5:00 PM
Carson waited outside District Attorney Wainwright’s office. Hesitation. Another first in what appeared to be the domino effect. One misstep led to another … to cover one’s ass.
He’d worked with his mentor for five years, and never once had he experienced dread or uncertainty.
But he was damned sure feeling both right now.
The entire day had expired with him digging as deeply into Annette Baxter’s background as possible without leaving the sanctuary of his office.
There was not a doubt in his mind that he could get the job done. He was the Avenger. He never failed. But what had happened last night was exactly the sort of unethical behavior that could complicate matters.
Could ruin his career plans.
Yes, he was single, unattached, but this wouldn’t be about morals. This would be about the law. If he considered nothing else save for his own ambition and the certainty that he was the best man for the job, he could not recuse himself from this case. Yet his own actions had left him biased. That could come back to haunt him as well as the case in a major way. Could reflect badly on the entire office.
But to pass on the case would show Wainwright that Carson was capable of failure, of weakness. The man who
filled the district attorney’s shoes could be neither weak nor a failure, professionally or personally.
“You don’t need to wait, Mr. Tanner.”
Carson stiffened at the unexpected intrusion. He propped a smile into place and turned to face Wainwright’s secretary, who’d reentered the office and caught him off guard. Hesitation was not the norm for him. “I was just gathering my thoughts.”
Geneva nodded, her expression understanding. “Senator Drake has that effect on people.” She winked. “Nice to see you’re not completely immune to the qualms the rest of us suffer on a regular basis.”
A chuckle strained from Carson’s dry throat. “I’ll try and take that as a compliment.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “I’ve watched thirty years’ worth of cocky young attorneys come through this office and I’m here to tell you, that is a compliment.”
But it wasn’t.
Not to Carson.
“Thanks.” He squared his shoulders and opened the door. The only way to get this done was to do it.
Carson entered the room and both Wainwright and Drake stood. But it was the person who didn’t rise from her chair who stole Carson’s immediate, exclusive interest.
Elizabeth Drake.
She smiled. Looked exactly the same. Long dark hair, vivid green eyes.
Senator Drake extended his hand, drawing Carson’s attention to him. “How’s our future DA this evening?”
No pressure there.
Carson took the man’s hand and gave it a firm, brisk shake. “Outstanding, sir. And you?”
“Can’t complain,” Drake said as he resumed his seat He waved a hand toward his daughter. “The mayor thought it would be good if Elizabeth joined us.”
Carson turned to her. “Unquestionably.”
Elizabeth rose from her chair with all the grace and poise a dozen years at first the very best boarding school
and then the top private women’s university could bestow.
“Carson.” Instead of offering her hand, she hugged him politely. “It’s good to see you.” She drew away but took a moment to give him a thorough once-over. “You’re looking well.”
He told himself her choice in words had no hidden meaning. Maybe that boy’s like his uncle. Carson exiled the voice. “Thanks. It’s a pleasure having you join us. And you”—he gave Elizabeth a nod of approval—“you look amazing.” Their statements sounded so mundane, considering the history between them.
Ancient history.
But not so antiquated that he didn’t feel things. Like the tightening in his gut at merely being in the same room with her. Or the pressure banded around his chest just remembering all they had shared. Sweet whispers, frantic touches …
Wainwright ushered the meeting to order, prompting Carson and Elizabeth to take their seats. He recapped the long-alleged suspicions regarding Fleming’s activities. The lengthy overview allowed Carson’s mind to wander.
Elizabeth Drake served as Birmingham’s deputy mayor. The city loved her. Her name or face was constantly in the media. She was Birmingham’s princess. Carson had run into her from time to time since her return two years ago, but that was about the extent of it. Avoiding her was easier than facing the parts of the past that just seeing her resurrected. He wondered, though, if she ever thought about how things might have been if his life hadn’t taken such a sharp detour.
Doubtful.
Elizabeth was the only woman he’d ever loved. She, Carson, and her brother Dane had been inseparable. They’d gone to school together as kids, lived within a mile of each other, and shared every crazy moment of coming of age.
Until that day changed everything.
He’d lost the girl. He’d lost everything.
Ask yourself if you’ll ever really know what happened.
“Carson?”
He snapped to attention, cleared his throat, and mentally grappled to catch up with the conversation. What had Wainwright asked him?
“We’re all anxious to hear what you’ve deduced so far as to the viability of this investigation,” Wainwright restated, displeasure scoring his brow.
Concentrate. Randolph Drake and Donald Wainwright were the two most pivotal players in his future. Carson had to get his shit together. That Elizabeth had discreetly checked her BlackBerry a couple of times indicated he wasn’t the only one capable of being distracted during such a critical meeting. But then, this meeting was about his conclusions. His distraction was unacceptable.
