What the . . . ?
The briefcase slipped from his fingers. Plopped onto the floor. The jacket followed.
Moving with extreme caution, he headed for the kitchen. Only two possible sources—gas heating system, gas stove.
As he entered the dark kitchen he raised his forearm to protect his nose. The foul smell was much stronger here. He blinked at the sting. Heard the faint rush of gas escaping.
Carson reached out, touched the first knob on the commercial grade cook top. Straight up in the off position. Next one, same thing. Next one ...
Shit.
Set on high. No flame, just the rush of raw gas.
Carson shut off the flow then quickly raised windows to ventilate the dangerous fumes.
When the air inside was tolerable, he relaxed and turned on the lights.
He hadn’t cooked that morning. Hadn’t even been home.
How the hell . . . ?
The near brush with the black sedan ... now this?
His heart rate reacted to a surge of adrenaline.
Coincidence? Maybe.
Then again, Otis Fleming was a powerful man. Maybe he was sending Carson a warning ... or two.
Let him give it his best shot.
Carson wasn’t backing off. Not today, not tomorrow. He was going to bring Otis Fleming down.
And Annette Baxter was going to help him.
10
10:50 p.m.
From his carefully chosen surveillance position, Lieutenant William Lynch watched Elizabeth Drake drive away from Carson Tanner’s residence.
Nostalgic, to see the two together again.Bill sighed. Tanner had done well for himself. Elizabeth had, too. Though their lives had certainly taken different routes, in many ways the final destination had been the same.
Too bad a new course was taking shape ... one that would surely lead to a bad end for the both of them. Again.
Tragic.
Bill shook his head as he started the engine of his Charger then rolled out of the driveway of the empty house just two doors east of Tanner’s.
As a highly trained officer of the law, Bill had taken every precaution when selecting his surveillance position this evening. The house he’d chosen was empty; the owners had abruptly moved to Dallas, leaving the home in the hands of a reputable real estate agent. This late in the evening most folks were tucked in for the night. A vehicle parked in the drive of an empty house went unnoticed.
He glanced one last time at Carson Tanner’s home, then drove away. Bill had been a homicide investigator for better than half his life,and he’d pretty much seen it all. No amount of experience changed how it felt to watch someone pulled under for the second time.
For fifteen years he’d kept up with that boy. Cut him a break every chance he got. Seemed like the only right thing to do considering. Some folks just needed more help than others. Couldn’t catch a break on their own.
But then, that was the problem with helping folks out. Once you got involved, it never ended.
Unfortunately, Carson Tanner had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.
