by Debra Webb
“There was one girl,” Baxter went on. “Lana Kimble. Lana and Randolph were in love. This little detail was the cause of much discord among the three friends since Randolph was already promised to Patricia. Then one night sweet little Lana disappeared. But not to worry—she was found the very next day.” Baxter lifted her chin and stared directly at him, as if she suspected before she gave the punch line that he wouldn’t get the unfortunate joke. “About three hundred feet below the ledge where she’d waited for her lover the night before. Guess who saw her last?”
Carson shook his head. What could she possibly hope to gain by telling him this fantastic story? “People die young sometimes. They generally have friends. Just because my father and his buddies lost a friend in college doesn’t mean they’re somehow responsible for the loss.” The girl’s death would have been investigated. Carson had faith in the justice system. There were times when it failed, but for the most part it worked.
“You didn’t answer the question, Tanner,” she pressed. “Who do you suppose was the last person to see her alive?”
He threw his hands up in question. “Why don’t you tell me? Since you have all the answers.”
“The revered Senator Randolph Drake.”
The satisfaction in her expression was really starting to piss him off. “But she was alive, according to him, when he left her. His best friends, you know who, backed him up. Lana was perched on that ledge calling his name as young Randolph walked away. Donald and Craig witnessed this from the car—not very far away, of course, and with the aid of the full moon to provide a clear view of the whole event.”
What did she expect him to say to that? “Sad story, Ms. Baxter, but somehow I missed your point.” She was grasping at straws. He’d been right. She had nothing on Wainwright or anyone else.
Baxter edged a little closer, close enough for him to feel her breath on his face. “Check it out, Tanner. You’ll see my point. Lana’s death was ruled a suicide, but there were conflicting details. Your powerful friends have some very deep, very dark secrets. This one’s only the beginning.”
Like Schaffer said, Baxter was one cunning piece of work. “You’re accusing three of the most respected men in Birmingham, including my father, of murder.” He had to be out of his mind to continue this conversation. “I won’t stand here and disrespect those men by listening to your slanderous stories. Put up or shut up, Baxter. You know what I want from you. Think about it and get back to me.”
He’d heard more than enough to know she had nothing. Before he could walk away, she countered, “That’s right. Take the easy way out. You’re just like the rest of them. You don’t really care about the truth. It’s all about your reputation. Your prized record in the courtroom.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts, purposely emphasizing the cleavage revealed by the skimpy dress. “Go ahead, Mr. Tanner, keep digging until you find whatever evidence they’ve planted to do me in. Then ask yourself if you’ll ever really know what happened.”
Ask yourself if you’ll ever really know what happened.
How could she use the exact words Stokes had?
Unless she’d been in contact with him.
That was the moment when Carson went over that edge he’d been teetering on for about seventy-two hours now. “While we’re on the subject of truth, tell me,” he demanded softly, murderously, “how does it feel to crawl into bed with that old man? Does his sagging skin turn you on? How much Viagra does it take for Fleming to get it up?” Carson didn’t stop there. Couldn’t. “Do you like making your living on your back? Or maybe you do your best work on your knees. What did you do for Stokes to get information out of him?”
The flash of fury in her eyes sent adrenaline charging through him. He’d stooped to her level, but by God he’d gotten to her. Somehow he had instinctively known there was a real human being buried beneath that ice bitch persona.
“You think you know me.” The fury cleared from her eyes with one downward sweep of those thick lashes. “You don’t know me at all.”
Bullshit. He laughed. “I know you fucked me to gain some kind of twisted leverage in this investigation. I also know you’ll use that and any other innuendo you can dredge up, like that trumped-up story you just related, to blackmail me, or to try to. It won’t work. Unlike you, I do have principles.”
“Actually, Tanner”—she looked him up and down then smirked—“all I did was lure you into a compromising position. You stuck your dick in me because you wanted to. Or maybe it was all those principles that compelled you to do it over and over again.”
He grabbed her by the chin, unable to restrain the punishing hold. Never in his life had any woman made him feel so out of control. So damned desperate to dominate her. “Take the deal or take the fall. I’m good with either choice.” As angry as he was at that moment just being this close, just touching her, even like this, reminded him of hot, graphic sex. Made him want to repeat that insane mistake over and over again.
“You know what gets to you the most?” she whispered, then wet her lips.
That he followed the move with such avid interest enraged him all the more.
“You want me even now,” she taunted. “That’s why you’re so pissed off.”
“I don’t want you,” he snarled. “I despise everything about you.”
She grabbed his cock and squeezed. “Yeah, I can tell.” That was when he recognized the one glaring difference between them. His whole body pulsed with lust. And she...she remained a block of ice...of sheer indifference.
“I’ll give you that.” No point denying it He wrenched her fingers free of his dick. The feel of her skin burned his hand. He let go of her wrist. “But at least I’m capable of feeling something.”
“Now you get the picture.” She tugged her chin loose from his cruel grasp and smiled. “Did you really think you could touch me like that? No man, certainly not you, has ever had the power to make me feel anything at all.”
