by Debra Webb
Already hysterical when he’d found his parents’ bodies, Carson had moved from one to the other, uncertain how to help. Some part of his mind had known he could do nothing.
The next thing he remembered the police had arrived.
He didn’t remember calling, but, according to the 9-1-1 recording, he had. Even now, a decade and a half later, the sound of his own voice haunted him.
Carson slumped against the door frame.
… I didn’t do it.
If Stokes hadn’t done this … hadn’t killed Carson’s family … then who?
Annette sat in her rented Chrysler 300. She refused to think about the message someone had left on her Lexus. Instead she stared at the mansion that had been home to Carson Tanner as a kid. His personal life had started and ended here. Last dinner with his family. Last birthday party. Last Christmas.
The end.
She knew enough about psychology to understand that he’d done exactly what she had. Tragedy and trauma had forced him to retreat into himself. Life as he knew had stopped. Survival had become his focus. Carson Tanner had worked day and night, put all else aside to accomplish his goals. The typical Type A personality. Overachiever, perfectionist, determined to the point of obsession. He had deliberately built a wall between himself and the world. It was easier that way. Annette understood far more about him than he probably understood about himself.
And yet the one thing he craved above all else was someone to love him unconditionally … as his parents and sister had. The world had turned its back on him after their murders, and he had been struggling to win someone—anyone’s—approval ever since. The teenage kid who’d lost everything in one fatal blow still waited inside him, needy and vulnerable.
That was the only way in for Annette. The only way to win the man’s support was to reach out to that boy. To touch that deeply buried weak spot. That was the thing. Every man had his weak spot, just like the mysterious G spot for a woman. Some had several. But Carson Tanner had only one and that was physical intimacy.
Annette had found that spot.
Ordinarily she would see that as a success. But this time something had gone wrong. In touching his weakness she had discovered one of her own.
He made her feel things. Things she hadn’t felt before. Ever.
That left her only one viable option for luring him to her side. Give him what he wanted above all else. The means to find the truth.
Risky on far too many levels.
But it was done.
Many of her clients called her an ice bitch. A she-devil. And numerous other things that should make her cringe. But none of those labels bothered her at all. She had worked hard to achieve that reputation. The persona was necessary in order to keep her clients in line.
To protect herself.
Yet she’d failed.
Steeling herself for confrontation, she emerged from the car. She reached back inside for the bag she’d brought along, then closed the door. He’d asked her to meet him here. He was probably watching for her arrival.
She eyed the Cadillac parked in front of his house. Where was his BMW? As she walked past the vehicle, she spotted the briefcase on the passenger seat. Definitely Carson Tanner’s.
Annette smoothed her silk dress. As usual she had dressed to accomplish her mission. A daring lavender sheath that fit her body as closely as a second layer of skin. The matching stilettos clicked on the steps as she ascended to the front entrance. She took a breath, then rang the bell.
The door opened and Carson Tanner filled the opening. He’d shed his jacket and tie. She unexpectedly enjoyed the bare skin revealed by the three buttons he’d unfastened on his shirt. Stop. This was business.
She held up the bag. “I brought you a birthday gift.” It was his birthday, after all. “Is the Cadillac a birthday present to yourself?”
He stared at her, his dark eyes dull. His jaw was set in hard, grim lines. That he hadn’t shaved today lent a dangerous air to his brooding good looks. She felt an uncharacteristic stirring of longing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced that sensation. Wished she didn’t now.
“Someone used my BMW for target practice,” he said flatly. “But never mind that, I want the truth.”
“What do you mean target practice?” Someone had shot at him?
“I … want … the … truth,” he repeated.
She shook off her confusion. Focus, Annette. Stokes had obviously told him. Good. Maybe. That Tanner continued to stand there, staring, without saying more or asking her inside made her uneasy. There was nothing in her research that suggested he couldn’t handle this. She thought of his uncle and his mental illness. No, Carson Tanner was far too strong to break. He could handle the truth. And then he would owe her. She needed him.
“I take it Stokes confirmed my story.”
Tanner drew the door open wider and took a step back, an unspoken invitation for her to come inside.
She crossed the threshold, goose bumps rising on her skin at the idea of the heinous murders that had taken place in this house. Though the thud of the door closing behind her didn’t echo, there was an eerie emptiness about the place.
Annette offered the bag again. “Happy birthday.”
He ignored the gift. “Let me be clear about this,” he said, his voice low, grim. The simmering resignation so uncharacteristic. “I trust Donald Wainwright unconditionally. I have no reason whatsoever to trust you. As far as your claims against Wainwright go, there’s just one itty-bitty sticking point. What could he have possibly hoped to gain? Where’s his motive?”
Annette stared into that severe expression. “Maybe it’s not about him … maybe he’s covering for a friend. Protecting someone.” Secrets were a valuable commodity. She hoped Tanner appreciated what she was giving up.
