CARSON (Dark and Dangerous Romantic Suspense Book 3)

by Debra Webb

  And watched. Absorbed. She knew their secrets and used those secrets to her advantage. Not a one suspected just how vulnerable their inflated existences were until it was too late.

  She needed some air. The hypocrisy was stifling and boring.

  Annette deposited her glass on the tray of a passing waiter and made her way to the nearest exit, avoiding the clutches of philanthropic patrons. Outside, she crossed the upper terrace and took the steps down to the grand fountain where water misted the night air. White lights adorned the meticulously manicured landscape and glittered in the trees. Sometimes she still wondered at the grit and guts it had taken to claw her way into this ostentatious league.

  Hard work.

  Most nights she enjoyed her work. But not tonight.

  Her world was crumbling around her. Holderfield was dead, just as she had predicted. She had recognized his desperation. Had known he was very close to crossing a line. She had warned Tanner. But he had refused to listen.

  Now the man was dead.

  Not her responsibility.

  Jazel’s death, however, was likely entirely her responsibility.

  Collateral damage. Harsh as it sounded, Jazel had known the risks. She had been unconditionally willing considering the exorbitant fee she received each time. But that didn’t change how very much Annette regretted her death. Jazel had been like a little sister to her...almost. Annette had foolishly let herself care about the girl. Not good.

  Her warning to Carson Tanner had fallen on deaf ears. And whoever had seen to it that Holderfield took his last breath had ensured she would be a suspect. Her name on the deceased’s calendar meant nothing. She and Holderfield had not met in person that last time. Annette never met with a client in person after the initial encounter unless absolutely essential. Video calls were every bit as effective. The police had no physical evidence to connect her to Holderfield on the day of his death or the one prior. Not a single piece of tangible proof.

  Yet it wouldn’t end so neatly. There would be more. A single item that would tie her to the crime scene was all it would take.

  She stilled. Waiting for the other shoe to drop was not her style. Take action, that was her creed. It was time to make those responsible for her current dilemma sweat.

  Any action at this point likely would not stop the momentum; all she could hope for was to derail the ultimate goal. She was the target. Not Otis. This was about her, no question. Time and again she had recalled the events of the night that had set this crash sequence in motion and found no fault on her own part. Her actions had been necessary. Rather than appreciate her quick, efficient work, they had decided she was too big a risk. Too great a threat, no matter that taking her down represented an equally dangerous course. She had to wonder how long this decision had been taking shape.

  Annette would be the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat. Any complications would somehow be attributed to her. Guilt placed at her feet. Then it would be done. The sticky mess resolved while concurrently getting her out of the way once and for all.

  She had to hand it to them. Collectively those responsible had dredged up far more courage than she would have suspected the whole lot possessed.

  Well, she wasn’t quite done. Giving up, running, those reactions were not in her character. She had too much to lose. Annette closed her eyes and thought of Paula. Her sister needed her to be strong. No matter how tempting the usually foreign idea of disappearing forever.

  Stop. She could not allow that seed of doubt to take root.

  “How did you know?”

  Well, well, she had wondered when he would show up. Annette turned to face Carson Tanner. “I know many things, Mr. DDA. Do you have a specific question? Or are you ready to listen? That was the deal, after all.”

  He looked harried and rumpled despite the elegant navy suit he wore. Looming on the upper terrace, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets, he glared at her with those dark eyes, his expression equally dark.

  Carson Tanner was primed and ready. It had certainly taken him long enough. But then, she’d known that about him. Tanner was a man who assessed a situation carefully before diving in—but once he was committed there was no stopping him.

  “You stated”—he descended another step—“that Dwight Holderfield would be next.” One more step, then another until he had reached the lower terrace where she waited. “How did you know?”

  Seemed Mr. Tanner was a bad sport. She should have expected as much. She took a moment, mainly to set him farther on edge, and sized up the man. Several inches taller than her, nice wide shoulders. She’d seen his every asset, sleek, unmarred skin stretched tautly over a muscled frame, sculpted jaw, handsome face. He had it all. Looks, money, and a career on the verge of launching to the next level. Focused, determined, the perfect politician in the making.

  But he didn’t have the one thing he’d longed for the better part of his life. The truth. No matter how successful his career proved, no matter how hard he worked, he needed the truth to feel complete. Sadly, the truth was only going to turn his vigilantly structured world upside down. Yet he wanted it with every fiber of his being.

  Time to give him an answer. She met that livid gaze. “Because he came to me demanding the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “The truth about his son.”

  “Why would he suspect you possessed knowledge related to his son’s murder?”

  Even as he asked the question his gaze slid down the length of her body and back up to tangle with hers. There was something more in his eyes then. Need. Hunger. She smiled. Even knowing, as he did, that she had set him up, worked diligently to distract him from his goal, he still wanted her. Predictable. When she’d done her research on Carson Tanner, she had known his rigid control could be breached if she used the proper tactics. Always understand your opponent’s weaknesses as well as his strengths. The need for intimacy hovered just beneath that unstoppable facade he’d constructed. He hadn’t trusted anyone on a personal level in more than a decade, yet he wanted desperately to be touched...to touch.