It required every ounce of determination he could rally, but he backed off. He was done. “When you’re prepared to discuss a deal on my terms,” he said, his breath ragged, his tone raw, “you give me a call.”
She held her ground as if she was confident she owned this little tete-a-tete. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. District-Attorney-to-be, just because we have so much in common I’m going to give you a peek into the future. If my prediction proves accurate, you have to listen to what I have to say.” She dared him with her eyes. “Really listen.”
Not about to entertain any more of her groundless threats, he went on record. “I think you’re bluffing. So don’t waste your breath.”
A soft laugh quirked her lips, drawing his reluctant attention there yet again. “Why don’t you save your deductions for after you’ve heard me out? Isn’t that the standard procedure?”
He crossed his arms over his chest to ensure he didn’t do anything else stupid, like haul her ass to the street. “I’ve made my position abundantly clear.”
Undeterred, she spelled it out. “Today Zac Holderfield’s body was discovered. His father will be next.”
Whoa. Carson searched her eyes, her face. Those instincts he relied on so heavily sounded an alarm, igniting the coals beneath his hibernating reason. “Don’t think for a second I won’t inform the investigator in charge of the Holderfield case of your remarks.” Was she for real? Jesus Christ. “Give due consideration to my offer, Ms. Baxter, before it’s too late. Your friend Fleming isn’t likely to take our collusion so well. I wouldn’t want to be you if he discovers you’ve been unfaithful.”
“Really, Tanner,” she argued, not shaken in the least. “Why would I tell you something like this if not to help you? I have nothing to gain by taking this risk.”
The lady had missed her calling. She should have been an actress. “I don’t operate the way you and your friends do. In my world, we have laws and ethics. Unless you’re willing to work within those boundaries”—he pointed to the street—“you can go. Now.”
“You’re the Avenger,” she urged fearlessly. “The guy who stands up for the innocent and the defenseless. Don’t you want to have truth on your side? To do the justice thing? I’m giving you advance knowledge. The rest is up to you.”
He felt sick with disgust at the way his body betrayed him even now. His cock was hard as a rock at just being close to her. Her fearlessness fueled that attraction. Not being able to control this thing between them—knowing she was using him, knowing what she was—made him all the angrier. She represented some kind of challenge he couldn’t seem to resist.
“What I want to do,” he growled, “is to take you down. What you need to understand is that I will make it happen.”
Having the last word should have given him one hell of a rush. But it didn’t. He’d gotten to her, but she’d gotten to him first...and last.
He headed for the house. Enough had been said.
“You really have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you?”
He shouldn’t have paused. Shouldn’t have looked back.
When he did their gazes locked, imprisoned by an intensity he couldn’t quite label.
“One last piece of advice, Tanner,” she said, her posture every bit as determined as her tone. “Don’t trust anyone and watch your back.”
Annette Baxter maintained eye contact another dramatic moment before walking away. He stared after her, unable to move or react to her statement, until she was swallowed up by the darkness.
Oh, he intended to watch his back all right. Having his BMW shot up was wake-up call enough. But she needn’t have warned him about trust. Trust was something he didn’t dole out so cavalierly. Right now, however, the person he trusted the least was himself.
Chapter Eighteen
Saturday, September 11, 9:00 a.m.
Carol’s Country Kitchen, 8th Avenue South
“It’s difficult to believe the FBI has nothing.”
Wainwright wasn’t happy. Carson had been so caught up in this travesty of an investigation, he’d failed to keep his boss up to speed. Wainwright had tracked him down that morning and asked for a breakfast meeting.
The DA was restless. He wanted results.
And just maybe Carson had been avoiding him. Schaffer’s suggestion regarding the tip she had received from Wainwright was like expert witnesses—as soon as the state refuted one, the defense dragged in another. It just wouldn’t go away. Then there was the fiasco with Baxter and her claims about Lana Kimble and her prophecy about Dr. Dwight Holderfield.
The fact of the matter was, he hadn’t done one damned thing by the book so far. “Baxter is good,” he confessed. “She takes extreme precautions in everything she does. This is going to take a little more time than I anticipated.”
But her luck couldn’t hold out forever. Carson would hear from Schaffer on the sister lead today. He’d come up empty-handed thus far with his own search. He’d considered tossing the idea at Baxter last night but he hadn’t wanted to tip his hand until he corroborated Ms. Cornelius’s claim.
He’d looked into Baxter’s story about Lana Kimble for no other reason than to dash the truth back in her face. Kimble’s death had been ruled a suicide. There were unresolved questions as Baxter had suggested, but that was the case with all unaccompanied deaths. Drake, Wainwright, and Carson’s father had known the woman. But that didn’t mean that one or all of them were involved in her demise. The idea was ludicrous. Baxter was doing exactly what he was: searching for something to use to her advantage. And like him, she was coming up empty-handed.
The news wasn’t what Wainwright wanted to hear. He toyed with his napkin. “We have to get this done.” He stared straight at Carson. “Everything is riding on this one.”
