by Debra Webb
Max sprang up on all fours and glared wildly at Carson. “I can’t go back there. I’m telling you”—he swiped at his damp face—“they’re gonna get me this time.”
Frustration spiked again but Carson tamped it back down. As difficult as moments like this were, not only did he owe the old man, but Max was his only family. Carson had to take care of him.
Who would take care of Carson if this ever happened to him? He’d heard the whispers behind his back fifteen years ago.
The boy could be like his uncle...that man’s crazy, you know.
Fear trickled. Carson stanched the seeping, creeping flow of it and braced himself. He was not like his uncle. This would not happen to him. It hadn’t fifteen years ago, it wouldn’t now. “We can do this either the easy way or the hard way,” he offered quietly but firmly.
Max blinked, a new brand of fear welling in his eyes. “What does that mean, Carson?”
Guilt nagged at Carson. The man was like a scared kid. Carson couldn’t bring himself to be too hard on him, no matter how frustrating these incidents could be. “It means you have to come with me now or there’ll be trouble. You don’t want any trouble, right?”
Max considered the question a moment then shook his head adamantly. “Take me home.” He struggled to his feet. “I’ll just have to find a way to fortify my security.”
Whatever.
Max refused to wear his seat belt or to sit upright in the car. He hovered down where no one could see him for the twenty-five minutes required to reach his run-down shack deep in the woods that backed up to the prestigious Mountain Brook community.
His uncle had inherited several acres of woodland from the West family. The property abutted the estate where Carson had grown up. Carson’s mother ensured that the land was put in trust so that Max couldn’t do away with it in one of his frenzies. The old man had built his shack out of recycled materials picked up from wherever he happened to find them. His furnishings were castoffs gathered from curbs. He refused to live anyplace else. Max had made a trail through the woods to Carson’s childhood home. Carson remembered vividly how his uncle would sometimes show up in the middle of the night to pillage for food after his monthly allowance ran out. He had refused monetary assistance from his sister, wouldn’t take it from Carson now.
He led his uncle into the shack and ushered him down onto the ragged couch. “Don’t move.”
Max just stared at him, his mania subsiding slightly in the familiar surroundings.
Carson found the prescription bottles and counted the contents. “Dammit.” His uncle had been off his meds for six days. And Carson had been so busy screwing up that he’d failed to check on him.
There was no excuse for that kind of neglect.
Annette Baxter elbowed her way into his thoughts. He evicted the image of those long legs and that wicked smile. As soon as he had this situation under control he would come back to that problem. She was going to learn very quickly how he’d earned his reputation as the Avenger.
For just one moment last night he had been certain he’d heard fear in her voice. He’d definitely seen it in her eyes. But like everything else about her, the display had likely been a performance designed to mislead him. To tug at his protective instincts. She shouldn’t waste her time.
Carson had no sympathy where Annette Baxter was concerned.
What he did have was a raging desire to take her down.
After prowling through the fridge and cabinets to find something edible, Carson got the meds into Max followed by food. The man was skin and bones. He didn’t eat nearly often enough. Something else Carson should have been taking care of.
Instead of fucking Annette Baxter.
Carson stayed with his uncle while the drugs did their work. Soon Max was speaking more slowly and rationally and insisting that he needed to sleep. Time and a few more doses would be necessary to get him back on track.
“You don’t need to worry, Car,” Max offered as Carson helped him into bed and adjusted the covers about him.
Carson settled on the edge of the lumpy mattress. “Why would I be worried?” Who knew where the old man’s random thoughts came from? Carson understood from experience that it was best to give him grace and just play along.
“She knew you didn’t mean it.”
Tension rippled along Carson’s frame. “What’re you talking about, Max?”
“Livvy loved you. And she knew you loved her. No matter what happened, she always knew.”
The tension turned to a dull ache, one Carson knew all too well. “I know,” he said. “I know.” He did. Teenagers said stupid things sometimes; their parents forgave them. But Carson had taken it to the next level...and he hadn’t gotten the chance to make it right.
He had to live with that.
Max drifted off to sleep. Carson sat there watching the old man, the last time he’d spoken to his mother playing over and over in his head.
Carson, you don’t understand.
I understand perfectly. I won’t let you do this.
Dr. Olivia Tanner had tried to reason with her son, but Carson had refused to listen.
I hate you! Do you hear me, Mother? I hate you!
The fifteen-year-old patient in his mother’s office at the time had witnessed the entire scene. Had provided a statement describing Carson’s menacing demeanor and the threatening words he’d shouted at his mother—the renowned child psychologist who couldn’t control her own son.
For the first twenty-four hours after the murders even the cops on the case had considered Carson guilty. Since he’d made another stupid decision and gotten piss-ass drunk after the fight with his mother, he’d even considered the sickening theory himself. An alcohol-induced blackout. Those unaccounted-for hours had taunted him ever since.
Had he simply passed out in a drunken stupor...or had he done what Max often did, gone off the deep end with no recallable memory of the event?
The boy could be like his uncle...that man’s crazy, you know.