“No more conjecture. I want the truth. Now.”
She settled the bag on the floor. “All right.” Shock quaked through her. She’d said the words before her brain had analyzed exactly what she intended to do.
No more pretending she could reach him without going the full distance. She had to give him what he wanted … or risk losing everything. If anyone knew about his trip to Holman, she was screwed anyway. Wainwright would know she’d advised him to talk to Stokes. Wainwright was nobody’s fool.
No more protecting anyone. But Paula and herself.
Considering the incident with the scissors at the center, being stalked by a black sedan, Jazel’s death, the use of Tanner’s vehicle for target practice and then the vandalism to her own, there was no denying they were in serious danger.
Annette’s gaze locked with his. “Last Sunday evening around six I received a call from Dane.”
“Dane Drake?”
She nodded. That he was so surprised told her he knew nothing about what she did for men like Drake. “He had a problem.” Deep breath. Just do it. “I’ve taken care of problems for the senator related to his son before.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Dane has a way of getting himself into fixes,” she explained. “Usually drug-related. He gets involved with the wrong people. Runs up debts he can’t pay. Things like that.”
“And you do what?”
Tanner’s penetrating stare made her uncomfortable. She’d faced far more powerful men than him. That he could make her doubt herself disturbed her.
“I resolve the problem. The fix usually involves paying someone to keep their mouth shut. Simple stuff really.” She wet her lips. “Until last Sunday.”
“Exactly what happened last Sunday?”
She had his full attention now. His eyes were no longer listless and dull. His gaze was sharp, searching. His posture was different, too. Battle-ready.
“Dane called me to pick him up at a friend’s.”
“Does this friend have a name?”
For the first time in a really long time she hesitated. “Zac Holderfield.”
She watched that realization creep over his featu
res.
“What’re you telling me?” Fury kindled in those dark depths now.
“That Dane killed him.” Before he could demand more answers, she added, “But it was self-defense. The gun belonged to Zac. He and Dane had a disagreement over a business deal. There was a struggle and you can imagine the rest.”
“You helped him dispose of the body.”
She nodded. Her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t draw in a decent breath. What she had to tell him next could go either way, for her or against her.
He closed his eyes. “Jesus Christ.” His eyes flew open once more. “Why the hell didn’t he just call the police?”
“Think about it. He’s Senator Randolph Drake’s son. Men like Drake don’t abide scandal.”
“What did you do with the weapon?”
“Wiped it.” She swallowed with difficulty. “Tossed it.”
He planted his hands on his hips and started pacing. “You understand that I have to report this.”
“There’s more.”
He glared at her.
“I … I have to show you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re going to have to trust me, Tanner.” She was doing all the giving here; the least he could do was cooperate.
His hesitation dragged on a moment or two too long. “This had better be good.”
She was fairly certain that nothing about it was good.
“We’ll need flashlights and a shovel.”
Carson drove. Baxter provided the directions. He wasn’t about to let her out of his sight after what she’d told him. Dammit. Dane had monumentally screwed up this time. The senator would be devastated by this turn for the worst.
Dane’s actions had actually killed two people. The idea that Dwight Holderfield had committed suicide because of his son’s death … and Dane was responsible. Damn.
“Turn here.”
He took the right. A side road that as best he could tell was a dead end. Not that far from his uncle’s shack. A couple of miles through the woods and Carson could be there.
Where the hell was she taking him? Were there more skeletons he hadn’t heard about yet?
Fuck.
They emerged from the car and gathered the flashlights and shovel.
“It’s this way.”
He followed her through the dense underbrush until they found what appeared to be a trail. He didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t offer any information. For the first time since the night his family was murdered, Carson was afraid.
“Give me a minute.”
While he watched, she walked in circles scanning the ground with the aid of the flashlight. Eventually she appeared to find what she was looking for. Basically a spot like a hundred others.
Baxter dropped to her knees and brushed the leaves away. He crouched beside her. Using the shovel he’d brought along, she dug fiercely for a minute or so until he heard the sound of metal on metal. Then she pushed aside the dirt to uncover what she was looking for.
A Beanee Weenee can. What the hell?
She tossed the shovel aside, squeezed the end of the can open, then looked up at him. “Hold out your hands.”
A smart man would have declined, but instinct urged him to do as she said. He cupped his hands and she poured the contents of the can into them.
It wasn’t until she aimed the beam of her flashlight on the items that he realized what he was holding.
Wedding bands.
Some instinct he wouldn’t name had him searching the inside of one for an inscription … FOREVER, OLIVIA.
The missing wedding bands … the symbols of his parents’ commitment to each other.
Stokes had been telling the truth … he wasn’t the one.
The drive back to Tanner’s place was made in silence. Annette wanted to explain but she couldn’t find the words.
When he parked next to her rental, he finally spoke. “How did Dane come into possession of these items?”