“I understand, sir.”
He did.
More so every hour that passed.
“Is there anything I should know?”
The DA’s question startled Carson. He barely managed to keep the surprise off his face. Baxter’s warning about Dwight Holderfield chose that moment to haunt him. He wouldn’t bring that up just yet. She hadn’t given him anything specific. Could have been an empty threat. Nor would he bring up Schaffer’s assertion. Not the time. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You’re up to this, right?” Wainwright squared his shoulders, but even that move didn’t disguise his uneasiness. “You generally get straight to the heart of a case. But this one...” He shook his head, his face sober. “...seems to have you unnerved. You’re a little off your game. As unsettling as yesterday’s shooting was, I noticed in our first briefing that you seemed distracted.”
Now Carson understood: This impromptu meeting was about him, not the investigation. He looked his boss, his mentor, squarely in the eye. “You have nothing to worry about, sir. I’m on top of it.”
“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Don’t hesitate to make use of that security detail. I can’t have our future DA being used for target practice.”
Maybe it was frustration, maybe it was plain old insecurity, but Carson went momentarily stupid. Otherwise he would not have opened his mouth and stuck his foot squarely inside. “One question. Is there anything the Bureau knows that came from our office that somehow I’m not privy to in this investigation?”
Hell, why hadn’t he just asked Wainwright straight out if he’d told Schaffer something he hadn’t told Carson? Damn, he was off his game.
Wainwright’s gaze narrowed. “What kind of question is that? You and I are the only ones on this case. No one else. You know everything I know.” He scrutinized Carson closely. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Explain that one, Carson, you idiot. The waitress arrived to take their order, allowing him to drag in what might be his final breath.
Wainwright waved the waitress way. They were waiting for Elizabeth. Wainwright had informed Carson when he’d arrived that Elizabeth would be attending once again as the mayor’s representative. She was late. Maybe if she’d been here, Carson wouldn’t have stepped so squarely on his dick.
“It’s Schaffer, isn’t it?” Wainwright charged.
Carson had opened that line of questioning. He couldn’t strike it from the record now. Schaffer had warned him to keep this information between them. So much for trust. “It’s not actually anything in particular. Just a hunch. A feeling I got from her.” Good job, asshole. Lie to your boss. The man who holds your whole future in his hands.
Wainwright leaned forward, his face clean of readable emotion. “Don’t let her distract you, Carson. Schaffer’d like nothing better than to be the one who takes down Fleming. The feds seize the limelight whenever possible. This is our investigation. Your investigation. Stay on track and do what you do best.” He reclined in his seat and reached for his coffee. “Trust me on this. Schaffer isn’t on our side.”
Don’t trust anyone and watch your back.
Carson exiled Baxter’s warning. “Understood, sir.”
Behind schedule or not, Elizabeth’s timing proved impeccable. As she reached their table, Carson and Wainwright stood. The tension receded as swiftly as a courtroom clearing after the judge recessed for lunch.
“Sorry I’m late. I had an eight o’clock.” She smiled, then accepted a hug from Wainwright. “Since the mayor decided to host business until noon on Saturdays, you’d think there’d be more time. Somehow I seem to have less.” Her smile widened as she turned to Carson. “Carson.”
He gave her a quick hug. As usual, his heart reacted. More of that heavy guilt settled on his shoul
ders. How could he react to Annette Baxter so fiercely when all he’d ever wanted was Elizabeth? And finally, finally there was hope.
As soon as they resumed their seats the waitress returned, giving Carson yet another momentary reprieve.
“Do we have an update?” Elizabeth looked from Wainwright to Carson when the orders had been given. “The mayor is anxious to hear news that the investigation is progressing.”
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing new.” Carson hated being the reason for the disappointment on Elizabeth’s face. “We are,” he affirmed, “working diligently to change that. I have a couple of leads that look promising.” That was a bit of a stretch, but every good attorney knew how to embellish his case.
She nodded. “Excellent. I’ll pass that along.”
Carson’s cell phone vibrated. “Excuse me.” He retrieved it from his pocket and checked the screen. “I’m sorry,” he said to Elizabeth before glancing at Wainwright, “I need to take this.” Lieutenant Bill Lynch. Lynch had once been involved with the Fleming case, but that had been a long time ago. This call was more likely related to Zac Holderfield. Carson had asked to be kept up to speed. No need to mention that to Wainwright for obvious reasons.
Wainwright and Elizabeth moved into a discussion of whether or not the mayor would run for office again as Carson stepped away from the table.
Once he was clear of the dining room, he accepted the call. “Tanner.”
“Mr. Tanner, this is Bill Lynch.”
Tension rippled through Carson despite the fact that he’d known it was the lieutenant calling. Not only had Lynch been involved with the Fleming investigation on and off in the past, but he was also the detective who had worked the Tanner investigation. Who had shown compassion for Carson even during those twenty-four hours when everyone besides the senator had considered him a suspect in the slaying of his own family. Hearing the man’s voice always resurrected painful memories.