by Debra Webb
Carson shook his head. “No. He was quite specific about details.” He allowed Wainwright to see the victory in his eyes. No way was Carson going to be beaten, not even by the man who had mentored him. “He told me everything. He’s willing to testify against everyone involved.”
Wainwright straightened, his unrelenting gaze proof that he did not intend to give an inch despite the mounting evidence against him. “You don’t really think you can get away with this, do you?”
Oh the man was good. He was choosing his words so very carefully. Manipulating him into incriminating himself wasn’t going to be easy.
“Get away with what? Exposing that you worked a deal with Stokes to get him to say what you wanted him to say before he’d been arrested for anything.” Carson stood, matching the older man’s stance. “You lied to me and everyone involved in the investigation of this case. You concealed information relevant to a triple homicide. I think you’re the one who’s not going to get away with it.”
“Sometimes we do what we have to, Carson,” Wainwright argued without the slightest remorse. “We’re lawyers. We lie, skirt the boundaries of the rules. Whatever we have to do to get the job done. I’ve watched you do it in the courtroom. So don’t hand me that holier-than-thou bullshit.” He adjusted his tie. “Clean out your desk. You’re finished.”
“Tell him I’ve interviewed your witness,” Schaffer whispered in Carson’s earpiece.
Schaffer was turning out to be a real team player. “There’s just one other thing,” Carson said when Wainwright would have turned away.
Wainwright rested his smoldering fury on Carson once more.
“Dane Drake has confessed to his part in the murder of my family. He insists you were involved in the cover-up.” Okay, he was really reaching now. “Agent Schaffer is going over his statement as we speak.”
The color of outrage drained away, leaving Wainwright looking a little pale. “Why would Schaffer believe anything that pathetic piece of shit says?”
“I guess you’ll have to ask her.”
Wainwright leaned over the desk once more, going nose-to-nose with Carson. “Stokes is in prison. Let it go, Carson. Nothing you do now is going to change the fact that your family is dead. Stop now before it’s too late.”
This time Wainwright turned around and walked all the way to the door before Carson decided on his next move.
“I just can’t get the images out of my head,” he said, stopping Wainwright in his departing tracks. Now he was going out on a real limb. “He kept going over and over how the whole plan had been your idea.”
Wainwright spun around. “That’s a lie. It was Drake’s idea. He called Lynch and Holderfield …”
That was the moment. Carson saw it on his mentor’s face. Wainwright realized he’d been had.
Carson held on to the final vestiges of his composure. “You, Holderfield, and Drake. You helped cover up what Dane had done.” Fury bellowed inside him, made him want to jump across his desk and kill the man he had admired and respected for five damned years.
Wainwright shook his head. “I have nothing else to say.” He turned toward the door but hesitated. His gaze connected with Carson’s once more. “I will tell you, since it’ll probably come out anyway as soon as Dane gets it right in that scrambled brain of his, he wasn’t the one.”
Tension vibrated inside Carson, had his heart thundering.
“It was Patricia. She dragged Dane into the whole mess. She knew Drake would protect his children no matter what.” Wainwright shrugged, defeated. “Drake had been protecting Patricia since college. He just didn’t comprehend back then what he was getting himself into. His mistake”—Wainwright strained out a pathetic attempt at a laugh—“destroyed him and everything else he cared about. No one can control her. God knows I’ve tried.”
“Why my family?” Carson heard himself ask. He’d wanted the answer to that question for so long. The problem was, he’d asked the wrong man last time.
Wainwright shook his head. “That’s the most pathetic part.” He made another of those defeated sounds that couldn’t be called a laugh. “Drake discovered that his daughter had some of the same psychotic tendencies as her mother. Sick, Carson.” Wainwright pressed Carson with a look of desperation. “Those two women are seriously sick. When Elizabeth pushed one of her classmates down the stairs, Drake knew he had to do something.”
Carson vaguely remembered the incident, but didn’t recall any talk about it being anything other than an accident. The girl, Suzy or Cindy something or other, and her family had moved away the next year.
When Carson started to question Wainwright, he held up a hand to indicate he wasn’t finished yet. “Drake thought with the right treatment his daughter could be helped since she was so young, but the plan backfired. Your mother, Olivia, promised to do what she could to help Elizabeth. Of course Drake didn’t tell her the whole story, just little things he’d noticed about his daughter’s behavior when no one else was looking. Your mother started seeing Elizabeth privately, completely off the record. When Olivia realized the extent of the problem, she urged Drake to send Elizabeth to a specialized clinic for intensive, long-term treatment.”
Carson was the one holding up his hands this time. He’d heard enough of this. It didn’t make sense. “What the hell are you talking about? Elizabeth is …” He shook his head, uncertain how to explain. “ … sweet and kind. You know that. Look at all she does for the community.” This was insane. Moments he’d put completely out of his mind abruptly intruded. Little things Elizabeth had said or done that seemed out of character or odd at the time. But that wasn’t enough evidence to point to the sort of disorder Wainwright was alleging.
