Chapter 9 #3
A dozen questions ran through his mind as he emerged, briefcase in hand. The last of his raging emotions and the accompanying tension drained away.
“Hey.” She glanced across the yard to the quiet street before meeting his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by unannounced.”
Carson closed the car door. “You’re always welcome here, Elizabeth.
” A genuine smile tugged at his lips. How long had it been since he’d come home and found her waiting for him like this?
Fifteen years? But back then home had been home.
Not the place where his family had died.
Not a hollow house that stood empty except for when he showered and slept.
That old but too-familiar pain squeezed his chest.
So much had changed after that day.
Elizabeth moved down a step. “Reminds me of old times.”
No kidding. He followed the sidewalk to where she waited. “Very old times.”
“It was good to see you today.” She descended the final step. “I can’t believe I’ve been home for two years and we’ve hardly bumped into each other.”
“Work keeps me busy.” That part was accurate if not the reason he had avoided running into her. Seeing her reminded him too acutely of all that he had lost. Of all that might have been if fate hadn’t royally screwed him.
She surveyed his house. The automatic exterior lights included in the landscaping highlighted the daring, modern architecture. “I approve.” Her gaze met his once more. “You did every single thing you said you would, including achieving the high-profile career.”
High-end house in the exclusive neighborhood. Flashy car. Fast-tracked career. He’d dreamed of having it all. Including Elizabeth. But thanks to Stokes she was the one thing, in addition to his family, he would never have.
Going there was pointless. “You’re one to talk.
” He sat his briefcase on the lowest step, took off his jacket one arm at a time before draping it over the banister, then loosened his tie.
“A graduate of Wellesley. Deputy mayor of this thriving metropolis.” He gave her the nod, the one that said how much he admired her accomplishments.
“Two years back home and you’re Birmingham’s princess. The whole city loves you.”
Elizabeth set a new standard for involvement in the community. Her fundraising work was unparalleled. Carson fully expected that when her father retired from the Senate in a few years, she would step up to the plate and win his seat. No one was more deserving.
She waved off his praise. “You can’t put any stock in all that media hoopla, Carson. Here today, gone tomorrow.”
“Now you’re being modest.” The idea that they were still standing outside hit him square on the forehead. Jesus, what was wrong with him? “Hey, why don’t you come inside and we’ll have coffee . . . or something.”
“I should go.” Elizabeth hugged her arms around her waist. “It’s late. I was just thinking of you and thought I’d look you up. It was a little spur-of-the-moment. I didn’t really plan on stopping . . . or staying.” She gestured to his briefcase. “I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on.”
He looked from the briefcase to her. “It can wait a few minutes.”
For ten or so seconds she contemplated his invitation before allowing him to see regret in her eyes. “I have an early meeting tomorrow.” She reached up and hugged him. “Next time,” she whispered near his ear.
He watched her walk away, part of him wishing he could say something to make her stay.
They needed to talk, to catch up on all the years yawning between them.
But she was right, it was late. Far too late for them.
And starting down that path would only resurrect too much hurt . . . too many memories.
“Hey!”
He shook off the troubling thoughts and met her gaze. “Did you forget something?”
She backed the final steps to her car. “I got a dog.” Her smile widened to a grin. “Finally.”
He frowned, tried to think how that was significant.
“Remember,” she went on, her hand fumbling behind her for her door, “I could never keep a pet because of Mother’s allergies.”
Wait . . . yes, he did remember. The family had tried several pets, and they’d each eventually had to go. Elizabeth and Dane had been devastated each time.
“That’s great. What breed?”
“A Lab.” She opened her car door. “My favorite. I’ve always wanted a big old chocolate Lab. I have my own place now, there was nothing stopping me.”
With all that was going on in his life, he had to laugh at the idea of discussing a new pet with Elizabeth. She sent a look of confusion in his direction.
“Are you laughing at me, Carson Tanner?”
He shook his head. “Absolutely not.” He choked back the mirth but couldn’t drag the goofy grin off his face.
“Just for that you can accompany me to the Newton Ball on Sunday night.”
All signs of amusement evaporated. Did he hear her correctly? “Do what?”
She was the one grinning now. “Be my escort. The fundraiser for the Museum of Art. Sunday night, eight o’clock. You can pick me up at seven-thirty. Don’t be late.”
Elizabeth got into her car, wiggled her fingers at him, and then drove away. Carson waved, watching as her taillights disappeared into the night.
Sunday night. He and Elizabeth.
Whoa.
Another smile pulled at his lips.
It had been years since he’d given much if any thought to a personal life. Maybe it was time for that to change.
All the more reason for him to get his act together.
Whatever game Annette Baxter was playing with him, it wasn’t going to work.
He would not fall for her manipulative ploys again.
He was going to nail her hot little ass straight to the proverbial wall.
His determination renewed, he grabbed his briefcase and jacket, climbed the steps, and crossed the porch. Hell yeah, he was back on track now. No more screwing around. He jammed the key into the lock and opened the door.
Carson Tanner was on the case.
The Avenger . . .
His hand hovered at the light switch.
Instinct fired a warning, making him hesitate.
What was that smell?
He took a deep breath, analyzed the noxious odor.
Gas?
What the . . . ?
The briefcase slipped from his fingers. Plopped onto the floor. The jacket followed.
Moving with extreme caution, he headed for the kitchen. Only two possible sources—gas heating system, gas stove.
As he entered the dark kitchen he raised his forearm to protect his nose. The foul smell was much stronger here. He blinked at the sting. Heard the faint rush of gas escaping.
Carson reached out, touched the first knob on the commercial grade cook top. Straight up in the off position. Next one, same thing. Next one . . .
Shit.
Set on high. No flame, just the rush of raw gas.
Carson shut off the flow then quickly raised windows to ventilate the dangerous fumes.
When the air inside was tolerable, he relaxed and turned on the lights.
He hadn’t cooked that morning. Hadn’t even been home.
How the hell . . . ?
The near brush with the black sedan . . . now this?
His heart rate reacted to a surge of adrenaline.
Coincidence? Maybe.
Then again, Otis Fleming was a powerful man. Maybe he was sending Carson a warning . . . or two.
Let him give it his best shot.
Carson wasn’t backing off. Not today, not tomorrow. He was going to bring Otis Fleming down.
And Annette Baxter was going to help him.