redfield didn’t seem to think he needed to answer that. He looked out the window as he tucked away the ID and said in a policeman’s monotone, “We just want to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Robey. About your husband.”

  “I don’t have a husband,” Summer snapped, anger finally reaching her now that the fear had ebbed. “And if you wanted to talk to me about my ex-husband, why couldn’t you just call and ask me? You people scared me to death, you know that? It’s a miracle I didn’t have an accident.”

  The FBI man turned doleful eyes back to her. “Yes, well, I’m sorry about that. It’s just that we’d rather not have it known that we’ve spoken with you. That’s for your sake as well as ours. We wanted to be sure you weren’t being followed.”

  Summer snorted. “Well, I was, obviously-by you.”

  Agent Redfield regarded her for a long moment, without even the hint of a smile. “Mrs. Robey,” he said softly, “we know about the phone calls. I have to tell you, we believe these people mean business. They want your husband, and they want him badly. So do we. And it is vital that we find him before they do. Do you understand?”

  “Of course I understand,” Summer said, almost in a wail. “Do you? I’ll tell you the same thing I told those guys on the phone. Hal is not my husband anymore, and I do not-repeat, do not-know where he is! If I did, do you think I’d be in this mess? That man took every penny I had and a considerable amount more. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs. It’s going to take me years to climb out of the hole he put me in. If he owes those people money-”

  “I’m afraid,” Redfield said, “this isn’t about money.”

  “If it’s not money they’re after your husband for,” Riley said, “then what is it?”

  She gave an impatient little jerk. “I asked Agent Redfield that. He acted as though I’d asked him to sell nuclear secrets to the Iranians. Then they took me to some sort of headquarters and questioned me for three hours. I never did get back to work. It’s a good thing I have an understanding boss. But-” she held up a hand to forestall interruptions, though he hadn’t planned any “-from the questions they asked me, and everything that’s happened, I’ve sort of been putting two and two together. I know this all has something to do with some huge illegal gambling syndicate-the mob, I guess-do they still have that?”

  Riley nodded. “Oh, yeah. Which explains the FBI’s interest.”

  “Right. Anyway, what I think is, that they think-both the FBI and the syndicate people-that Hal has something on the syndicate. I don’t know what-some sort of information that could bring them down, I suppose. My guess is, the syndicate guys didn’t even know Hal had…whatever it is…until he ran out of the money he’d stolen from me, and then, knowing him, he probably tried to blackmail them. That’s when they started with the phone calls to me.” She sat back, elbows on the arms of the chair, fingers clasped at her waist. Her breathing was quick and audible, and a muscle worked at the hinge of her jaw.

  Riley regarded her for a moment, wondering why such a fantastic story should sound even remotely believable to him. Just something about her face, he decided; something he could only call character, for want of a better word. But there were things that bothered him. He frowned. “My question would be, how would your husband come by this…information? Why would a gambler have access-”

  She made a soft, derisive sound. “Hal is a gambler, but he’s far from stupid. In fact, in his own field, he’s probably brilliant.”

  “And that is…?”

  “Math. Hal is-or was, when he could keep a job-an accountant…a bookkeeper. And while he’s no hacker, he’s very good with computers. When he was out of work and at home, that’s what he did with his time-play with the computer. In fact, that’s how he did most of his gambling-you know, on the Internet. I think that’s how he did it. I think he must have somehow managed to tap into the syndicate’s financial records, or something like that. That’s why the FBI wants him so badly.”

  Riley sat back, exhaling through his nose. “Shades of Al Capone.”

  Her eyes turned silvery. “Oh, yeah. This Agent Redfield was practically drooling. He wants whatever it is Hal’s got so badly he can taste it, and that’s what scares me. I get the feeling this is some sort of crusade with him, bringing down this syndicate. You know-like Captain Ahab and Moby Dick. I think he wants to get them so badly and he’s so focused on it, that he might not care who he has to hurt in the process. And that-” she let out a breath “-is why I think I need a good lawyer.” She paused, her gaze holding Riley’s as she added evenly, “I’ve been held accountable for my ex-husband’s actions before. I don’t intend for it to happen again.”

  Chapter 3

  “The thing is, I can’t afford to pay you.” She said that in a raspy, embarrassed voice, sitting on the edge of her chair and staring at him, almost, it seemed to Riley, in defiance.

  She reminded him of a wild rabbit he’d once caught in a snare he’d set in the woods. He could still remember the way it had felt in his hands, trembling but not struggling, resigned to the inevitable but wanting so desperately to be somewhere-anywhere-other than where she was. He’d let the rabbit go that day, knowing it meant he’d go hungry to bed again.

  She swallowed and went on; he thought it seemed easier for her now that she’d gotten the worst out. “I don’t have any money and my credit is shot. I can’t go to my family for help…”

  Of course not, thought Riley. Pride. Way too much pride.

  “I already owe them so much for that hospital bill. I do have a lawyer, sort of-she’s a family friend and her husband’s a private investigator, too-but they have…things going on in their own lives right now. Personal stuff.” She shifted in her chair. Her fingers curled over the top of her handbag; her knuckles whitened. “I just can’t burden them with my problems-I won’t. But-” she took a breath “-I’m not asking for charity.”