Wainwright shook his head again, his expression resigned. “Poor Carson. You always want to believe the best in people. You have no idea.”
Fury bolted through Carson. “How the hell did Elizabeth’s so-called mental illness get my family murdered?” Just like before, for every answer he learned twice that many questions arose.
“Patricia learned of Olivia’s plan so she took matters into her own hands. She wasn’t about to let anyone send her daughter away.” Wainwright’s gaze bored into Carson’s with a certainty that couldn’t be feigned. “She wasn’t about to let Olivia take you away from Elizabeth, either. So she eliminated the threat. She dragged us all into the cover-up.” Wainwright shook his head. “Ultimately it was all about Elizabeth and you.”
That said, Wainwright opened the door to walk out. Two Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department deputies were waiting.
Carson’s heart bumped erratically against his sternum. The truth was all he’d ever wanted. Now he knew. Agony swelled inside him.
… it was all about Elizabeth and you.
“Tanner,” Schaffer said via the communication link.
Carson jerked at the sound of the agent’s voice. “Yeah.”
“We have to get you to Eighth Avenue. Your uncle is there.”
Carson blinked. Had to pull himself together. Wait. Annette had gone to help Max. “Where’s Annette?” The irregular thudding in Carson’s chest slowed to a near stop as he waited for a response.
“She’s there. Elizabeth Drake, too. Lieutenant Lynch is singing like the proverbial canary. Looks like we’ve got a wrap, Tanner.”
As painful as it was, as ugly as it was, Carson could finally put the past to rest.
Chapter 40
Wednesday, September 29, 8:30 PM
3rd Avenue, downtown Birmingham
Carson closed the case file and leaned back in his chair.
Man, he was tired.
His first week in his new law office and he’d put in more than eighty hours.
He surveyed the small office with its view of the alley. There was an even smaller lobby fronting his office with scarcely enough space for a secretary’s desk. It wasn’t like his former home in the Criminal Justice Center, but it was where he wanted to be.
The offer to take over as acting d
istrict attorney had been on the table after Wainwright’s arrest, but Carson hadn’t been interested. He’d decided he didn’t care for the political side of that position.
This was what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Work for the people. Champion the little guy. Already he had a sizable client list. There would be no lack of cases.
He doubted he’d be making the papers or the news again anytime soon—but that was okay, too. He’d had enough of the spotlight to last him a lifetime. The first week after the story broke on Wainwright and his cronies, Carson had been inundated with interview requests and even a small cluster of paparazzi.
Justice had been served. He was finally at peace with the past. Stokes was still serving a life sentence. Wainwright had been arraigned and was awaiting trial. Lynch had turned state’s evidence, narrowly dodging first-degree murder charges for his part in this nightmare. Lynch had come up with the idea of making the Tanner murders resemble those of a then-active serial killer—who turned out to be Stokes. Wainwright, Drake, and Holderfield had all cooperated. There was still some discrepancy as to whether Lynch had killed Dwight Holderfield, or Wainwright had. Each insisted the other had done it. According to Wainwright, Fleming had given Daniel Ledger, Annette’s assistant, the order to terminate both Annette and Carson. Ledger hadn’t worked up the wherewithal to do anything more than utilize scare tactics, though he had murdered Jazel Ramirez. Seemed he’d harbored some loyalty to Annette after all.
Carson still found it incredible that the people he had known and trusted could commit such horrific crimes against his family and him—people who they supposedly cared about.
Holderfield, Patricia, and the senator were dead already, so they had gotten theirs. As had Dane, though his had been undeserving to a large extent. Carson had concluded that his uncle had witnessed some part of the horror and that the people who had used his property to access the Tanner home the night of the murders were likely the they he so often spoke of during his episodes.
Carson would never in a million years have believed Patricia Drake capable of that kind of violence. All to ensure that her beloved daughter wasn’t treated for her own mental illness and that she got what she wanted—Carson. Patricia had been one sick bitch who hadn’t received the appropriate treatment for her multifaceted disorder. According to the experts she had likely suffered from borderline personality disorder with a hefty dose of narcissism and paranoia thrown in.
Carson couldn’t help feeling some amount of guilt. If he hadn’t foolishly fallen in love with Elizabeth, maybe his family would still be alive.
He couldn’t change that now. He’d had no idea there were issues back then. In his mother’s attempt to help Elizabeth while protecting Carson, she had sentenced herself and those she loved to death. But she hadn’t known the full extent of what she was up against: a twisted daughter with a psychopath for a mother. Elizabeth was undergoing psychiatric evaluation to determine her fitness for trial. Unfortunately she had indeed inherited some degree of her mother’s mental illness.
And all that time Carson had worried about his genes.
Annette was cooperating with the FBI, and Otis Fleming was going down. The old bastard had been denied bail since he was considered a flight risk. The whole city was enthralled with the evolving events around the case.
Agent Schaffer had been offered a position at Quantico, a promotion. She hadn’t decided yet if she would accept the offer. Something about not wanting to move her son from his friends.
