Carson shifted in his chair. He shouldn’t be surprised thathername came up first with the Bureau, but somehow he was. Why the hellhadn’t he ever heard of her? He’d done his share of keeping up with Otis Fleming and the suspicions regarding what he represented.
But Annette Baxter had been a complete unknown to Carson.
He’d never met her, never seen her face in the news.
Nada.
“This one”—Schaffer indicated the grainy surveillance photo—“keeps the old man covered. For the past three weeks we’ve been focusing our investigation on her. There appears to be a very close relationship with Fleming, and we feel that she has the goods on him like no other associate in his universe. In fact.” Schaffer tapped the photo again. “Very few of his closest associates last long. The faces change regularly, the old ones never to be seen again, except maybe in the morgue.” Schaffer looked directly at Carson then. “This one has stuck. She’s the key. If we get her, we get him.”
Schaffer moved through one report, one surveillance photo, after the other and didn’t provide Carson with anything he didn’t already have.
Not what he’d been hoping for.
“Did I miss theusablefacts you mentioned having on this suspect?” To this point Carson had found nothing of any significance in his own research. It seemed the feds hadn’t fared any better.
Schaffer took the question exactly the way he’d meant, with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “There’s no physical evidence, if that’s what you mean. Other than the audiotape. However, we can connect her, time and location-wise, to a number of specific activities.”
In other words, they didn’t have jack shit. He’d heard the audiotape; it was useless.
“I see.” More sarcasm. Baxter didn’t strike him as the type to be intimidated by innuendo. It was going to take a hell of a lot more than this to persuade her to turn state’s evidence.
Wait.
An abrupt buzz of adrenaline made the hair on the back of Carson’s neck stand on end.
“Your people have been keeping close tabs on her for three weeks?” His gut twisted into blistering knots. A blast of new tension roared through his muscles. Shit.
“That’s right.”
Schaffer’s gaze locked with his, and Carson expected her to flip to a new photo showing him and Baxter going into the room at the Tutwiler. Or her coming into his office building.
“Well, most of the time,” Schaffer qualified. “There are days, like yesterday, when she somehow slips off our radar. We didn’t catch up with her until she showed up at home around ten last night.”
Air rushed into Carson’s lungs. When he could speak, he asked, “How does she manage to give you the slip?” He saw no reason to pretend that wasn’t a major feat. After all, the feds were highly trained. How the hell could someone like Annette Baxter give them the sliprepeatedly?
Schaffer raised an eyebrow. “You ever pulled surveillance, Tanner?”
Her question should have pissed him off, but he was so damned glad his face wasn’t in any of those surveillance shots that he couldn’t quite muster the necessary indignation. Besides, in a roundabout way he’d just insulted her.
“Yes.” He met that critical gaze head-on. “Many times.”
“Then you know.” She closed the file. “That sometimes shit happens. The target gets wise to your tactics, gets tipped off, whatever. Once or twice a week she manages to disappear for a few hours. Considering there are seven days in a week and twenty-four hours in each day, that’s damned good coverage on our part, if you ask me.” Schaffer plopped the thick file onto the edge of her desk. “When she gives us the slip, nobody’s happy. But that’s the nature of the beast.”
Tipped off? That phrase, interjected so offhandedly, stuck out from the others like an empty seat in the jury box. “Is there a possibility that someone in your office has a reason to feed info to Annette Baxter?”
Schaffer didn’t look happy that he’d homed in on that part of her assessment—but she’d been the one to go there. He had every right to pursue that avenue.
“No,” she said emphatically. “As you can imagine, though, there’s always the possibility. Baxter is a very intelligent, cunning piece of work. If she wanted someone inside, she would likely find what she was looking for. I can vouch for the competence and dedication of every agent in this office,” Schaffer allowed, “but none of us can see through brick walls or leap tall buildings. We’re only human.”
Carson’s brow furrowed, as much with confusion as interest. “Baxter’s that good?” Not that he actually needed to ask. He knew firsthand how damned good the woman was. She’d blindsided him.
Schaffer nodded. “She’s that good.”
He felt the urge to squirm but squashed it. “What about the others surrounding Fleming? Surely Baxter isn’t the sum total of your focus on this case.”
Schaffer turned her palms upward. “There are a couple of others fairly high up the food chain, but no one as close to Fleming as Baxter.”
Carson needed to know about the others regardless of that deduction. “I’d like to see what you have on them.” Schaffer sat back and scrutinized him a long moment. “I’m not sure you fully comprehend what I’m saying.”