  He’d lost his family, the girl he loved, his friends, everything in one fatal blow. Everything about who he was testified to his extreme need to fill that void.

  “As I said.” She watched that desire escalate in his eyes, throb in the hard set of his jaw. “I know many things. It was clear to me after my meeting with Holderfield that he was a desperate man. Desperate people take desperate measures.”

  With one stride, Tanner invaded her personal space. “All of this is just a game to you.” He glared at her, searched her face as if he expected to find something he’d hadn’t discovered before. “Right now, right here”—he hitched a thumb toward the historic home behind them—“you mingle with these people like you belong. Like the feds aren’t right outside watching every move you make. Like Lynch isn’t working diligently to prove you were somehow involved in Holderfield’s murder.” He shook his head. “Even in the face of those solid facts, you’re not afraid. You think you’re untouchable.”

  “I’m sure you have a point,” she suggested, undaunted—at least on the surface.

  He put his face very close to hers. “You’re good, lady.” He opened his arms wide as if stumped. “I can’t connect a single illegal activity to you. Neither can the feds. All we can do is watch and wait for that first misstep.” He lowered his arms to his sides and leaned menacingly close again. “It’ll happen. And I’ll be waiting, watching every move you make until then. I will get you.”

  He was right. She knew this. But she also understood something he did not. Time was very short. Her fate had already been decided. How long, she wondered, before his was as well—if not already.

  “I had nothing to do with Dwight Holderfield’s murder.” She refused to look away from the disgust in his eyes. Refused to let him see that the pressure was beginning to get to her. That he was beginning to get to her.

  He reined in the fury as well as the disgust, donned that professional
mask he wore so well. “The offer I made is still on the table. Give me Fleming and you’ll walk away with immunity.” He searched her face, obviously attempting to gauge her reaction. “But be forewarned, if murder charges are leveled against you, I won’t be able to help you then. It’s now or never.”

  He was right. It was now or never.

  “Since you appear to have no intentions of living up to your end of the bargain we made last night—”

  “I never agreed to anything you offered,” he said, cutting her off cold. “You’ve heard my offer, take it or leave it.”

  “How about I sweeten the deal?” She ignored the frustration that wrestled its way past his courtroom face. “Give you something extra. Something immensely personal.” Don’t let him see your desperation. “Hear me out, Tanner. You’ll be glad you did.”

  He slowly, determinedly shook his head. “Twenty-four hours,” he stated flatly. “Make your decision within twenty-four hours or the offer is rescinded permanently.”

  His insolence was becoming tedious. What was it going to take to get this man to listen? “You do want the truth, don’t you?” she argued. “Or is your idea of justice the goal, regardless of the truth?”

  His hands went back into his pockets. “Good night, Ms. Baxter.” He turned to go.

  Just do it! “Your idol Wainwright is playing you.”

  He hesitated.

  “He’s using you to get to me.” Her heart rammed mercilessly against her rib cage. “He’s using me to take the fall for what he’s done.”

  Tanner turned around slowly. His gaze collided with hers, and a shiver washed over her. Fury didn’t begin to describe what she saw in his eyes.

  “Donald Wainwright’s reputation is impeccable. There is nothing you could say to make me believe he has any agenda other than the one he outlined when he assigned me this case.”

  Breathe. “Then you don’t know your mentor quite as well as you think you do.”

  “Twenty-four hours,” he reminded as he started to go once more.

  Say it! “Think about it, Tanner,” she appealed, “they’re all using you. Making promises, pumping your ego, and pretending the past never happened. Why now? Why you? There’s a hidden agenda here and you’re just too blind to see it. Or maybe you don’t want to.” Now she was really pissed off. Annette held her breath, forced her heart to slow. Lose control and you’ll lose him.

  He moved in, even nearer than before, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Give it up, Baxter. You can’t win. I’m not going to stop until I’ve got you right where I want you.”

  He smelled like leather and wood, earthy and sexy. She hated herself for noticing...she hated herself even more for staring at his lips as he spoke. Just tell him!

  She wet her lips and shifted her gaze to his. “Did Wainwright tell you about the meetings he arranged with Stokes before you were informed he’d been apprehended?”

  Tanner’s gaze tapered. That muscle flexing in his jaw temporarily distracted her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Finish it. Survival. This was about survival. “August eighteenth.” She grabbed back self-control and banished the crazy sensations he somehow provoked. “That’s when Wainwright first met with Stokes in Mobile. The police picked him up three days later, after an anonymous tip.”

  One, two, three seconds elapsed with him staring at her before he reacted. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You just don’t see it yet.” She held that cold stare, didn’t flinch. “History never fails to repeat itself. The good old boys run the show. It doesn’t matter where you live or what you do, there’s always that handful of men who own your world. Wainwright is one of those men.”

  “What does that have to do with any of this?”

  Was he finally going to listen? “Drake, Wainwright, Holderfield, and that’s just the beginning,” she said quickly. “They own this city. They make things happen. You’re a part of their grand plan and you don’t even know it.”

  Fury tightened his features. “Corruption happens wherever there’s power. But I”—he banged his chest—“know these people. I trust them implicitly.”

