If no evidence or weakness was found, he would have no option but to push for a deal that might appeal to Baxter. Immunity, unfortunately, was generally only a temptation to the criminal with something to lose. At this point it appeared Baxter had absolutely nothing to lose other than the nuisance of being watched 24/7. Unfortunately, she provedso adept at evading surveillance that even that wasn’t as frustrating and intimidating as it should be.
There had to be a way to get to her. Annette Baxter couldn’t be that good.
No one was.
Not even him.
He was damned lucky the FBI didn’t have footage of him going to her hotel room that night ... or of her showing up at his office. She’d set him up good. Undoubtedly she’d had a carefully laid-out master plan from the beginning.
Carson wasn’t surprised. No one who had survived the life she had would leave anything to chance.
That alone gave him reason to believe there was something that she feared him discovering. Otherwise, why would she care who was on the case? Or bother with acquiring leverage of her own? More importantly, why would she demand his attention to hear her so-called truth? Master plan or no, there was something she was afraid of. Otherwise she would simply use all that information she so blatantly professed to have to stop this investigation dead in its tracks.
He would find what he needed. Carson wouldn’t give up until he did. There had to be a way to get to Annette Baxter. To find the fault in her titanium armor.
He stopped in his driveway long enough to stretch out his muscles. Hell yeah. He would nail her so thoroughly she wouldn’t dare attempt to blackmail him or to damage the DA’s Office.
She’d be spilling her guts before Wainwright had a chance to call his next briefing.
Then Otis Fleming would at last have his long-awaited fall.
Carson scrubbed the sweat from his face with the back of his hand.
The concept that any exploitable information on the DA’s Office might have something to do with what Wainwright hadn’t shared with him lurked in the back of his mind. He expelled that theory, refused to give it credence in any way.
He trusted Donald Wainwright without reservation. Whatever he’d told Schaffer had to be something Carson was already aware of. There was tension between Schaffer and Wainwright. Maybe Schaffer was the one with a vendetta.
“Feeling the pressure tonight?”
Carson swiveled toward the voice.
Her.
Annette Baxter.
He squinted to see her through the darkness.
She lurked in the shadows at the corner of his house.
A blast of outrage had him striding in her direction. He’d caught her watching him before when he’d left the Bureau, and now this. He had news for Ms. Annette Baxter: She should just save herself the trouble. Nothing she said or did was going to prevent him from doing his job.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his pulse rate rushing into the pre-cooldown zone. He glanced toward the street, scanned for her Lexus. Didn’t see it.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I parked my car a street over. After, of course, I lost my tail.”
“I asked what the hell you’re doing here.” This was stalking at the very least, possibly coupled with the intent to obstruct justice. Until he was prepared to offer her a deal, they had no reason to talk.
“I was lonely. I was hoping you’d changed your mind about hearing me out.”
“And why would I do that?” He was always open to a new approach. Why not see where she intended to go with this?
She lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug, causing one flimsy dress strap to slide down her arm. The silky gold slip of a dress clung to her curves, accentuated every feminine asset. Carson had figured out that she dressed that way on purpose. To distract him. Unfortunately she succeeded every damned time. His overworked muscles reacted as if she weren’t the enemy. As if all logic had fled along with his ability to stayon task. That she repeatedly evoked the same reaction confirmed his concern that he was losing his edge.
“Maybe,” she suggested, taking a step from the shadows, “because deep down you know I’m right about your beloved boss.”
This stopped, here and now. “No more games, Ms. Baxter. I thought I made that clear. I’m not interested in hearing any of your conspiracy theories. This investigation is about you and Fleming. No one else.”
She inclined her head, studying him as if strategizing a new avenue of attack. “No games, Mr. Tanner. I’m trying to steer you in the right direction with valuable information. You know, I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”
