Chapter 6 #2
Dr. Dwight Holderfield’s son. Zac was a couple of years older than Carson; they didn’t travel in the same circles, but he knew him well enough.
Rumor was that Zac had spent his time at Auburn developing his skills as a drug connection.
And Carson wasn’t talking about his pharmaceutical science training.
“He went missing over the holiday weekend,” Luttrell explained. “No one’s seen him since Sunday.”
“That’s too bad.” Though not exactly surprising, Carson hated to hear that news.
“Oh yeah.” Luttrell hesitated once more. “Wainwright was looking for you this morning.”
Carson’s gut clenched. “When?”
Luttrell glanced into the corridor as if to ensure no one overheard.
“Maybe half an hour ago. He’s in a meeting right now.
” His cocky gaze intersected with Carson’s, and the grin spread back into full form.
“You know there’s no point in keeping secrets.
I will find out about last night. In time,” he warned.
Jaw clenched, Carson waited until the door was closed behind the prick before picking up the receiver and entering the extension for Geneva Mitchell, Wainwright’s assistant.
“Good morning, Geneva. Is he in?” A line of perspiration formed on Carson’s brow at the idea that the first time he was late the boss came looking for him. Dammit.
As Luttrell had said, Wainwright was in a meeting, and Geneva assured Carson she would let him know when the boss was free. She had no clue why Wainwright had sought out Carson that morning.
Perfect. Carson thanked her and dropped the receiver back into its cradle. He collapsed into his chair and allowed his gaze to rest on the timeline detailing the gruesome murder of his family. That ugly part of his history was at last resolved and now his present was going to hell.
All because of a stranger.
No. That wasn’t right. Last night had been his mistake.
Too bad his first blunder in so long had to have been such a colossal one.
Pushing the disturbing thoughts aside, Carson grabbed a breath mint from his middle desk drawer, popped it into his mouth, then plunged into work mode. Before he’d gotten good and immersed, his door opened once more, again with no preamble. Not even a knock.
“Don’t get up,” Wainwright insisted as he entered the office with his usual fervor, a thick case file tucked beneath his left arm.
He closed the door and made himself at home in one of the upholstered chairs flanking Carson’s desk.
His full attention rested on Carson then, his eyes glittering with anticipation, firing the same rush in Carson’s veins.
“I’m about to give you,” Wainwright began, “the case that will assure both of us our goals.”
Carson closed the file on his desk. The anticipation morphed into searing adrenaline. “Excellent.” Maybe this day was salvageable after all. “You’re well aware that I’m prepared to do whatever’s necessary to make that happen.”
As the new DA of Jefferson County, it would be more than a little beneficial to have the governor in his corner.
The next few months were going to be the most crucial of Carson’s career.
Pleasing the boss and the public was paramount.
Wild, frantic sex acts flickered in front of his eyes.
He could not take another risk like that.
Could not allow his focus to be divided.
His career had always come first. Now was not the time to allow that rigid discipline to falter.
“As you are well aware,” Wainwright said, using Carson’s words and relaxing more fully into the chair, “we’ve had our eye on Otis Fleming for two decades.”
Otis Fleming. Carson sat up a little straighter. Fleming had long been considered Jefferson County’s connection to organized crime, but no one had ever been able to prove it. No one got close to Fleming and lived to rat him out. Few tried.
“New evidence has come to light?” Carson eased back into his chair, matching his boss’s posture, but he was by no means relaxed at this point. Wainwright was correct. A high-profile case like this could put them both where they wanted to be career-wise.
Wainwright placed the heavy folder on Carson’s desk, then pounded it with the side of his fist. “Even better. We’ve found a weak link amid his faithful soldiers.”
Carson took a moment to absorb that information. “Is the witness in protective custody already?” If not, he probably wouldn’t be alive for long.
Wainwright shook his head. “This witness isn’t ours just yet. That’s where you come in.”
Ah, the insider hadn’t been flipped. Interesting. “Do we have enough leverage to do the job?” In these situations, leverage was everything. His heart ushered into a faster rhythm at the prospect of taking on this challenge.
“We have a start.” Wainwright slid the file toward Carson.
“Study what we have. Dig up every speck of dirt you can find. Don’t stop until we have what we need to get everything we want.
” Wainwright pushed to his feet. “We can discuss your initial conclusions in my five o’clock with Senator Drake.
You know how long he’s wanted to nail Fleming.
I want you”—Wainwright pointed at Carson—“to show him how we’re going to make that happen. ”
Carson stood, gave a resolute nod. “I’ll be prepared.
” When Wainwright was gone Carson opened the file.
Years of reports and compiled data on Otis Fleming filled page after page.
If only 1 percent of the suspected criminal activities were proven, the man would be going up the river for a very, very long time.
Carson reached the dossier on the suspected weak link. Annette Baxter. Thirty, an associate as well as personal friend of Fleming. Carson didn’t recall having heard her name before. In fact, he was surprised to find Fleming’s weak link was a female. All of his known, close associates were male.
Curiosity hastened Carson through the initial read of the facts on the insider. He turned the page and found the first of several eight-by-ten surveillance photos.
He stared at the vivid image. Denial detonated in his brain. “Impossible,” he muttered.
Seconds turned into a minute with him staring at the photo, staring from every angle to be sure there was no mistake.
And there wasn’t.
Annette Baxter was the woman . . . the stranger with whom he’d just spent the night having hot, dirty sex.