You don’t mean that, Carson ... I know you don’t.
Agony pierced him as his mother’s voice resonated through his soul. For years the last words he and his mother had exchanged had tormented him. Even now he would give anything to take back that one moment. But there was no way to strike his arrogant, adolescent stupidity from the record.
I hate you! Do you hear me, Mother? I hate you!
A knock at his closed door jarred Carson to the present.
“Better late than never,” Luttrell announced as he barged into the room without bothering with a second knock or waiting for consent.
Annoyance flared, chasing away the troubling memories.Asshole.“I don’t have time for a postmortem about last night.” Carson infused the remark with more vehemence than he’d intended.
Luttrell grinned. “What about last night?” He crossed the office and stepped squarely into Carson’s personal space, his curiosity roused. “Did something happen I should hear about?”
Carson’s gaze narrowed. The bastard had the nerve to come into his office trawling for details. “You left the bar. I left the bar. What’s to know?”
Luttrell performed a slow, thorough survey of Carson’s attire, then leaned in closer and sniffed. “You smell like sex, man. Did you take my advice and go home with someone last night?”
Another burst of tension stiffened Carson’s spine. “Fuck off.” He turned to his desk and reached for a file. “I don’t have time to placate your deviant nature, Luttrell. Don’t you have court this morning?”
Luttrell straightened his gold tie with an I’m-the-man panache. “I do. It’s going to be a slam dunk. The defense won’t know what hit them.”
Carson nodded vaguely in the hope that Luttrell would get the hell out of his office. It almost worked, but then hisformerfriend paused at the door.
“By the way, did you hear about Zac Holderfield?”
Carson frowned, shifted his attention to Luttrell. “What about him?”
Dr. Dwight Holderfield’s son. Zac was a couple of years older than Carson; they didn’t travel in the same circles, but he knew him well enough. Rumor was that Zac had spent his time at Auburn developing his skills as a drug connection. And Carson wasn’t talking about his pharmaceutical science training.
“He went missing over the holiday weekend,” Luttrell explained. “No one’s seen him since Sunday.”
“That’s too bad.” Though not exactly surprising, Carson hated to hear that news.
“Oh yeah.” Luttrell hesitated once more. “Wainwright was looking for you this morning.”
Carson’s gut clenched. “When?”
Luttrell glanced into the corridor as if to ensure no one overheard. “Maybe half an hour ago. He’s in a meeting right now.” His cocky gaze intersected with Carson’s, and the grin spread back into full form. “You know there’s no point in keeping secrets. I will find out about last night. In time,” he warned.
Jaw clenched, Carson waited until the door was closed behind the prick before picking up the receiver and entering the extension for Geneva Mitchell, Wainwright’s assistant. “Good morning, Geneva. Is he in?” A line of perspiration formed on Carson’s brow at the idea that the first time he was late the boss came looking for him. Dammit.
As Luttrell had said, Wainwright was in a meeting, and Geneva assured Carson she would let him know when the boss was free. She had no clue why Wainwright had sought out Carson that morning.
Perfect. Carson thanked her and dropped the receiver back into its cradle. He collapsed into his chair and allowed his gaze to rest on the timeline detailing the gruesome murder of his family. That ugly part of his history was at last resolved and now his present was going to hell.
All because of a stranger.
No. That wasn’t right. Last night had been his mistake.
Too bad his first blunder in so long had to have been such a colossal one.
Pushing the disturbing thoughts aside, Carson grabbed a breath mint from his middle desk drawer, popped it into his mouth, then plunged into work mode. Before he’d gotten good and immersed, his door opened once more, again with no preamble. Not even a knock.
“Don’t get up,” Wainwright insisted as he entered the office with his usual fervor, a thick case file tucked beneath his left arm. He closed the door and made himself at home in one of the upholstered chairs flanking Carson’s desk. His full attention rested on Carson then, his eyes glittering with anticipation, firing the same rush in Carson’s veins.
“I’m about to give you,” Wainwright began, “the case that will assure both of us our goals.”
Carson closed the file on his desk. The anticipation morphed into searing adrenaline. “Excellent.” Maybe this day was salvageable after all. “You’re well aware that I’m prepared to do whatever’s necessary to make that happen.”
