Faceless

by Debra Webb

  “It’s Wainwright,” she said. “I know it’s him.”

  Carson was doubting his mentor for the first time, he couldn’t deny that, but this—he didn’t see how Wainwright could have anything to do with this. “We didn’t know you had any living relatives.”

  She slammed on the brakes, sending the car skidding to a sidelong halt in the middle of the road. “I’m telling you,” she shouted, “he’s dirty. He’s behind this, Tanner. Accept it.”

  Carson twisted to stare directly at her. Any softer emotions he’d stupidly felt vanished. “Why the hell would he or anyone else do this? How is putting mice in some poor woman’s bed relevant to anything?”

  Long pulse-pounding seconds of silence elapsed. Baxter moistened her lips, then met his gaze. “Because the last foster home we shared had rats. Hundreds. They’d come out at night after we went to bed. We woke up dozens of times with one or more crawling around in bed with us. They terrorized Paula. He had to have found that out.” She exhaled a weary breath. “All her worst fears are annotated in her file, along with any allergies and medications.” Her eyes searched Carson’s. “Don’t you see? All these years, there’s never been a staff member who wanted to hurt Paula. And now, suddenly, someone is out to get her. Think! Where’s the motive?”

  Carson hardened his heart. Refused to feel that pang of sympathy stabbing at his gut. “Life sucks sometimes. Having to share a home with a few rats isn’t the worst that could have happened to either of you.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wanted to take them back. He knew that wasn’t the worst … what the hell was wrong with him?

  Annette stared coldly at him. “You’re right. It wasn’t. The worst was the sexual abuse.” She let off the brake and maneuvered the car back into its proper lane.

  “That’s …” He took a breath. “ … unfortunate.” No sympathy. No goddamned sympathy. This couldn’t be about how devastating her life had been. It had to be about the truth. They were wasting time.

  “Like you said,” she snapped without taking her gaze off the road, “life sucks sometimes.”

  It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to reach out to her on some level. No one deserved to be treated as she and Paula had been … Whatever Annette Baxter had done, she hadn’t deserved that. But he couldn’t let her see sympathy, not even for a second. If she suspected he was sympathetic, he would lose the upper hand. He had to be in charge here.

  Stick with the facts.

  “How long have you been taking care of her?” He hadn’t meant to ask that question. He’d intended to shift the conversation back to Wainwright and Dane. But sitting here in the dark with her, her fear and desperation palpable, he couldn’t not ask. The dim lighting from the dash allowed him to see more than he needed to see of her pain.

  She stared off into that darkness that enveloped them like a blanket. “Since we were kids.”

  “I’m sure it’s been difficult.” Dammit. He had to get back on track … but then maybe he could use this moment to get what he needed. He rolled that idea over. Catching Annette Baxter in a vulnerable place had so far been impossible. He had the perfect opportunity now.

  Dear God.

  Was he really that desperate?

  Yes.

  “Sometimes it’s hard,” she murmured, almost to her self, “sometimes it’s harder. But it’s what I have to do.”

  He rested his head against the seat. He understood that all too well. Memories of dozens of incidents with his uncle invaded. Don’t get distracted. Focus. “I need answers. Or things are going to get a hell of a lot harder for both of us.” He squashed the persistent sympathy.

  She glanced at him, allowed him to see the full depth of the desperation in her eyes. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to give you, Mr. Hotshot DDA.”

  Anticipation had him sitting up straighter. Now maybe they were going to get somewhere that mattered. He studied her profile, noted the rigid set of those delicate muscles. “What’s that?”

  She glanced at him again. “Everything you need to nail those bastards.” Her full attention returned to the street. “Every damned one of them.”

  Chapter 31

  8:30 AM

  Summit Towers

  Annette dropped her keys and purse on the table as she passed through her entry hall, but didn’t slow her pace until she’d reached the gallery. Her favorite room. She surveyed the elegant pieces of sculpture and the edgy contemporary works of art. This was her trophy room. The room that said she had reached that prestigious place she had fought tooth and toenail to attain.

