CARSON (Dark and Dangerous Romantic Suspense Book 3)

by Debra Webb

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  “Suit yourself.” She got out.

  He did the same.

  Annette marched right up to the door and knocked loud.

  Carson cringed each time she pounded her fist there. He doubted that whoever was inside was going to be happy to find unexpected company on their porch.

  A few heavy pounds more and the door opened. “What?” a scraggly-looking weasel demanded. He stood about five ten, with long greasy, hair and a mug taken right off the most wanted bulletin at the post office. But he couldn’t have been over nineteen. Just a kid.

  “We’re looking for Dane Drake.” Annette’s voice was strong, fearless.

  The guy stared at her for three beats then glared at Carson for about one. “What the hell do you want with Dane?”

  Annette moved in closer to the guy. Carson tensed.

  She put her face in the weasel’s and said, “I owe him a blow job. You got a problem with that, LeBron?”

  The bastard’s gaze narrowed. “I know you. You’re that bitch that got Dane and me out of trouble one time.”

  Talk about friends in low places.

  “You got that assault charge off my back.” He nodded, grinned. “Yeah, I remember you.”

  “That’s right,” Annette shot back. “Now I need your help.”

  She had gotten an assault charge dismissed to keep this guy in line?

  Carson wanted to be indignant, but, if it benefited their cases, lawyers did what she’d done all the time.

  “Name it,” the long-haired creep said.

  “I need to find Dane Drake now. Do you or any of your friends have any idea where he is?”

  LeBron got that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on his face. “I’m not too sure—”

  “Yes, you are,” Annette argued. “You know exactly where he is. Now tell me.”

  “Okay, okay.” Lebron glanced at Carson.

  “It’s all right,” Annette assured him. “You can talk in front of him.”

  No way this guy was going to roll over on his friend. “Take Highway Eleven until you hit Three. He’s hiding out in the Holiday Inn Express in Fultondale. Says somebody’s after him.”

  Dread pooled in Carson’s gut. If anyone else got to Dane first...

  “Thanks, LeBron,” Annette said. “Now we’re even.”

  As they hustled back out to the Edge, LeBron shouted, “Hey, if Dane don’t want that blow job, I’ll sure as hell take it.”

  Annette didn’t respond. She jumped into the passenger seat and ordered, “Drive. Fast.”

  1:15 a.m.

  Fultondale Holiday Inn Express

  “He won’t be registered under his own name.” Carson surveyed the vehicles in the parking lot. “There’s no way to know which room he’s in.”

  “That’s where you come in.”

  He turned to Annette. “What do you mean?”

  “The clerk’s a woman.” She shrugged. “Go in there and pour on the charm, then flash that officer-of-the-court ID you’ve got and see if you can’t get the room number and the key.”

  He’d never considered the ID as a means to prod information. He might as well go for it. He reached for the door handle. “I’ll be right back.”

  Carson heard the power lock click into place after he exited the vehicle. He didn’t blame her. She had reason to be afraid...even if she refused to say it out loud.

  He opened the door to the lobby and scanned for other patrons. None. Good.

  At the counter he waited for the clerk, young, pretty, to finish the call on her cell phone. Then he smiled for her. “Hey.”

  Interest stirred in her eyes. “You need a room?”

  “In a way.” He laid a one-hundred-dollar bill on the counter. Her mouth dropped open. “I’m Investigator Tanner.” He flashed his badge. “I’m looking for a person of interest in one of my cases.”

  She looked from him to the bill and licked her lips. “Who?”

  “Well, I’m sure he’s not using his real name. He’s tall, thin, dark hair and eyes. About thirty-one. His real name is Dane Drake, but he might be going by something else.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated on the people and faces she’d likely seen pass through this shift. “I don’t know.” Another period of contemplation. “We definitely don’t have a Dane Drake. Wait. There was this one dude.” She raised her eyebrows. “Kind of grungy looking. He came in here to get coffee early in my shift.” She shuddered. “Gave me the creeps.”

