One Summer’s Knight

at night, when the children were asleep. They said they were friends of Hal’s and that they needed to find him. But there was something…I don’t know, just sort of scary about it. I told them I didn’t know where Hal was, but the calls kept coming, and they kept getting more and more threatening.”

“Threatening? How?”

“Oh, you know-vague things. ‘Tell us where your husband is, or you’ll regret it.’ Stuff like that. I didn’t take it too seriously, but still, it was…upsetting.”

Riley murmured, “I’ll bet.”

“But then…one day someone called when my kids were home. David-my nine-year- old son-answered the phone. I don’t know exactly what the man said to him-David won’t tell me-but I do know he was terrified. First he wouldn’t go to sleep at all. It was like he thought he needed to stand guard, or something. He’s been sort of like that since his father left, anyway-trying to be the man of the house, you know. Then when he did finally crash, he had nightmares.” She shifted in the chair, edgy with anger. “That was it-the last straw. So I went to the police.”

Riley nodded; it had been on the tip of his tongue to ask. “Good move. And?”

Again that tight, joyless smile. “They suggested I change my number. So I did. The calls stopped-for about a week. When they started up again, they were even more vicious than before. They-” her voice quivered unexpectedly; she shut it down and began again, this time in a lower tone “-they said they would take my children, and…hurt them…if that’s what it took to force Hal out of hiding.”

Pain reminded Riley to unclench his jaw. Tearing his gaze away from the woman’s mouth, from lips that were taut and vibrant as bowstrings, he forced them to focus on the terror in her eyes instead. “Mrs. Robey, I don’t know whether you need a lawyer or not, but I know you should be talkin’ to the police.”

“Oh, yes.” She dipped her head in a quick, angry nod. “I did. They didn’t seem to think there was very much they could do for me, not unless they had more to go on. They suggested I could change my number again, get caller ID, things like that Oh-and they told me I might consider hiring a security guard-for my peace of mind. As if I could afford such a thing.” Her voice had climbed the scale; now it was high and incredulous. “It was almost as if they didn’t believe me, as if they thought I was lying.”

“All cops sound like that,” said Riley with an impatient wave of his hand. “I think they teach it at the police academy. Do you mean to tell me-”

“No, wait,” she said grimly, “there’s more.” She spoke rapidly, and her eyes had a glow now that he could have sworn had as much anger in it as fear. “So, anyway, I had to drive back from the police station to where I was working that day-I work for a mobile vet, so we’re at a different location every day, usually two or three in a day- which was about ten miles, with quite a few turnoffs. And I started noticing this car, this tan sedan, following me. Now, naturally, after those phone calls, I thought the worst, you know? I mean, I was scared. So I stepped on it. What else could I do? I was out in the middle of nowhere! And I’m driving like a bat outta hell-mind you, my car isn’t capable of a whole lot, but it was doing its best-and this tan sedan is staying right with me. By this time, I’m terrified, shaking like a leaf. Finally, I make it to the parking lot where the mobile vet is set up, I go screeching up to the van, and before I can do a thing, the tan sedan pulls right up beside me, this man jumps out and yanks my door open, flashes a badge and says-” she lowered her voice at least an octave “-‘Mrs. Robey, I’m gonna have to ask you to come with me, please.’ ”

Riley didn’t know when he’d been so completely captivated. His heart was actually pounding, and he could feel the quiver of terror in his own legs-empathy, unfortunately, being another of Riley’s gifts, one he took great pains to keep secret. “You mean to say they arrested you?”

She shook her head almost gleefully; her lips parted. “They weren’t cops.”

“Then who…?”

“You’re never going to guess…”

“FBI, ma’am, Special Agent Jake Redfield.”

FBI? Summer felt a sudden and very brief impulse to laugh. Still on an adrenaline high, she spoke in a clipped, breathless voice. “May I see that ID again, please?”

“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…?”