  Under normal circumstances she felt safe here. Calm. But not today.

  The emotions roiling inside her wouldn’t slow down, wouldn’t allow her to think logically.

  Fury whipped, stinging, raging, joining the frenzy. There was absolutely no question now. Someone knew about Paula. Annette had to protect her. Even if it meant throwing away everything she had achieved. Even if it mean taking her sister and running.

  She had money tucked away for emergencies. Not as much as she would like, but it would just have to be enough. On the drive back from the center she’d made up her mind. She would give Carson Tanner everything he needed to make them all pay. And then she and Paula would disappear

  It was the only way.

  Annette was out of options. It was only a matter of time before Drake’s murder, as well as Zac Holderfield’s, was blamed on her. She understood this with complete certainty.

  Carson deserved to know the truth. He would just have to deal with taking down the men he’d thought were his friends. He needed to know they would sacrifice him in a heartbeat. Coping with the knowledge was his problem, not hers.

  And for some completely foolish reason, she wanted him to have closure. She wanted him to win.

  She turned to face the man who lingered near the door. “Where do you want me to begin?”

  His gaze held hers, and she didn’t miss the tiniest hint of vulnerability there.

  She couldn’t say when she’d decided to call him by his first name. Not something she did on a routine basis. Too familiar. Nor had she consciously made the decision to give him the answers he so wanted at any particular point before now. But after seeing Paula, helpless and innocent, tortured, Annette understood that the decision was made. This had to be done.

  The game was over.

  “The beginning is usually the best place.” He strode to the sleek white sofa and settled there, his long legs stretched out before him, his arms draped along the back. He looked tired. Tired and damaged. Just as she was damaged. Funny, they had far more in common than she’d realized.

  The beginning. Wow. That was a place she didn’t visit often. Too painful. Too scary. She almost laughed at herself. She was thirty years old; how could the past still frighten her? Maybe because she knew the only difference between being there and being here was money.

  Lots and lots of money.

  And a safe place for Paula.

  That would be the hardest part to fix.

  But Annette would get the job done. Somehow.

  Her gaze locked on the man once more. The couple of days’ beard growth distracted her. Shouldn’t have. But did. His hair was tousled from running his fingers through it too many times. Made hers twitch with the need to do the same. Not normal for her. And definitely not smart. Not smart at all.

  “I was born in Knoxville.” She folded her arms over her chest. More something to do with her hands than anything else. “Katrina, Kat Baxter, my mother—”

  “Was a prostitute,” Carson interrupted. “I already know that part.”

  She shook her head. He had no idea. “You know what’s in your file. You don’t have the whole story.”

  He waved a hand for her to continue.

  A good stiff drink would be nice about now but she resisted. She needed her head clear for this. In her profession, giving up a secret, even one, was career suicide. If not personal suicide. There were people who would kill to unc
over what she knew … and many more who would do the same to ensure it stayed buried.

  “My mother had a sister. Her name was Margaret. She died of cancer when I was five. My mother took in her only child, a girl three years older than me.”

  “Paula,” he guessed. “The feds figured out that part after I tracked down Delta Faye Cornelius.”

  Fear snaked around Annette’s heart. “They know about Paula?” God, she had to move quickly.

  He held up a hand. “They know she exists. They don’t know where she is. Delta Faye couldn’t even remember her name.”

  Annette relaxed a little. At least that was something. But someone damned sure knew.

  Then a frown worried her brow. “You located Delta Faye?” Annette hadn’t thought of her in years. Was surprised the woman was still alive. Annette wasn’t particularly worried about whom she might have talked to besides Carson. The one thing Delta Faye had always been especially good at was keeping secrets. If she’d decided to talk to Carson, she had trusted him on some level. That was the first rule of the street. You didn’t talk to anyone you didn’t trust, and you trusted almost no one.

  “She sends her regards,” Carson offered.