  Carson placed another hundred-dollar bill next to the first. “I need a room number and the key.”

  She bit her bottom lip, then asked, “Is he under arrest?”

  “I need him for questioning. It’s extremely important. He could be in danger.”

  She looked around quickly. “Are there people after him?”

  Carson nodded. “Unfortunately. I need to find him first.”

  “Gotcha.” She checked her computer, then swiped a key. “Room two fourteen. It’s on the back side, second floor.”

  “Thank you.” Carson winked. She blushed.

  He jogged back to the car. “Room two fourteen. Other side of the hotel.”

  “Do you think it’s him?”

  Carson started the Edge. “I gave his description. The clerk seemed to think so.”

  “I guess we’ll know in a minute.”

  Carson drove to the back of the hotel. He and Annette were out of the car and headed for the stairs to the second floor before the vehicle rocked to a complete stop.

  Outside room 214, Carson hesitated. He’d never known Dane to carry weapons. But if he were scared and desperate, he might be capable of anything. Zac Holderfield’s death was testament to that.

  “We need to consider how we’re going to do this,” Carson suggested.

  Annette snatched the key from his hand. “Stand back, I’ll show you.”

  Before he could stop her, she’d inserted the key and was pushing the door inward.

  “Dane, it’s Carson,” he shouted over her head, in the hope of preventing a physical altercation.

  The room was dark save for one bedside table lamp. Dane Drake lay sprawled on the bed. An empty tequila bottle lay on the floor. Alongside it was what looked like a prescription bottle. And a drying puddle of puke.

  Annette rushed to the bed while Carson examined the prescription bottle. Patricia Drake. Tranquilizers. The bottle was empty. Shit. His attention shifted to the bed and the motionless man lying there.

  “Dane.” Annette shook him. He didn’t respond. She drew her hand away. “He’s cold.”

  “Dane.” Carson put his face close to his old friend’s. “He’s not breathing.” Carson checked his carotid pulse. Dread settled in his gut. “Call nine-one-one.”

  As he assessed Dane more closely, he recognized that it wouldn’t matter how fast help arrived.

  Dane was already dead.

  “Wait,” Carson said, desperation fueling him, “don’t make that call.”

  Annette stared at him in disbelief and no small amount of horror.

  “Just...don’t,” Carson reiterated.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  1:50 a.m.

  “It’s over.”

  Carson turned in his seat at the sound of Annette’s voice. They sat in the Edge, in the dark, in the hotel parking lot. They’d been doing that for about fifteen minutes. He still couldn’t believe what he was about to propose. But he was out of options.

  Dane was dead.

  There was no place to go from here. No way to find any answers, much less the whole story.

  He stared beyond the windshield, into the night. He’d risked everything, and he’d gotten nothing in return.

  He’d failed.

  “I have to move Paula. Tonight.”

  Carson’s attention shifted back to the woman in the passenger seat. She had lost everything as well. Her sister’s safety was in jeopardy. She was on the verge of being charged with two high profile murders. The citize
ns would demand justice. Annette Baxter would be painted as a cunning, manipulative harlot in the media. Then the witch trial would begin.

  He and Annette didn’t have a shred of evidence to support their theories. Hell, he didn’t actually have a fleshed-out theory. He was still reeling with all that she had told him. With the visit to Stokes. With all that he suspected.

  Frustration coiled inside him. How the hell had he allowed himself to be backed into a corner like this? He never lost a case. Never got so caught up he couldn’t properly assess a motive or a suspect.

  Never gave up.

  His gaze dropped to the steering wheel, where his hands were clenched as if he were racing along a winding road. He could not give up like this.

  Fury tightened in his gut.

  Hell no. He wasn’t giving up.

  They had one opportunity here.

  “I have a plan.”

