Chapter 18
Carson ran long and hard.
He’d tried to work but concentrating had proven impossible. So he’d hit the pavement.
Five miles, six. Then he’d walked another. Every step had been distracted by his need to ensure he wasn’t being followed or watched. Whenever a car had idled past on the street, he’d tensed. But he hadn’t allowed the fear loitering in the back of his mind to keep him from his usual routine.
No damned way.
Sweat rolled down his face. His T-shirt was plastered to his torso.
Schaffer would get back to him tomorrow with the results of her search into the possibility of Baxter having a sister.
The agent thought it was a waste of time, but she had agreed to put aside her doubt and pursue the possibility.
Carson had reached out to his contact in adoptive services who would in turn touch base with her contact in Tennessee.
If no evidence or weakness was found, he would have no option but to push for a deal that might appeal to Baxter.
Immunity, unfortunately, was generally only a temptation to the criminal with something to lose.
At this point it appeared Baxter had absolutely nothing to lose other than the nuisance of being watched 24/7.
Unfortunately, she proved so adept at evading surveillance that even that wasn’t as frustrating and intimidating as it should be.
There had to be a way to get to her. Annette Baxter couldn’t be that good.
No one was.
Not even him.
He was damned lucky the FBI didn’t have footage of him going to her hotel room that night . . . or of her showing up at his office. She’d set him up good. Undoubtedly she’d had a carefully laid-out master plan from the beginning.
Carson wasn’t surprised. No one who had survived the life she had would leave anything to chance.
That alone gave him reason to believe there was something that she feared him discovering.
Otherwise, why would she care who was on the case?
Or bother with acquiring leverage of her own?
More importantly, why would she demand his attention to hear her so-called truth?
Master plan or no, there was something she was afraid of.
Otherwise she would simply use all that information she so blatantly professed to have to stop this investigation dead in its tracks.
He would find what he needed. Carson wouldn’t give up until he did. There had to be a way to get to Annette Baxter. To find the fault in her titanium armor.
He stopped in his driveway long enough to stretch out his muscles. Hell yeah. He would nail her so thoroughly she wouldn’t dare attempt to blackmail him or to damage the DA’s Office.
She’d be spilling her guts before Wainwright had a chance to call his next briefing.
Then Otis Fleming would at last have his long-awaited fall.
Carson scrubbed the sweat from his face with the back of his hand.
The concept that any exploitable information on the DA’s Office might have something to do with what Wainwright hadn’t shared with him lurked in the back of his mind. He expelled that theory, refused to give it credence in any way.
He trusted Donald Wainwright without reservation. Whatever he’d told Schaffer had to be something Carson was already aware of. There was tension between Schaffer and Wainwright. Maybe Schaffer was the one with a vendetta.
“Feeling the pressure tonight?”
Carson swiveled toward the voice.
Her.
Annette Baxter.
He squinted to see her through the darkness.
She lurked in the shadows at the corner of his house.
A blast of outrage had him striding in her direction. He’d caught her watching him before when he’d left the Bureau, and now this. He had news for Ms. Annette Baxter: She should just save herself the trouble. Nothing she said or did was going to prevent him from doing his job.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his pulse rate rushing into the pre-cooldown zone. He glanced toward the street, scanned for her Lexus. Didn’t see it.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I parked my car a street over. After, of course, I lost my tail.”
“I asked what the hell you’re doing here.” This was stalking at the very least, possibly coupled with the intent to obstruct justice. Until he was prepared to offer her a deal, they had no reason to talk.
“I was lonely. I was hoping you’d changed your mind about hearing me out.”
“And why would I do that?” He was always open to a new approach. Why not see where she intended to go with this?
She lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug, causing one flimsy dress strap to slide down her arm.
The silky gold slip of a dress clung to her curves, accentuated every feminine asset.
Carson had figured out that she dressed that way on purpose.
To distract him. Unfortunately she succeeded every damned time.
His overworked muscles reacted as if she weren’t the enemy.
As if all logic had fled along with his ability to stay on task.
That she repeatedly evoked the same reaction confirmed his concern that he was losing his edge.
“Maybe,” she suggested, taking a step from the shadows, “because deep down you know I’m right about your beloved boss.”
This stopped, here and now. “No more games, Ms. Baxter. I thought I made that clear. I’m not interested in hearing any of your conspiracy theories. This investigation is about you and Fleming. No one else.”
She inclined her head, studying him as if strategizing a new avenue of attack. “No games, Mr. Tanner. I’m trying to steer you in the right direction with valuable information. You know, I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”
That was exactly what he had surmised. Carson held up his hands.
“We have nothing to discuss unless you’re prepared to roll over on your friend Otis Fleming.
I can offer certain advantages if that’s why you’re here.
” The decision to go this route might prove somewhat premature, but no harm in allowing her to understand it was an option.
Any forward movement would be better than staggering backward.
“You haven’t heard what I have to say yet,” she countered. “Do you really want to call before the bet is on the table?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. The lady had guts, he’d give her that. He’d offered her a deal and she still wanted to toy with him. “You could walk away,” he clarified. “Start over someplace with a clean slate.”
She tossed that blond mane and laughed, the sound at once infuriating and alluring. “Do you really think I’ve survived this long being stupid? There is no walking away or starting over in my line of work.”
His gaze tracked the second dress strap as it slipped slowly down her other shoulder.
He gritted his teeth, fought the traitorous response.
“We can protect you.” Why did he bother?
She wasn’t going down without a battle. He’d recognized her tenacity that first night they met before he’d even known her identity. He would need serious leverage.
And control of his own reactions.
She strolled right up to him, crowding him with her soft, sweet scent, making him want to reach out and touch those bared shoulders. She stared directly into his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I was acquainted with two people the feds promised to protect—was being the operative word.”
Fury blazed deep in his gut. “All the more reason you should do the right thing, Ms. Baxter.” He went nose-to-nose with her. “I’m certain you’re at least vaguely acquainted with that concept.”
She pursed those lush lips for a second. “You mean the way all your powerful friends do the right thing?”
The perfect comeback eluded him . . . his attention had stalled on those lips. Full, wet, so close.
“You’re so certain your friends are better than mine,” she challenged. “Let me tell you a little story, Mr. Tanner.”
He almost stopped her . . . but curiosity kept him quiet and motionless. Let her talk. Find out what this so-called damaging knowledge really was.
“Once upon a time,” she purred, “there were three boys in college. Donald Wainwright, Randolph Drake, and Craig Tanner. Frat brothers, roommates, buddies.” She inclined her head. “You know what I mean. Kind of like you and your good friend Luttrell.”
He held his ire in check, not an easy exercise. “Get to the point, assuming there is one.” His father’s friendship with Wainwright and Drake was no secret. The three went way back. All the way to elementary school.
“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.”