  Of course not, Riley thought, regarding her with half-closed eyes, his face once more cradled on his hand, index finger pointing at the corner of his eyes, little finger across his lower lip. God forbid, Summer Robey, that you should ask anybody for anything.

  “I mean, if you will take me on as your client, I will pay for your services-I just can’t pay you with money. What I thought was…I’d offer something in exchange-you know, like the barter system? They used to do that back in the old days-like, a farmer would pay with a pig, a miller with a sack of flour…”

  Riley was hard-pressed not to smile. His chest tingled with a strange anticipation as he murmured, “Well…now that’s an interesting idea. What in particular did you have in mind?”

  Her cheeks were bright with embarrassment, but he’d expected that. What touched him more was the determined light in her eyes, a little glow of courage that was like a candle held high in a dark and lonely woods.

  “Obviously, I don’t have anything to give you, except for myself. Oh, Lord.” She abruptly closed her eyes. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. Please don’t think-”

  “Mrs. Robey, I never did for a moment, “ Riley said kindly. He was grateful for the excuse to smile.

  “What I meant was, I thought I could offer my services…” She stopped again, put a hand over her eyes and muttered, “Oh, God, that wasn’t much better, was i
t?” Riley was openly, if silently, laughing. She uncovered her eyes and glared at him “What I mean is, I could work for you.”

  “Uh-huh.” It took a gallant effort, but he managed to straighten his face. “Well, now, that sounds interesting. Doin’ what, exactly?”

  She looked desperately around her. “Well, like I could do your filing for you, you know, answer the phone…”

  “I have both a part-time law clerk and a full-time secretary slash-receptionist to take care of that for me,” Riley said gently. The truth was, Danell, his secretary, did have a vacation coming up. He’d been putting off calling the temp agency; he dreaded it so. But something in him-the devil, most likely-was entertained by the situation, and he couldn’t bring himself to let Summer Robey off the hook. Not that easily.

  Her brows had drawn together as she racked her brain for another offering “Well, I am a veterinarian. How about-”

  “Sorry. No animals. Pets or otherwise.”

  “Ah-hah.” She drew a shallow breath and he could see her relax, as though she’d already accepted defeat and was just spinning her wheels. “I could clean your house…mow your lawn…”

  “I have a cleaning service. And a gardener.”

  “Wax your car, carry your golf clubs…”

  Riley stood, rounded the corner of his desk and put a firm hand under her elbow. The look of dismay on her face as he raised her to her feet was like a high-powered lamp; he didn’t have to see it to know it was there.

  “I’m sure we’ll think of something you can do for me, Mrs. Robey,” he drawled. The muscles in her arm jerked beneath his fingers. As it had with that bunny rabbit all those years ago, pity overcame him and he let her go. “And I mean something even your dear old gray-haired mama would approve of.”

  She surprised him with a breathless laugh. “I don’t know if that’s all that reassuring.” She was clutching her pocketbook in front of her like a weapon, as if a street mugger had her by the elbow. “Last I heard, my mother had dyed her hair marigold and was into massage therapy.”

  Now, there was a thought. Riley allowed himself to dwell on it just a little bit while he eased her toward the door. But not for long, he did have a client waiting He reached past her for the doorknob “Now, first thing we’re gonna want you-”

  She spun around suddenly, putting her back up against the door so he couldn’t open it, and at the same time trapping herself there between it and him. Her eyes, on a level with his chin, were silver as summer rain. “Does this mean…?”

  Riley nodded, enjoying himself a lot more than he should have. “Well, sure. You’ve got yourself a lawyer.” He smiled down at her, a big wide one that showed his teeth. “A good lawyer.”

  “Oh, thank you.” The words were a whisper, borne on a breath.

  And he suddenly felt the need of one himself, his brain, for some reason, having become oxygen-deprived. He gulped for air before he said, “Mrs. Robey-”

  “Please-it’s Summer.”

  Summer? And he thought, Oh yeah, it is Hazy, hot and humid, and charged with electricity.

  He got the door open and ushered her into the cool of the hallway. “Summer, what I’m gonna want from you is all the information you can come up with on your ex-husband-social security number, driver’s license number, credit cards, any aliases he’s used in the past, friends, relatives, habits and haunts-okay? I’m gonna want to get my investigator goin’ on this as soon as possible. And I’m gonna see if I can get the police to put some surveillance on your house and your phone, if that’s okay with you.” While he waited for her nod, he slipped around her and got to the waiting room door first. He opened and held it for her but kept her there with a touch on her elbow as he said in a low, private voice, “In the meantime, next time you hear from the FBI, I want you to give me a call, okay? And don’t say a word until I get there. Not one word.”

  “I won’t,” she whispered. “Mr. Grogan…thank you Thank you so much.”

  He nodded and watched her walk across the waiting room and out of his office Then he hauled in a discreet breath of oxygen-rich, lemon-furniture-polish-scented air and smiled encouragingly at the client who was pacing a path in the Persian rug. Muttering, “Be right with you,” he closed the door, then ducked into his secretary’s office.