“Annette Baxter.” Even as Carson said the name, pornographic images from the night before cluttered his vision. “Born in Knoxville, Tennessee. She spent the first ten years of her life in extreme poverty. Spent the next six in foster care.” The scenarios that had materialized in his head as he’d read her file twisted in his gut even now.
Poverty had been the least of Annette Baxter’s problems. The reports from her adolescent years were filled with claims of sexual and physical abuse.
“Baxter,” he went on, “eventually found her way to Nashville. Lived on the streets, doing anything necessary to survive. Until she was nineteen.” He paused to allow his audience to process those details. “That’s when Fleming discovered her. He brought her to Birmingham and took her under his wing. The exact nature of their personal relationship is somewhat undefined.” Since Fleming was more than thirty years her senior, the prospect that they might very well be lovers was more than repulsive.
“She’s garnered quite a name for herself as a fund-raising organizer,” Elizabeth noted. “I’ve seen her from time to time at the larger functions.”
Carson was getting to that part. But Elizabeth’s confirmation that he was, in fact, the only one in the room unaware
of Annette Baxter’s existence before today amazed him. Apparently his all-work-and-no-play lifestyle had isolated him from Birmingham society far more than he’d realized.
“My theory,” he continued, “is that her fund-raising work not only provides her with a legitimate cover but also gives her diplomatic contact with the power in the city. The most advantageous aspect of cultivating those connections would be to provide access and/or information for Fleming’s activities. Ultimately, I believe she operates as a fixer, of sorts.”
“A fixer?” Drake echoed.
“Someone who sets up situations to manipulate an outcome or to resolve a problem,” Carson clarified. “According to Special Agent Kim Schaffer’s reports and surveillance logs, whenever trouble surfaces in an activity Fleming is suspected of facilitating, Baxter shows up for a meeting and then the problem disappears.” The bureau’s cooperation comprised a single, brief report that provided little information but did speculate as to Baxter’s business arrangement with Fleming.
“Schaffer?” Wainwright looked confused.
Carson nodded. “She’s my bureau contact.”
“I thought SAC Talley was handling this personally.” Wainwright was clearly put off by the news.
“Special Agent in Charge Talley passed me off to Schaffer.” Carson had surmised that she was the agent most up to speed on Fleming. “Is that an issue?”
Wainwright gestured vaguely. “Considering the high-profile nature of this case, I assumed Talley would jump at the opportunity.” He glanced at Drake and laughed, but the sound held little amusement. “I suppose we should be grateful they’re cooperating at all.”
“You’re convinced Baxter can be turned,” Elizabeth asked, her question directed at Carson. She would want to give the mayor a sense of whether or not the end result was attainable.
“Yes.” Carson didn’t hesitate. “She’s close to Fleming.
Close enough that she unquestionably recognizes the potential for getting burned if he goes down. With the right incentive, she’ll see the prudence in saving herself.”
“The upshot,” Wainwright declared, “is that we need to sever our city’s ties to any and all organized crime links. Baxter is our first promising opportunity to get to Fleming.”
“That will make the mayor a very happy man,” Elizabeth chimed in. “I’m sure we all comprehend”—she looked from Wainwright to Carson and then to her father—“that organized crime is one of the most pressing global issues. An issue that needs to be addressed with the same urgency as terrorism since organized crime in fact fuels terrorism.”
“A most valid point,” Wainwright seconded. “It’s men like Fleming who fund the very terrorists our troops risk their lives to stop. From gunrunning to drugs, that cash flow ultimately ends up in the hands of terrorists or their supporters. Stopping the flow is the least we can do not only for our city, but for our country as well.”
“Hear, hear.” Drake shifted in his chair to face Carson. “We’re counting on your unbreakable determination to accomplish what others have tried and failed.”
“You can count on me, sir,” Carson guaranteed. Having the senator personally involved allowed Carson the opportunity to reiterate to him that he had made the right choice fifteen years ago.
I hate you! Do you hear me, Mother? I hate you!
Carson’s heart reacted as those painful words haunted him a second time today. Words he could never take back, could never make right. Mad as hell, he’d barged into his mother’s office, caught her midsession with a patient, and said things no son should say. That patient had been only too happy to recount the whole ugly scene to the police, initially making Carson the primary suspect in the slaughter of his family.
Drake had staunchly stood behind Carson, even when he had doubted himself.
For fifteen years Carson had worked hard to prove his worth. That he somehow deserved to be alive … the lone survivor … when he knew in his gut that it should have been him who died. Wished a million times that it had.
But Carson hadn’t been home that night. So he had spent every day of this undeserved gift trying his best to earn it. An impossible task, but one he would continue to strive toward for the rest of his days.
No matter the mistake Carson had made last night, he would not fall down on the job a second time.
Every living, breathing human had his or her breaking point. Had a weakness of one kind or another that could be exploited to attain cooperation. Annette Baxter would be no different.
All Carson had to do was pinpoint that spot.