“That I can’t answer. But I can tell you that once he’d realized what he’d done, trading the rings for drugs, he was frantic to get them back. He and Zac argued and … Zac ended up dead.” God, she was suddenly so tired. “You have to remember he was pretty messed up when I got to him.”
“So he told you nothing.”
She stared at him through the darkness of the car’s interior. “He kept mumbling something about keeping secrets too long. That it needed to be over.”
Tanner stared forward. “Go home. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
That icy monotone was back. She didn’t like it.
“What’re you going to do?”
He turned to her then. “I honestly don’t know.”
She’d given him what she had in the hope of winning his support, but that was all she could do. The rest he had to come to terms with himself.
“You know what they’ll do to me if they find out what I’ve told you. Someone shot at you and trashed my Lexus. I’m reasonably sure we’re both already on someone’s don’t-call-just-die list.” She didn’t mention Jazel or the black sedan.
“Go home,” he said without looking at her. “Stay there.”
Annette got out of the Cadillac and climbed into the Chrysler 300. Tomorrow. She had lived with this for days now. She’d done all she could. Running out on Paula was out of the question. There was only one choice: Trust Carson Tanner.
She drove away. Carson Tanner was a victim of the same people his family had been. Whatever had happened, whoever had ultimately been responsible, she hoped he realized that he was now in the same dangerous situation she was. The questions he wanted answers to had not changed. But he did have physical evidence now. He could get to the truth. Like her, it was going to cost him everything.
At this rate, she was dead anyway. If she could ensure Paula’s safety, maybe Annette could finish this without Tanner. She could go to the feds, spill her guts on Wainwright and the others. Could she trust the feds to protect her sister?
If she went that route, maybe Tanner could still salvage his life.
Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She had no business feeling sorry for him. Yet she did.
Was there even a way to stop this lunge toward disaster without additional risk to him?
She needed to think. There was one other route she could try. One man powerful enough to end this. After all … it began with him. But he wasn’t the kind of man to whom one could pay an unannounced visit. She had to be absolutely certain she wanted to make this move. It was a no-turning-back decision. Once she crossed that line it was done.
Frankly, it was the only feasible strategy she had left outside trusting the feds. Considering the feds were two-and-zero when it came to protecting their witnesses, that option would definitely be a last resort.
Annette dug around in her bag for her cell phone, then put through the call to the private line he used for business of this nature.
“We have to talk,” she said without preamble. He needed to understand she wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Face-to-face.”
His response was exactly what she had anticipated. We have nothing to talk about.
“You know better than that.” He could pretend all he wanted, just not with her.
He then explained all the risks involved with such a meeting. Risks to her.
“I know the risks.” Did he think her a fool? “I also know the risk to you if you refuse to see me.” She paused for effect. “Is now a good time?”
Checkmate. She had threatened the most powerful man in Birmingham. The silence that followed warned that he was not pleased by her defiance.
All her past experience combined could not have prepared her for what he said next.
It’s over. I know what you’ve done.
What did she do now? She tossed the phone into the passenger seat.
Fear tightened like a noose around her neck. If he knew what she’d done … there was little chance she or Tanner would
survive the night, much less the day to come. Allowing the two of them to live with this knowledge, no matter how incomplete, would be too risky.
Did she dare go to the feds? If she confronted him in person, would it change things?
Headlights appeared in her rearview mirror, seizing her attention.
Her breath caught. Stay calm. Could be nobody, just another car on the road. She should have just gone home like Tanner said. Stayed there and waited for his decision.
Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Focus. Drive.
The twin beams behind her grew larger, loomed closer in the mirror.
Go faster. Her foot flexed, pressed harder on the accelerator. The Chrysler zoomed forward. She took the curves way faster than she should, struggled to keep the vehicle on the crooked road.
When she dared to glance in her mirror again the headlights were gone.
Her heart seemingly stilled in her chest.
Where … ?
Panic shot through her veins.
Right on her bumper. So close the headlights were no longer visible in her rearview mirror.
Her right foot rammed harder against the accelerator. Shit!
The first nudge against her rear bumper propelled her forward, sent the Chrysler careering into the other lane. Annette fought the momentum, wrestled the vehicle back under control and into the proper side of the yellow line.
She couldn’t risk taking a hand off the wheel to reach for her cell phone. She had to go faster. Had to lose that fucker.
She thought of Jazel … was this what she’d …
Annette’s breath stalled in her lungs.
A second set of headlights appeared in her side mirror.
What the hell?
The car right on her bumper backed off, but not far.
The new arrival roared up right next to the car following her. Moved in so close she couldn’t believe the two didn’t collide.
Her attention snapped forward. Adrenaline burned through her limbs as she barely made the next dangerously sharp bend in the road. By the time she could breathe again and risk another lingering look in her rearview mirror the road behind her was black.