Stop. Carson closed his eyes. Don’t go back there. That part of his life was over. He opened his eyes and stood. He’d achieved every damned thing he’d set out to accomplish—everything his parents had wanted for him. The law enforcement community respected him. He hadn’t failed...except that once.
Until recently, he amended.
But it wouldn’t happen again.
Restless and damned determined to get his mind off that painful past, Carson checked the house. There were only three rooms. The living, dining, and kitchen areas were all crammed into a twelve-by-fifteen space. There was also a small bedroom where Carson had slept for two years, and a box of a bathroom with nothing but a wall-mounted sink, toilet, and cubicle shower.
Home sweet home.
None of Carson’s friends had been allowed to come here. Everyone had known Maxwell West was crazy. Less than half a mile away, the Tanner mansion had sat empty and collecting dust; still did. Max refused to live there. Not that Carson had ever wanted to, either. He hadn’t set foot in the place in years. And even then only on those occasions when he needed to refresh his memory of the crime scene.
Only when he had no other choice.
The house remained, other than the initial crime scene cleanup, exactly as it had been fifteen years ago.
Stuck in time...just as Carson’s personal life had been for so very long. But no more.
The Tanner case was closed, and Stokes was serving a life sentence.
Ask yourself if you’ll ever really know what happened.
Maybe not, but the truth was that the past was the least of his worries.
Annette Baxter was the problem of the moment.
But her time was limited.
Chapter Thirteen
4:45 p.m.
1st Avenue
Jazel Ramirez climbed out of the Lexus. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it to watch her racy red Mustang roar up the street like a mighty beast. Shivers danced over her skin.
&nb
sp; God, she loved that car!
The Mustang screeched to a halt, and the driver’s-side door opened. Jazel’s breath caught as she watched Annette emerge. She was so freakin’ beautiful! Jazel wanted to be just like her!
They had the same body build. Lean and toned. Except Annette’s tits were huge compared with Jazel’s. But shit, that was okay. Jazel was only twenty-two. She had plenty of time to consider implants.
She tugged the blond wig from her head and finger-combed her dark mane, then reached up just in time to catch the keys Annette tossed her way.
“Good catch.” Annette leaned against the Lexus. “Any trouble today?”
Jazel propped next to her idol. She shook her head as she exhaled. “It was cool. I went to the park. Drove around in my old neighborhood. Then came here.” The black mini skirt and tight-ass camisole looked almost as good on her as it did Annette. Except for the cleavage. Jazel needed those implants.
Annette inclined her head. “You didn’t notice a tail at any point?”.
A frown tightened Jazel’s forehead. “No way. You know I’m too smart for that.” Damn. Annette rarely questioned her this way. Had she messed up somehow? She hoped not. The money she earned with this gig was paying for the Mustang. She would never have owned a car that cool without Annette.
Annette nodded. “Good. Payment’s in the glove box. I’ll probably need you again this week. Is that a problem?”
Jazel grinned. “Absolutely not.”
Annette glanced around the empty street like she was nervous or something. “Okay, sweetie. You take care going home.”
“I always take care.” Jazel pushed off the Lexus and headed for her Mustang. As she slid behind the wheel, Annette drove away in the sleek Lexus. Hell yeah, Jazel wanted to be just like her. Annette had it all. Looks, money, anything she wanted.
Jazel intended to have it all, too. But first she had to finish her nursing degree. Annette insisted. No school, no work. No negotiation.
Burning rubber, Jazel sped away.
A full tank of gas. She grinned. Annette always filled up the tank before returning her car. Jazel tossed the blond wig into the backseat.
She glanced at the clock on the dash. Damn. She had to get home. Her mother would be heading to work in fifteen minutes. Jazel had babysitting duty tonight. Just one of the many perks of belonging to a huge family.
As she left the city traffic behind she let her inhibitions go and jammed down hard on the accelerator. With the windows down and the wind blowing through her hair she felt as if she owned the road. She pumped up the volume on the radio and belted out the words to one of her favorites on this week’s hit list.
Movement in the rearview mirror snagged her attention. She glanced at the mirror. What the hell? A black car was right on her ass.
“Fuck you!” she shouted at the mirror as she stomped the accelerator. Her Mustang rocketed forward. “Hell yeah! Catch me now, asshole!”
The victory high vanished as headlights and a grille loomed large in her rearview mirror.
A frown tugged at her lips. “What in the hell?”
The black car rushed right up on her bumper. Nudged her.
Her Mustang jerked forward even as her right foot instinctively let off the accelerator.
Jazel’s heart lunged into her throat. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. What was this dick doing?
Stay calm. Focus on the road. Keep it between the ditches. Holding her breath, she glanced at the rearview mirror just to be sure he was gone.
He’s...coming again!
“Shit.” She floored the accelerator. Gripped the steering wheel even tighter and leaned forward. She had to lose this son of a bitch.
He rammed her.
The Mustang lurched forward.
Jazel screamed as she fought to stay on the road.
Where was her cell phone? She dared to glance around the interior. Not in the passenger seat. Not in the floor. Her purse. It was in her purse.