  “You’re wasting time. We can’t beat them.” Annette leaned her head against the headrest. “They’ve already won.”

  Anticipation roared through Carson. “They’ve only won if we give up.”

  She looked at him. Though he couldn’t make out the emotion in her eyes, he could feel the intensity there. “There’s a time when you cut your losses, counselor. Or didn’t they teach that technique in law school?”

  He started the SUV. “I must’ve been absent the day they discussed that technique.” He shot her a look, wanting her to see the determination on his face even in the dim lighting. “We don’t have any solid evidence, that’s true. But”—he shifted into drive—“we do have a witness.”

  “Dane is dead!”

  Carson pulled out of the parking slot and headed for the street. “But they don’t know that.”

  As he yielded for traffic, he watched that realization strike the worry from her face.

  She smiled. “This is true.”

  He eased into the street and considered the plan already formulating in his head. “We have to implement this strategy very carefully.” He glanced at her. “We only have one shot.”

  “And only a few hours before the maid service at the hotel discovers Dane’s body.”

  “You’re right.” Carson rolled into the left lane and made a U-turn.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “To buy us some more time.”

  3:50 a.m.

  2201 Lime Rock Road, Schaffer Residence

  Carson had hung the do not disturb sign on the door to Dane’s room. If they were lucky, that would give them the rest of the day to get this done.

  If Special Agent Schaffer would cooperate.

  Clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt, she had allowed them into her home at this ungodly hour. That hadn’t actually been surprising considering her surveillance team had been attempting to locate Annette for the better part of the night. Persuading her to listen to their story without calling in to report their arrival had been slightly more difficult.

  Schaffer propped her feet on the coffee table of her family room, then took her time assessing first Annette and then Carson. “You want me to believe,” she said to Carson, “that Wainwright, along with his deceased friend Senator Drake, is manipulating all that’s happened in order to facilitate some massive cover-up?”

  Carson didn’t blame her for being skeptical. Their story sounded crazy at best. But he was sticking to it. Hell, it was the only one they had. “Yes.”

  “Then why would Wainwright have come to me,” Schaffer insisted, “with that tape?”

  The tape? That was the tip Wainwright had given her. “There wasn’t anything particularly earth shattering on that tape,” he reminded her.

  Schaffer snorted. “That’s because you got the edited version. I wasn’t about to trust you with the real thing. When you didn’t appear to know about it, I wasn’t sure what was going on in the DA’s Office.”

  Carson looked from Annette who shrugged back to Schaffer. “What was on the tape?”

  “Your friend here was assuring Fleming that she could take care of the senator. Two weeks later he’s murdered.”

  Carson and Annette stared at each other. She shook her head. “It wasn’t like that.” She turned to Schaffer. “His son was in trouble again. Senator Drake wasn’t sure I could make it go away to his satisfaction. He played that card every time. He refused to come to me. He always went to Otis. Or had Wainwright take care of it.”

  “There you go,” Carson urged. “Wainwright used that conversation out of context.”

  Schaffer turned to Annette then. “Him”—she hitched her thumb in Carson’s direction—“I can halfway believe. Though I’m not saying I do. But you.” Schaffer folded her arms over her chest. “Why would I put any faith in a single word you say?”

  Carson felt a twinge of sympathy for Annette. Even as a child, no one had believed her when she’d told the truth. No wonder she’d stopped trying and had chosen another path to survive. He studied her profile, noting again the delicate features that so belied the tough-as-nails woman beneath.

  “I have no reason to lie.”

  Judging by Schaffer’s expression, that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “I can think of one or two.” She relaxed into the thick sofa cushions. “Holderfield. Drake. Ring any bells?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” Annette fired back. “Those murders—”

  “The murder weapon used on Zac Holderfield,” Schaffer interrupted, “has been linked to an alias of yours. My people, as well as the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department, are working overtime to confirm that link. That same weapon we now know was used to murder Drake.” She lifted an eyebrow at Annette. “How do you explain that?”

