That was exactly what he had surmised. Carson held up his hands. “We have nothing to discuss unless you’re prepared to roll over on your friend Otis Fleming. I can offer certain advantages if that’s why you’re here.” The decision to go this route might prove somewhat premature, but no harm in allowing her to understand it was an option. Any forward movement would be better than staggering backward.
“You haven’t heard what I have to say yet,” she countered. “Do you really want tocallbefore the bet is on the table?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. The lady had guts, he’d give her that. He’d offered her a deal and she still wanted to toy with him. “You could walk away,” he clarified. “Start over someplace with a clean slate.”
She tossed that blond mane and laughed, the sound at once infuriating and alluring. “Do you really think I’ve survived this long being stupid? There is no walking away or starting over in my line of work.”
His gaze tracked the second dress strap as it slipped slowly down her other shoulder. He gritted his teeth, fought the traitorous response. “We can protect you.” Why did he bother? She wasn’t going down without a battle. He’d recognized her tenacity that first night they met before he’d even known her identity. He would need serious leverage.
And control of his own reactions.
She strolled right up to him, crowding him with her soft, sweet scent, making him want to reach out and touch those bared shoulders. She stared directly into his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I was acquainted with two people the feds promised to protect—wasbeing the operative word.”
Fury blazed deep in his gut. “All the more reason you should do the right thing, Ms. Baxter.” He went nose-to-nose with her. “I’m certain you’re at least vaguelyacquaintedwith that concept.”
She pursed those lush lips for a second. “You mean the way all your powerful friends do the right thing?”
The perfect comeback eluded him ... his attention had stalled on those lips. Full, wet, so close.
“You’re so certain your friends are better than mine,” she challenged. “Let me tell you a little story,Mr. Tanner.”
He almost stopped her ... but curiosity kept him quiet and motionless. Let her talk. Find out what this so-called damaging knowledge really was.
“Once upon a time,” she purred, “there were three boys in college. Donald Wainwright, Randolph Drake, and Craig Tanner. Frat brothers, roommates, buddies.” She inclined her head. “You know what I mean. Kind of like you and your good friend Luttrell.”
He held his ire in check, not an easy exercise. “Get to the point, assuming there is one.” His father’s friendship with Wainwright and Drake was no secret. The three went way back. All the way to elementary school.
“There was one girl,” Baxter went on. “Lana Kimble. Lana and Randolph were in love. This little detail was the cause of much discord among the three friends since Randolph was already promised to Patricia. Then one night sweet little Lana disappeared. But not to worry—she was found the very next day.” Baxter lifted her chin and stared directly at him, as if she suspected before she gave the punch line that he wouldn’t get the unfortunate joke. “About three hundred feet below the ledge where she’d waited for her lover the night before. Guess who saw her last?”
Carson shook his head. What could she possibly hope to gain by telling him this fantastic story? “People die young sometimes. They generally have friends. Just because my father and his buddies lost a friend in college doesn’t mean they’re somehow responsible for the loss.” The girl’s death would have been investigated. Carson had faith in the justice system. There were times when it failed, but for the most part it worked.
“You didn’t answer the question, Tanner,” she pressed. “Who do you suppose was the last person to see her alive?”
He threw his hands up in question. “Why don’t you tell me? Since you have all the answers.”
“The revered Senator Randolph Drake.”
The satisfaction in her expression was really starting to piss him off. “But she was alive, according to him, when he left her. His best friends, you know who, backed him up. Lana was perched on that ledge calling his name as young Randolph walked away. Donald and Craig witnessed this from the car—not very far away, of course, and with the aid of the full moon to provide a clear view of the whole event.”
What did she expect him to say to that? “Sad story, Ms. Baxter, but somehow I missed your point.” She was grasping at straws. He’d been right. She had nothing on Wainwright or anyone else.
Baxter edged a little closer, close enough for him to feel her breath on his face. “Check it out, Tanner. You’ll see my point. Lana’s death was ruled a suicide, but there were conflicting details. Your powerful friends have some very deep, very dark secrets. This one’s only the beginning.”
Like Schaffer said, Baxter was one cunning piece of work. “You’re accusing three of the most respected men in Birmingham, including my father, of murder.” He had to be out of his mind to continue this conversation. “I won’t stand here and disrespect those men by listening to your slanderous stories. Put up or shut up, Baxter. You know what I want from you. Think about it and get back to me.”
He’d heard more than enough to know she had nothing. Before he could walk away, she countered, “That’s right. Take the easy way out.You’re just like the rest of them. You don’t really care about the truth. It’s all about your reputation. Your prized record in the courtroom.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts, purposely emphasizing the cleavage revealed by the skimpy dress. “Go ahead, Mr. Tanner, keep digging until you find whatever evidence they’ve planted to do me in. Then ask yourself if you’ll ever really know what happened.”
Ask yourself if you’ll ever really know what happened.
How could she use the exact words Stokes had?
Unless she’d been in contact with him.
That was the moment when Carson went over that edge he’d been teetering on for about seventy-two hours now. “While we’re on the subject of truth, tell me,” he demanded softly, murderously, “how does it feel to crawl into bed with that old man? Does his sagging skin turn you on? How much Viagra does it take for Fleming to get it up?” Carson didn’t stop there. Couldn’t. “Do you like making your living on your back? Or maybe you do your best work on your knees. What did you do for Stokes to get information out of him?”
The flash of fury in her eyes sent adrenaline charging through him. He’d stooped to her level, but by God he’d gotten to her. Somehow he had instinctively known there was a real human being buried beneath that ice bitch persona.
“You think you know me.” The fury cleared from her eyes with one downward sweep of those thick lashes. “You don’t know me at all.”
