Chapter Twenty-One
Carter Cost sat in the darkness of his BMW.
He’d been watching CJ since they left the restaurant.
She’d driven straight to the shack her crazy sister had called home.
Once inside, she had turned on all the lights.
Then she’d walked to the neighbors and borrowed what appeared to be a hammer.
After that, she’d lurked around in the garage using a flashlight.
Eventually she’d emerged with an armload of boards or something along those lines and gone back into the house.
For the next half hour he’d heard banging.
What the hell was she doing?
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
The better question was, what was he going to do?
She knew.
Fear crept up his spine, took root at the base of his skull.
With Shelley dead, he’d thought this was over.
Why didn’t CJ go back to Baltimore? What resident in her right mind would risk such a prestigious position?
She’d gotten her attending on board with the idea of filling elective hours.
Carter couldn’t exactly deny the request. That would look suspicious.
But this ridiculous plan could very well backfire on her.
A residency position at Johns Hopkins came with certain expectations, complete focus being first and foremost.
He shook his head. Some people just didn’t appreciate the gifts life gave them. His residency at the Mayo Clinic had been such a gift. His grandfather had reminded him of that every day since Carter had returned to join the family practice.
Carter wasn’t allowed to deviate from the plan that had been in place well before his birth. When he finally married, that too would be part of the plan, the nuptials a well-thought-out business negotiation. Just another reason Carter was in no hurry. He enjoyed his freedom far too much.
What little he had.
His family couldn’t control what he did between the hours of 11:00 p.m. and 6:00 a.m., but only by virtue of the fact that every single one of them insisted that seven hours’ sleep each night was not only beneficial but essential.
If his family learned of his latest indiscretion, he would be eviscerated. Disowned. Left in the cold to survive on his own.
That was unacceptable.
He liked his life. Huntsville’s medical community had no choice but to look up to him; he was, after all, a Cost.
Fury tightened his jaw. He had worked hard to rise to meet the family’s endless list of standards. His reputation in the cardiovascular field was growing. His personal client list had exceeded expectations for the length of time in practice.
He could not allow this to happen.
The police couldn’t care less about another sex worker ending up dead. Particularly one from the west side. That she was pregnant would be considered a sad consequence of the job.
Except that CJ was presenting the pregnancy as motive. Insisting the pregnancy made the murder a homicide with special circumstances.
A capital offense in the state of Alabama.
He understood full well how this, like all else in life, worked. The squeaky wheel got the grease. If she cried foul long and loudly enough, someone would pay attention just to shut her up.
Then he would be screwed.
He had to find a way to stop this.
Any one of Shelley’s sleazy associates from the village could serve as suspect or perpetrator. There wasn’t a single one of them above killing out of necessity or for sheer sport. And every one of them was expendable.
Yes, he decided. That would be the quickest, most painless route out of this mess. All he needed was a dead body and evidence that pointed to the victim’s guilt in Shelley’s murder.
He would never get so lucky.
Sometimes a person had to make his own luck.
Sweat dampened his palms. A shudder quaked through him. The stress sharpened his needs. A call to his supplier might be in order a little early.
Just as he reached for his cell, it chirped.
If it was his father again, Carter was going to ignore the call.
His father was suspicious of Carter’s late-night activities.
He’d started calling each night and morning to ensure his only son was following the rules.
He, of course, didn’t say as much, but Carter knew what the calls were about.
He wouldn’t put it past his father to have him watched. Carter longed for a call from his mother saying his father had suffered a sudden heart attack or stroke. He didn’t wish his father dead, just out of commission on some level.
Maybe then he could live his life rather than the family plan.
A third chirp nudged Carter to check the screen. A local number, but not one he recognized.
He started to ignore it but at the last moment answered. “Cost.”
“It’s not nice to stalk the pretty doctor.”
Carter twisted in his seat, scanned the darkness for whoever was watching him. “Who is this?”
“The better question is, who do you think you are? You don’t belong here, boy. You shoulda realized that a couple months ago and maybe your balls wouldn’t be in a vise right now.”
Shit. Carter swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. “What do you want?”
“Why don’t you name the price, Dr. Cost? You’d have a better idea what your future is worth than I would.”
Fear ignited in his gut. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I got you on video, pretty boy. Pushing that bitch around. Telling her she better get rid of that baby. Threatening her if she didn’t. Yeah, I got it all.”
Carter went numb. “You’re . . .” He tried to swallow but his throat had gone bone dry. “You’re bluffing.” The chilling words—his words—echoed in his brain.
The bastard laughed. “You need to wake up, cracker. I don’t bluff nobody. Your ass is punked. Now, you think on it awhile, come up with a number. I’ll get back to you.”
Carter couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe while his entire life flashed before his eyes.
For the first time he realized he had underestimated the importance of a plan.
He needed one.
Fast.
His hands shook. He reached into his console, popped a couple of pills.
A sense of calm rushed over him.
He could figure this out.
He knew people . . . people who could make things go away.