Where was her purse?
Another shove. Hard. The impact caused her to jerk. The right wheels jumped off the edge of the pavement. She wrenched the steering wheel left. Too fast. Shit!
Panic seized her as she fought to get the Mustang back under control and barreling forward.
She looked around, frantic for help.
There was no one.
What the hell was she supposed to do?
Another glimpse at the rearview mirror and terror tore at her heart. Ice filled her veins.
He was coming again.
She braced.
Oh God...
Chapter Fourteen
5:30 p.m.
Sloss Furnaces
Dane Drake hugged himself against the chill that came from deep inside. He couldn’t shake it. Felt sick as shit. He wanted...
He shuddered. No, he didn’t want, he needed.
Needed it so bad.
One hit...just one line of coke and he’d be okay.
His body shook so hard he could barely stand straight. But she’d be here soon and everything would be all right. She always knew what to do.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel jerked his attention to the Lexus rolling into the area designated as staff parking. Relief rushed through him, making his knees want to give way. Jesus, he thought for sure he’d die before she got here.
He licked his lips as she climbed out of the driver’s side of the vehicle. The black skirt she wore was short and tight; the jacket, too. Damn. As sick as he felt, his dick took notice. Made him think about rowdy sex.
Like that was going to happen. This bitch was as cold as ice.
Focus, man. She didn’t like it when he got this screwed up. Get it together. Don’t let her see the desperation...or the fear.
He waited for her next to the fence under the overpass. Nobody ever parked this far out of the way. At this time of day the Birmingham landmark was pretty much deserted except for the clerk in the gift shop. Dane didn’t have to worry about anybody looking here for him...or seeing him with her.
“Dane,” she said as she approached, designer sunglasses shielding her eyes.
His mouth felt so damned dry. His gut was on fire and all knotted up. He needed something...now. Take it slow, talk rationally. Don’t piss her off. “I’m sick.” He took a deep, deliberate breath. “I need...” He swallowed the taste of bile. “...something and I can’t go to anybody I know.”
She studied him a moment from behind those dark glasses before folding her arms over her chest. “And we both understand the reason you can’t go to anyone, don’t we?”
Shit. Why was she mad at him? He’d made a mistake. He barely even remembered anything. “It was...it just happened. Got out of control,” he reminded her. Why did she have to make this hard? Sweat beaded on his skin. His body began to shake again. “What was I supposed to do?”
“I saved your ass, Dane.” She moved closer, so close he could smell the faint scent of her perfume. “You know what they’d do to you if they found out.”
Shit. He jerked his head up and down. “I know. You can’t tell.” Panic erupted inside him. “Please.” Fury rushed in on the heels of the panic. She had no right making him feel like scum. His jaw hardened. He was Dane Drake; son of a damn US senator! “You’ll do what my father pays you to do.”
She reached up. He tensed. When she removed her glasses, she stared straight into his eyes, hers arctic-cold. Then she laughed. “You’re right.” She nodded once in acknowledgment of his puny victory. “Since I pride myself on guaranteeing that a client gets his money’s worth, perhaps I should give him all the details of our most recent transaction.”
Dane stiffened with the images that flooded his aching brain. Blood. Everywhere. Digging frantically through pockets. He shuddered. Closed his eyes and drove away the mental pictures.
“That’s what I thought.”
Anger spewed again, making him shake even harder. “I’m sick,” he growled.
She held out her hand. �
�Give me your cell phone.”
His entire body sagged with relief. She was going to help him. He dug his cell from the pocket of his jeans and handed it to her.
After entering a number she handed it back to him. “Make the call. He’ll take care of your needs.”
Dane tried to conceal the tremor in his hand as he took back his phone. Didn’t work.
“Find someplace to lay low for a while.” She tucked her sunglasses back into place. “Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll contact you when it’s safe to come out and play again.”
He nodded.
“Look at me, Dane.”
He stared into those dark lenses.
“Don’t screw up. You know what will happen if you do.”
He watched her walk back to her car. Yeah, he knew what would happen.
A part of him didn’t give a damn. Wanted this to be over. He shut his eyes tight. Don’t look back! Don’t think about it. All that damned blood. His gut seized, doubling him over. He puked. Hard.
The ground tilting around him, he managed to straighten and scrub the back of his hand over his lips. He’d kept his mouth shut for fifteen years, why the hell did they think he’d do any different now?
One mistake in fifteen years. If his family, including Elizabeth, hadn’t cut him off financially, he wouldn’t have had to take such a drastic measure.
A mistake, that’s all it was. He’d fixed it the only way he could. Even that part had been an accident...a mistake.
He’d done exactly what he had to do. Things just hadn’t gone as planned.
It should have worked.
Whatever. He opened his cell to make the call. Unlike his sister, he didn’t give one damn how this all turned out.
Dane just needed to stop the pain...and the memories.
Chapter Fifteen
7:00 p.m.
Summit Towers
Annette stepped from the private elevator to the fifteenth floor. Her floor. The entire floor belonged to her. Her private rooms were separated from her offices by a vast entry hall and lobby.