Chapter Thirty-Four
Carter watched the headlights go black.
His heart rate bumped up a notch.
He surveyed the dark, wooded park around him. As he’d turned from the Parkway onto Hobbs Road, he’d been nearly certain he was being followed. But when he’d taken the first entrance into the park, the other car had continued on.
This whole cloak-and-dagger shit was just too much.
Carter stared at the big SUV a few yards in front of his BMW. No one had gotten out. Carter damned sure wasn’t getting out first.
What the hell did this scumbag want now?
Carter needed that video. He didn’t have to ask what was on it. He remembered every damned detail of that night in gut-wrenching detail.
The argument he’d had with Shelley, the things he’d said . . . they were motive. He didn’t need a lawyer or a cop to tell him; he knew perfectly well. According to CJ, the police didn’t have a damned clue who had killed Shelley.
If Carter was lucky, it would stay that way.
The whore was dead.
End of story.
And Lusk. When he found that bitch he was going to get the truth out of her one way or another.
The autopsy had determined that Shelley had not been pregnant. He had agreed with CJ that labs did occasionally make mistakes.
But not with his life!
Someone was going to pay for that mistake.
Starting with Lusk. If he found out she’d had anything to do with this screwup, she would so regret it.
His hands shook. He reached for another Vicodin. Swallowed it dry. This was bullshit.
One of Nash’s bodyguards approached Carter’s car.
Stay cool.
He powered the window down and looked up at the man.
“The King says join him in his ride.”
The King. Carter gritted his teeth. “Fine.” Deep breath and he climbed out. He followed the thug to Nash’s SUV. The rear passenger door opened, and Carter peered inside.
“Get in. Close the door.” Tyrone Nash reclined in the leather seat, a Black & Mild in his right hand contaminating the air inside the SUV.
“What do you want, Nash?”
The thug who’d knocked on his window moved in behind Carter. “He said get in.”
Fury broiling, Carter climbed into the seat and closed the door. A front interior light remained lit, preventing total darkness.
“Did you decide what your future is worth?” Nash asked.
Carter thought about the question. His fury dissolved into amusement.
He was going to enjoy this. “Funny thing about that, Nash.” He turned to the bastard.
“According to the autopsy report, Shelley wasn’t pregnant.
” He let the amusement slide across his lips.
“So, you see, that video you have is no longer relevant.”
Nash took a long drag from his Black & Mild. “When did you get this news flash?”
“Just a few hours ago.” Carter relaxed, enjoying the upper hand Nash couldn’t possibly deny. “I considered calling you, but I didn’t want to waste my time.”
Nash chuckled. “You hear that, boys? The man didn’t want to waste his time.”
The two thugs seated up front burst into laughter.
The laughter abruptly stopped and dead silence reigned for about ten seconds.
“What you fail to comprehend, Dr. Cost,” Nash countered, “is that at the time the video was made you thought Shelley was pregnant. You reacted based on that concept. Just because you found out she wasn’t pregnant after you killed her—”
Carter tensed. “Who said I killed her?”
“Don’t matter who said what.” Nash shook his head. “Uh-uh. That don’t matter one bit. What matters is what you thought the night she was murdered. What you think or know now don’t mean shit.”
Carter couldn’t breathe. His heart rammed mercilessly against his sternum. “What do you want, Nash?” He’d asked him that twice already. Why didn’t the son of a bitch just answer the damned question?
“What I want is simple,” Nash said. “About a quarter mil ought to convince me to part with that video.” He took another puff of his cigar. “Maybe we better add another fifty thou for the sentimental value. Shelley was my favorite ho, you know.”
“Three hundred thousand.” Carter felt his insides twisting into screaming knots. “I . . . I can do that.” His mind raced with the hoops he’d have to jump through to pull together that kind of cash. But he had to do it. He couldn’t risk that video getting out.
“Why don’t I give you a couple days to come up with the money,” Nash offered, “then we’ll talk again? Course, unless you think it might be a waste of your valuable time.”
“How . . .” Carter scrambled to think clearly. “How can I be sure you won’t make a copy of the video? You could keep blackmailing me—”
“Blackmail?” Nash reared his head back and guffawed. “This is a business transaction. Why you talking about blackmail?”
Carter blinked. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?
“You pay me,” Nash said, “I give you the only copy of the video. A simple business transaction.” Nash leaned in close. “Then you never have to see my pretty face again.”
Carter couldn’t help himself. He stared at the scar on the man’s cheek, flinched when Nash reached up and traced the mark.
“You see, if you’re smart, you can learn something from our business relationship. Never, ever let a bitch get you in a vulnerable position.” Nash turned his attention forward. “You’ll get screwed every time.”