  Annette nodded. It felt weird hearing about someone from that time in her life. Back to her story. “There was never any official documentation. Paula, being low-functioning autistic, wouldn’t have really benefited from school, so that was pointless. Mainly, Kat was afraid they would take both of us away from her if she was … investigated.”

  So long ago. Feelings Annette would rather not have felt again in this lifetime flooded her. She hated her past.

  “For a few years things were okay. I took care of Paula while Kat worked at night. In the daytime I went to school and Paula stayed locked in our room.” That alone should have been a red flag regarding Kat’s mothering skills, but Annette had been a kid. Seemed normal to her. “Then Reggie came into the picture.”

  Carson’s eyebrows raised. “Reggie?”

  “A new boyfriend.” Annette walked to the wall of windows that overlooked what the city called progress to the natural beauty beyond. She loved this view; nature’s struggle against progress reminded her of her own struggle to survive. “My father abandoned us when I was four. Kat had managed a boyfriend here and there but nothing that lasted more than a week or so. But”—Annette forced back the worst of the memories—“Reggie was different. He liked the idea of having Kat and two other sources of entertainment.”

  “You were what by this time? Eight? Nine?” His tone oozed with disgust.

  “Ten, but that didn’t matter.” The burn in her eyes infuriated her all the more. She hardened her heart in defiance of her own emotions. “It was what he did to Paula that killed me, inch by inch.

  “When I turned twelve and worked up the nerve to fight him, he started to beat me. And Paula. He knew I’d do anything to keep him from hurting her.” Annette hugged herself tightly. She had never told anyone this part. “Our neighbor was a big gardener. She left her pruning shears outside one day and I took them. Hid them under my pillow.”

  Judging by Carson’s expression, he knew where this was going.

  “One night … I couldn’t take it anymore. So I pulled out the pruning shears with the intention of killing him but he knocked them out of my hand.” She closed her eyes, shuddered at the memories. “Paula picked them up and …” Annette swallowed the bitter taste of misery. “While he was fucking me, she buried them in his back.”

  But it was her mother’s reaction that finished destroying any emotion Annette had still possessed. “Kat came into the room, saw what we’d done, and took us to the Wal-Mart and left us there. We never saw her again.”

  “That’s when you went into the foster-care system.”

  She nodded. Annette would never forget that day. “At first they put Paula and me together, but the family couldn’t handle her autism and the idea that she could be violent. The police had ruled Reggie’s death self-defense, but still, Paula wasn’t wanted. So they moved us to another family.” She made a sound; it wasn’t pleasant. “The man of the house took up right where Reggie had left off.”

  “Damn.”

  Annette kept her gaze focused out the window. She didn’t want to see the sympathy in his eyes. Hearing it overtake his voice was bad enough. She didn’t need any damned body’s sympathy.

  “Eventually Paula became a burden once more and she was taken away. Only this time, I was forced to stay. They put my sister in a state mental hospital.” She turned to face Carson then. “Have you ever had the occasion to visit one of those lovely places?”

  He nodded, his expression grave.

  “I was thirteen. There was nothing I could do.” She stared out the window once more. “But time passed and I grew up. Grew wiser and braver. Finally, the day I turned sixteen, I left for good. I’d run away several times but I’d gotten caught and dragged back each time. No one believed my rape accusations. A little mock investigation would be carried out and I’d end up back with the same family or someplace new that was just as bad or worse. But they didn’t find me that last time. I’d learned all the right tricks. I headed for Nashville and all the glamour Music City had to offer.”

  “You turned tricks on the street to survive.”

  She flinched, didn’t mean to. He would have known that part. At eighteen she’d gotten busted twice. “Yes.”

  Then she’d gotten lucky.

  “When I turned nineteen I got hooked up with a more high-class operation.” She’d been one of the lucky ones. She’d stayed clear of drugs and worked hard to keep herself in shape. “I was working a private party at the Opryland Hotel. I caught the eye of Otis Fleming.”