  “Those murders,” Annette began again, seemingly unfazed, “are part of the setup. I know too much. They want to discredit me so that nothing I claim against them is reliable, and then they want me on death row. Or dead.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Schaffer said to Carson, “but this entire investigation has been about bringing down Fleming.” She rested her gaze on Annette once more. “We were, still are for that matter, perfectly happy to offer you a deal including immunity. All you have to do is provide the evidence we need. I might even be able to make the murders go away. We might not work as hard as we need to in order to prove the gun was yours.”

  Before Carson could respond, Annette countered, “That may be the way it started for you, but that was never the goal for Wainwright and Drake. They want me, not Otis Fleming. And the gun isn’t mine.”

  “I don’t have any doubts,” Carson said to Schaffer, “that they want to nail Annette, but”—he turned to Annette then—“I’m certain at least the secondary goal is to bring down Fleming.”

  “There are things you don’t know,” Annette explained. It wasn’t until then that he noticed how tired she looked. Even her voice lacked the usual commanding air. “I went to see Otis just before we started our search for Dane. He told me he had negotiated a deal for himself.”

  When had she gone to see Fleming? The only time Carson couldn’t account for Annette’s activities was while he had been with Elizabeth. No matter what Fleming said, Carson knew just how badly Wainwright wanted to bring him down. “What could Fleming have possibly offered in exchange for himself?”

  Annette moistened her lips. “Me.”

  Carson choked out a laugh. Unbelievable. “And Fleming told you this?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you be sure,” Schaffer interjected, “that he was telling the truth?”

  Annette looked straight at Schaffer then. “Because Wainwright was there.”

  The disbelief drained out of Carson, only to be replaced by an equally startling emotion he couldn’t quite label. “In Fleming’s house?”

  “Having tea,” Annette confirmed.

  A prolonged moment of stunned silence followed.

  “The bottom line,” Schaffer announced, shattering the tension-filled quiet, “is you don’t have any evidence to back up your accusations. As
much as I like you, Tanner”—her gaze connected with his—“I can’t go on hearsay or conjecture. I need something tangible to make this leap.”

  “We have a witness.” Carson’s gut knotted. He hoped like hell the agent wouldn’t see the lie in his eyes.

  “Who?” Schaffer didn’t bother keeping the doubt out of her tone.

  “Dane Drake,” Annette answered for Carson. “He was there when Carson’s family was murdered. He knows what happened as well as the steps that were taken to cover up the truth.”

  Again Carson was blown away by the woman’s ability to lie without the slightest flinch. How could he trust anything she told him? Panic trickled in his chest. He was basing his entire theory, risking everything, on what she had told him...on her.

  “I need to question this witness,” Schaffer said without preamble. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in hiding.” Carson wondered how many laws he would have to break before this was over. “As you can well imagine, considering that his father has been murdered, if Dane shows his face he’s a dead man.” The image of Dane sprawled on that bed flashed in Carson’s head. He clenched his teeth to hold back the grimace.

  “So what exactly is it that you’re proposing?” Schaffer wanted to know. “What’s your strategy? And what do you expect to gain?”

  Carson felt some amount of relief at the idea that the agent was even willing to hear him out. Now if she would just suspend logic and go with his plan.

  At this point, Carson had nothing to lose.

  “I put in a call to Aidan Moore, the attorney who represented Stokes,” he explained. “I tell Moore that I have new evidence indicating that Stokes and Wainwright made a deal that included this massive cover-up. That’s just the trigger. Wainwright’s reaction will provide the rest of what we need.” Slim, very slim. Who the hell was Carson kidding? The whole plan was damned anorexic.

  Schaffer’s eyebrows shot upward. “Do you possess actual evidence?”

  Carson opened his mouth to say not exactly but Annette beat him to the punch.

  “Yes, we have the wedding bands taken from the victims.”