He neededher.
She was the only person who seemed to want the whole truth as badly as he did. The idea that she had known things about the slaughter of his family and hadn’t told him up front should have him on the defensive. He should still despise her. But somehow he couldn’t. She’d done what she had to in order to survive, and on some level he understood that seemingly selfish concept. Besides, she hadn’t owed him anything. For all intents and purposes they had been enemies until as recently as twenty-four hours ago.
But there were other people who had known ... who had deliberately set out to prevent him from finding the truth.
Luttrell. Fire raged in Carson’s gut. That son of a bitch had stabbed him in the back. Carson couldn’t fathom just yet the extent of his former friend’s treachery.
Not that anything excused Carson’s own behavior because it didn’t. He’d screwed up. Royally. But Luttrell was supposed to be his friend. As was Wainwright.
Yeah, right.
What Carson really felt right now was the burning desire to find the truth and see that justice was served. No matter who was destroyed in the process.
If Wainwright had been part of a cover-up surrounding his family’s murder, Carson would see that he paid. Yet it didn’t make sense. Wainwright had been a friend to his father. So had the senator. Poker buddies. The whole country club routine. Special advisers to the city council. They were the very men who had helped make Birmingham the thriving metropolis it was today.
The whole scenario was mind boggling, surreal.
But Carson had to know for sure. Too many little things nagged at him. Like Wainwright’s sudden about-face. The obvious fact that he was hiding something. Drake’s abrupt supposed interest in reuniting Carson and Elizabeth. Carson may have read entirely too much into that, but he was pretty sure that had been the man’s intent. Had it been for his daughter and Carson? Or had Drake had other motive for wanting them together again?
Putting all that aside, Carson understood with complete certainty that he and Annette were in danger. Apparently, her own assistant had tried to kill her. If Carson’s conclusions were correct, Daniel Ledger had made at least one attempt on his life ... perhaps two, taking into account the gas allowed to leak into his house. At the very least, the man was the prime suspect, in Carson’s opinion.
“There it is.”
Annette pointed out the road, and Carson slowed for the turn.
“You’re sure?” He didn’t see a sign, and this was the first intersecting road they had seen since they’d hit this long stretch of deserted highway.
“That’s it. I’ve been here before.”
He couldn’t help staring at her. The dim interior lighting didn’t allow for him to read her expression fully, but she looked dead serious and damned determined.
“Don’t ask,” she said before he could.
A couple of houses on either side of the narrow road were dark, but it was the one at the very end they wanted.
Small frame house on the verge of falling in on its occupants. Weeds and knee-high grass had overtaken the clearing around the structure.The woods crowded in on the property as if they planned to take over next. The moon’s light filtered down over the property, but it was the dim porch light that provided the meager visual on the place.
Three cars—one as dilapidated as the house, two SUVs, both more valuable than the real estate they were parked on—sat in the yard at the end of the road.
For the first time in his life Carson wondered why he’d never gotten a permit to carry a weapon. Now would be the perfect time to be armed.
“You should probably stay in the car.”
A laugh burst out of Carson’s throat. “Like I’m going to let you go to that door alone.” He gave his head a firm shake. “I don’t think so.”
“I know this guy. LeBron McGaha. He and I have crossed paths before.”
Well now, that explained everything.
He put the Rover in park and shut off the engine. “I’m still going with you.” Chivalry might be dead these days as far as most men were concerned, but not for Carson. He wasn’t about to let the lady go it alone.
Clips of him screwing her in a dozen different positions flashed in his head.
Lady.Elizabeth was a lady. Proper, sweet, churchgoing. But did Annette’s desperation and the actions she’d taken as a result make her less than a lady?
Maybe. Maybe not.
“Suit yourself.” She got out.