  “The perfect alliance,” Carson said, sarcasm squeezing out the sympathy. “You kept his sex life interesting and he taught you how to utilize your assets.”

  Fury crammed against her sternum. She pivoted on her heel and glared at him. “You don’t know anything about our relationship.”

  Another of those condescending waves of his hand. “Enlighten me.”

  “Otis is like a father to me. He took me in, taught me how to play with the big boys. How to make myself invaluable. He showed me how to save Paula and myself.” She owed him everything.

  Annette worked at calming her emotions before continuing. Emotions worked against one at a time like this. She had to be cool, in control.

  “I’m curious.” Carson propped his right ankle on his left knee. “What exactly did he teach you?”

  “How to glean and use knowledge.” She faced him now. “How to take a problem and solve it and gain money and markers doing so. He introduced me to Birmingham society, helped me become indispensable to those whose most valuable asset is reputation. I am particularly adept at reversing a situation with the utmost discretion.”

  He scrutinized her as if she were a bug he intended to squash beneath his shoe with his next move.

  “Give me an example.”

  “Dr. Dwight Holderfield.” His name came to mind first considering recent events. “If you recall, a couple of years ago there was a situation at his hospital. A patient died and the family sued the hospital and the physician involved; they even threatened to sue Holderfield personally.”

  “The suit as well as the investigation were dropped,” he acknowledged. “The hospital evidently settled. Keller Luttrell was involved on some level with the investigation.”

  Oh, yes, Keller Luttrell. A man she despised, but who easily gave in to temptation when it came to money and glory. “Yes. Holderfield’s career was on the line. Apparently he altered the records to cover the physician’s mistake. He was terrified that the tampering would be discovered.”

  The look on Carson’s face told her he found the whole scenario disgusting. “You bribed the family into dropping the allegations.”

  She shook her head. “Not exactly.”

  His gaze narrowed. “How exactly did you make that happen?”

  “Si
mple.” She returned that unmerciful stare. “I dug up the deceased’s skeleton and threatened to expose his drug use, which could have contributed to his unexpected demise considering he hadn’t given the hospital that information.”

  “So you dug up all this dirt and used it to manipulate the grieving family.”

  The renewed disgust in his tone kick-started her defense mode. “Your sins always find you out.” One of her foster mothers had loved spouting Bible verses. Made her feel superior.

  “Nice.”

  Annette knew that tone. To him she was plain white trash, evil, capable of anything. Who was he to throw stones? He and his kind helped killers get away with murder all the time. All in the name of the law. Fuck him.

  She walked over to the chair facing the sofa, facing him, and took a seat. She smoothed a hand over her navy skirt. She’d chosen it because it was short and sexy yet still gave off a professional air. The white blouse was skintight and buttoned to the throat. She had needed that facade. If it kept him off balance, all the better. “I do what I have to do just like you.”

  The comment hit its mark. His expression darkened. “Fund-raising is your cover.”

  “Yes. But, as you are well aware, I’m very, very good at ferreting money from the most unlikely places.” Knowledge was power. Her clients never failed to give generously. Elizabeth Drake had nothing on her.

  “You apparently have some powerful clients.”

  “Name any powerful man in this city and I can put a checkmark on my client list.” She looked Carson dead in the eye. “Including Drake and Wainwright.”

  He still didn’t completely believe her; that was obvious. But he would. Very soon now.

  “What did you mean, money and markers?”

  That part had been her idea. Otis had praised her for her resourcefulness. A man like Otis Fleming didn’t offer praise often. “I never complete a service for cash only. There’s always a marker held in reserve. If I ever need a favor, the marker is called in.”

  She lifted her chin in defiance of what he no doubt thought of that. “I never fail a client and a client never fails me,” she explained. “We have an unwritten contract, and we never meet in person after the initial contact. There is never any link between us. I take clients by personal recommendation only.” Any meetings after the first one were accomplished by videoconference. The link bounced all over the World Wide Web. No one could trace it back to her.