Carson stood and stretched. He was exhausted, but it felt good. For the first time in his adult life he didn’t have a cloud hanging over his head.
He had found the truth.
Strangely enough, he owed that accomplishment to a woman who had operated outside the law for most of her life.
A smile slid across his face. Her past had been put to rest as well.
The bell jingled, indicating someone had entered his office. He frowned. Hadn’t he locked the door at six?
Carson rounded his desk just in time to run into Annette at the door between his office and the lobby.
“You should learn to lock up after hours, counselor.” She leaned against the door frame. “A guy could get mugged or … worse.”
His gaze roamed from those beautiful eyes and those lush lips all the way down to the sleek black stilettos. The short black dress in between showcased slender curves and toned legs. He wet his lips, could taste her already.
“How was your visit with Paula?” Annette had called at six to let him know she planned to see her sister. He’d opted to work late instead of going home alone.
“Good” Annette straightened from the door and moved toward him, forcing him to back up. “Very good. Did you get a lot done?” She glanced at the mass of folders and notes on his desk.
“I did.”
“Excellent.” She grabbed him by the tie and pulled his face down to hers. “Because I’m going to take you home and fuck your brains out.”
He tugged at a strand of her hair. “What’s wrong with right here?”
She smiled. “Not a damned thing, counselor.” She wrenched open his belt and then his fly before pushing him back onto his desk and scaling his body. “Not one damned thing.”
His hands molded to her thighs, pushed the dress up to her waist. A rush of need seared through him when his palms encountered her bare ass.
She took him inside her. He pulled her face down to his and kissed her Long and deep.
They made love—fucked as she preferred to call it—every chance they got. For a woman who hadn’t cared for sex not so long ago, she loved the hell out of it now.
This thing between them could go anywhere or nowhere but the ride … he groaned as she squeezed him hard … was all that mattered for now.
Acknowledgments
Birmingham, Alabama, is the largest city in the state of Alabama. According to the official website for Birmingham, www.informationbirmingham.com, the city is nestled at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains at the cross-section of two major railroads. Once the primary industrial center of the southern United States, Birmingham grew so fast in population it was called the “Magic City.” In recent decades, Birmingham has become the foremost medical center of the south. That fact is why, for me, Birmingham is the Magic City for a much more personal reason.
At age eighteen I had my first child, Erica. Erica was born with a rare and permanently debilitating congenital defect called Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita. Few doctors had ever even seen a child with Arthrogryposis, much less had the daunting task of caring for one. Fortunately for me, my obstetrician, Dr. Lewis Letson, rushed my sweet baby girl to Birmingham’s Children’s Hospital, where she was eventually placed in the capable hands of Dr. Kurt Nieman. Dr. Nieman, willingly and for very little pay, embraced that daunting task. He and his team of orthopedic residents worked with Erica through serial casting, numerous surgeries, hideous braces, and endless hours of physical therapy until her precious arms and legs were no longer useless, gnarled limbs. It was Dr. Nieman who urged me to treat Erica like a normal little girl; otherwise she would certainly never be normal. Dr. Nieman and his team never gave up and provided an endless source of hope and encouragement when other doctors informed me that I was looking for a miracle that I would not find.
For sixteen years Erica received the finest treatment available, allowing her to grow into a happy young woman with a bright future. For this, I owe the city of Birmingham and its brilliant physicians and medical facilities a tremendous debt of gratitude.
Birmingham is the Magic City, and I thank you with all my heart.
There are some characters who simply write themselves. I’ll be in the middle of a story and realize that a certain character very nearly outshines the main protagonists. In this story there is a character like that. A character whose wit, charm, and straight-shooting ways snap you up and sweep you more deeply into the story. Kim Schaffer is definitely that character in Faceless. The characte
r Kim is the type of honest, hardworking member of law enforcement who makes us proud. Lucky for me, Kim is also very real and one of my dearest friends. Kim, her brilliant son, Jonathan, and sweetheart of a husband, Jim, are amazing people. This book is dedicated to a treasured friend, the one and only Kim Schaffer.
Also by Debra Webb
Nameless
Traceless
Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Raves for Traceless
A Cosmopolitan “Red Hot Read” of the Month
“Skillfully managing a big cast, Webb keeps the suspense teasingly taut, dropping clues and red herrings one after another on her way to a chilling conclusion.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A steamy, provocative novel with deep, deadly secrets guaranteed to be worthy of your time.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Traceless is a riveting entanglement of intrigue, secrets, and passions that had me racing to its breathless end. I loved this book!”
—Karen Rose, author of Die for Me
“Traceless is a well-crafted and engrossing thriller. Debra Webb has crafted a fine, twisting thriller to be savored and enjoyed.”
—Heather Graham,
New York Times bestselling author of The Dead Room
“The talented Webb has built a wide fan base that should be thrilled with her vengeful and chilling new tale.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Keep reading for a sneak peek at Debra Webb’s next novel
FIND ME
Coming in 2009 from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Chapter 1
Footsteps echoed in the darkness. Faint at first, then louder.