  She was losing ground again. Fast. “I guess you’ll just have to learn the truth too late. The same way you did about Holderfield’s death.”

  “Talk is cheap, Ms. Baxter.” His gaze cut straight through her, but she refused to flinch. “You want me to seriously consider this bullshit, give me something real to back it up.”

  There were so many things she could tell him. But first she had to know with complete certainty that she could trust him to do the right thing with the knowledge. She would give him this one thing...something, as she’d told him, so very personal. If he didn’t let her down with that, she would give him more.

  “Talk to Stokes.” She took a breath, ignoring the alarms going off in her head. This was suicide. If he went to Wainwright, she would be dead before daylight. Tanner might be as well. “He’ll confirm what I’ve told you.”

  Tanner didn’t comment. Didn’t say a damned word, just stared at her.

  “Go see him,” she pressed. “Then you’ll know. Wainwright isn’t who you think he is.”

  Annette stepped around Carson. Climbed the steps without looking back.

  She’d played her trump card. Now it was up to him.

  11:30 p.m.

  The Gentlemen’s Club, Huntsville, Alabama

  The Gentlemen’s Club was definitely misleading. There wasn’t a gentleman in sight.

  Annette took a seat at a table in the farthest, darkest corner and watched as the drunken men pawed at the women dancing on the catwalk above them.

  Slick, swaying bodies, wearing little or nothing, teased the men. Gyrated and rotated evocatively.

  Hungry fingers tucked money into thongs. Bulging eyes leered at the young, toned bodies.

  A waitress, also scantily clad, sashayed up to Annette’s table for her order.

  “Vodka.” She met the girl’s world-weary gaze. “And a moment with that girl.” She pointed to Candi Tate, the one swinging around a pole. Annette passed the waitress a one-hundred-dollar bill. “There’ll be another just like that for her.”

  The girl glanced at the dancer. “It might be five minutes.”

  Annette nodded. “I can wait that long.”

  The smoke, the music, the catcalls, all reminded Annette far too much of the past. Her past. The feel of disgusting hands molesting her body...rutting cocks stabbing at her.

  The memories sickened her.

  The waitress returned with her drink, and Annette drank long and deep. To forget. To fortify herself. Something she hadn’t had to do in a long time.

  Further proof that this whole mess was getting to her. She needed to reclaim the initiative. To do what she always did. Survive. Dominate. To not feel dirty.

  Tanner was her only hope of surviving without a total loss. Hell, at this point she was reasonably certain she would be lucky to wake up each morning. The instant Wainwright got wind of what she’d done, she would be dead.

  Tanner would go see Stokes. His own curiosity and that larger-than-life sense of justice would compel him to look into her accusations. She just hoped he would do it without informing his boss.

  By the time she had finished her drink, Annette had relaxed a fraction.

  A sweat-slickened Candi swayed provocatively over to Annette’s table. “You have something for me?” the seventeen-year-old who passed herself off as twenty-one asked. The high of her drug of choice glimmered in her eyes.

  “Yes.” Annette pulled an envelope from her bag. Inside was twenty thousand dollars. “This is from your friend State Representative McGrath.”

  Surprise sobered Candi. She stared at the envelope a moment before picking it up. Her lips parted in another show of surprise as she felt its weight. “What’s this for?” She carefully placed the envelope back on the table.

  Annette leaned across the table. “Silence.”

  The girl’s ex
pression sharpened, turned cunning. “And if I don’t want to be silent?”

  Annette propped her elbows on the table and relaxed. “Then the authorities back home will learn what you do for a living when you visit your ailing aunt here in Huntsville every weekend.”

  Fear rounded the girl’s eyes.

  “The club owner won’t be happy about being closed down for hiring a minor.” Annette sighed. “The other dancers won’t be happy about losing their jobs.” She leaned closer still. “And your mother won’t be too thrilled when Child Services comes to take away your three-year-old daughter. They frown on mothers who employ themselves in such a way.”

  Those big eyes blinked. “What I do when I’m away from home won’t matter,” she insisted in a show of courage.

  “Maybe.” Annette shrugged. “Maybe not. But I wonder if your mother will be able to retain custody with that drunken father of yours loitering around the house? Men like that pose a risk to small children, especially little girls. But then, you know that, don’t you?”

  Candi’s mouth worked as if she might say something, but no words came out.

  “I would suggest”—Annette straightened away from her—“that you forget all about the honorable Mr. McGrath.” She tapped the envelope. “Take the money and start a real life for you and your daughter. Get a decent job.”

  Annette waited for her words to sink past any lingering drug haze, then asked, “Do we have an understanding?”

  Candi nodded.

  “Good.” Annette reached for her bag. Placed a twenty on the table to cover her drink and a generous tip. “One last warning.” She met the girl’s stunned gaze. “Don’t mess this up.” She leaned across the table once more and whispered. “We know where you live.”

  Outside the club, Annette drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. Some people would consider what she had just done unconscionable—blackmailing a seventeen-year-old girl. But Candi Tate was no typical teenager. Annette had seen the look in her eyes when the subject of money came up. She was no innocent. Not by a long shot.

  There were times when diplomacy just didn’t work.