Carson thought of the black sedan from the other morning, then of the gas that had filled his house.
Someone was trying to stop him.
No. He looked at the rear windshield. Cracked lines spread out around a distinct hole. At least five shots were fired directly at his vehicle.
At him.
Someone was trying to kill him.
8:50 p.m.
3202 Fernway Road, Mountain Brook
Drake Estate
“I’m convinced you’ll be way out in front of your opponents.”
Carson had no reservations as to his ability to beat the competition, but it was nice to hear it from the senator. “I appreciate your confidence, sir.”
“Cigar?” Drake opened the ornate wooden box on the desk in his private study.
“No, thank you.” Carson had already declined the after-dinner drink he’d been offered. He didn’t want to offend the senator, but Carson had met his quota this decade for giving in to temptation. He wasn’t deviating from the straight and narrow again anytime soon.
His gut was still in knots from the episode in Nashville. He didn’t need a crystal ball to know the police would find nothing. None of the residents had seen or heard anything. Exactly what one would expect in that kind of low-rent neighborhood. His BMW had been towed for additional forensic testing. One of the investigators had given him a ride to a rental agency.
The rental car part was annoying. But he was alive. Had scarcely a scratch. Just one nick on his right cheek from the flying glass. He’d been lucky.
Wainwright wasn’t happy about the incident, but he wasn’t surprised, either. He wanted to put a security detail on Carson immediately, but Carson had declined for now. He’d just be a hell of a lot more cautious.
“That’s right.” Drake puffed the imported cigar until the tip glowed, then relished the taste before continuing. “You don’t smoke or drink. The way I hear it, you’re not a skirt chaser, either.” He smiled knowingly. “That’s damned admirable, son. The voters are going to love you.”
No, Carson wasn’t a skirt chaser ... he’d just made one big-ass mistake with the prime suspect in his latest case. He could kick himself, over and over.
“Work is my top priority, sir.” Carson was successful at keeping the guilt out of his tone, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a shitload of it. Images of him screwing Annette Baxter all over that ritzy hotel room, then her sprawled across his desk filled his brain.
“Ethical. Focused. Undefeated in the courtroom.” The senator settled into one of the leather wingbacks flanking his desk and indicated that Carson should take the other. “Every aspect of who you are was considered at length before the invitation was issued.”
Carson understood that, before approaching him, the most powerful men in this city had discussed and debated the idea. His past as well as his present were no doubt scrutinized. Fortunately, until recently, he’d had nothing to hide.
Ask yourself if you’ll ever really know what happened.He deported that memory along with the ones involving his recent lapse into stupidity. “I’m glad I passed muster.” He relaxed his posture, smiled confidently. Senator Drake had known Carson his entire life. He wasn’t about to let the man see the first glimmer of insecurity.
“Personally.” Drake studied the cigar perched in his fingers. “I’m glad to see you and Elizabeth working together on this investigation. It’s been a long time coming. I’m very proud of both of you.”
Carson’s instincts stirred. Was this the reason he’d been invited to his first family dinner with the Drakes in more than a decade? As kids, Carson and his little sister had spent nearly as much time at the Drakes’ as they had at home. And when they weren’t at the Drake home, Elizabeth and her brother Dane were at Carson’s house. Before everything had changed.
Elizabeth had been shipped off to boarding school, presumably to keep her away from Carson. Dane, her brother and Carson’s best friend, had become a loner, getting into music and then drugs. The senator and his wife had spent the next eight or so years acknowledging Carson’s existence only when necessary. Tonight, however, was almost like old times. Yet on some level Carson continued to look for the agenda. Went with the territory in his line of work.Always look for the motivation behind every action.
“Elizabeth’s doing an amazing job,” Carson agreed, pushing the doubts and questions aside for now.
Drake took another long drag, blew out the heavy smoke. “Unlike the situation with my son.”
Dane had been a no-show tonight. His mother, Patricia, had used the excuse that her son had an unexpected gig downtown. She’d gone on and on about how much his music meant to him. Elizabeth had chimed in with her own glowing remarks.
“Sometimes following a dream takes an unexpected path,” Carson suggested, since there was little else to offer.
The senator shook his head, his expression filled with regret. “Every time I think of Dwight’s son I feel ill. I fully expect to receive that same kind of call about Dane.”
Unfortunate but true. Carson kept that to himself.