  “Danell,” he said briskly, “we’re gonna want to open up a file for Mrs. Robey. And would you see if you can get Tom Denby on the phone? If you can’t, leave him a message, tell him I’ve got a job for him. Oh-and let’s see, who do we know over in Augusta that might be able to get us a favor outta their police department? Look into it for me, would you?”

  Danell slanted him one of her looks. “You got a billing address?”

  Riley stopped short. Damn. He’d been hoping he could make it out of the office before the subject came up. He gave a blithe little wave without turning around. “Just bill it to the firm for now.”

  “You said no more pro bonos. You told me to shoot you in the legs if you even looked like you were gonna take on another one.”

  He hitched up his shoulders and peeked winningly at his secretary over one of them. For a girl not out of her twenties, Danell did have a look that could make him feel like he was twelve and trying to sneak by with a copy of Playboy under his shirt. “Who said anything about pro bono?”

  She stared him down. “We’re way over quota for the month, you know we are.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then walked back to Danell’s desk, put his hands on the edge of it and leaned on them. “Find a way to fit this one in,” he said softly, meeting her eyes. “Just this one more. Okay? I have a feeling it’s gonna be important.”

  It had turned hot and muggy since the weekend, and since the Oldsmobile’s air conditioner didn’t work, the first thing Summer did when she got into the car after seeing Riley was roll down all the windows. Backtracking the way she’d come, she drove through downtown Charleston and found her way to the interstate. When she hit freeway speed, she rolled the windows back up partway so the wind wouldn’t whip her hair into a frizz during the long haul back to Georgia. By the time she’d done all that, more or less on autopilot, her brain had begun to function again.

  Oh, Lord, I did it. She had herself a lawyer. A good lawyer. She felt confident of that. She’d done some research on this Riley Grogan, and from what she’d been able to gather, he was one of the best in Charleston, South Carolina. Relatively young-not much more than forty-but already highly respected… and rich, which was maybe a better measure of his effectiveness. He was also single, which she gathered was somewhat of an uncommon state for a respectable Southern male past twenty-five years of age to be in. Coupled with the fact that the man was handsome as sin, was known to dress as impeccably as any blue-blooded aristocrat, and had a reputation for being suave as the devil himself, that might have raised a few eyebrows and more than a few slyly phrased questions, were it not for his regular appearances at Charleston social functions with one marginally famous beauty or another draped on his arm. Hostesses known for their elegance and sophistication, it was said, were often reduced to stammers and blushes in his presence. If Riley Grogan still reigned at the top of a short list of the South’s most eligible bachelors, then the consensus of opinion-especially among mothers of Charleston debutantes-was that it must be because he simply hadn’t found the woman who could live up to his standards of beauty and style, wit and intelligence.

  All of which impressed Summer not the slightest bit. She cared nothing for the man’s looks, pedigree or sexual orientation. There was one thing she cared about, and one thing only: what kind of lawyer was he? The Riley Grogan she’d run up against that day in court, that was the man she wanted working on her side. She had no use for charm and elegance. What she wanted was the street fighter-someone cold, calculating, ruthless and manipulative, tough as nails and mean as a snake. After all, her children’s lives were at stake.

  Oh, but there was no use denying it-he had made her knees go weak just now. What was it abo
ut the man that made her blush and stammer like a hillbilly in her first town dress? What was it about Riley Grogan that ate away at her confidence so? She’d never suffered from a lack of poise and self-assurance before, not since she’d learned the hard way that a handsome face and winning personality were foolish ways to measure the worth of a man. Hal Robey’d had a smile so sweet it’d fool bees into thinking it was honey, as her dad used to say.

  But Riley, now…what he had was something different than your ordinary, garden-variety charm. Something more. What he had was an elegance so effortless that it could make even duchesses feel inadequate and prima ballerinas trip over their feet. And by the time she’d reached the Highway 78 turnoff to Augusta, Summer had decided that she knew what it was that gave the man that elegance. It was the very same quality that made him so intimidating in a courtroom-quietness. Riley Grogan was quiet the way a big cat is quiet, like a leopard draped along a limb or a lion lounging in the shade of a banyan tree, somnolent and relaxed, in the absolute certainty that he is undisputed lord of all he surveys.

  A sudden shiver ran through her, a joyous little energy surge. Oh, but it felt good to be plugged into such awesome power and massive self-confidence after so many months of fear and uncertainty. Everything was going to be all right now.

  At a stoplight in Augusta, Summer checked her watch and decided there wasn’t going to be time to stop at the Winn Dixie before she picked up the kids. The church day camp she’d found for them allowed for some flexibility in pickup times, but she was running late as it was and she didn’t like to push it. The day camp had been a lifesaver. She’d found out about it from Debbie Mott, her boss’s wife, who was sending her kids there as well.

  The children were waiting for her outside in the heat instead of in the air-conditioned building as they usually did. From halfway down the block, Summer could see them sitting on the brick planter that ran along the walk in front of the church. Both had the same pose-elbows on knees, chins propped on hands-but somehow David’s attitude managed to convey dejection, while Helen’s had the ominous look of a small black storm cloud