Annette sat in her rented Jaguar. She refused to think about the message someone had left on her Lexus. Instead she stared at the mansion that had been home to Carson Tanner as a kid. His personal life had started and ended here. Last dinner with his family. Last birthday party. Last Christmas.
The end.
She knew enough about psychology to understand that he’d done exactly what she had. Tragedy and trauma had forced him to retreat into himself. Life as he knew it had stopped. Survival had become his focus. Carson Tanner had worked day and night, put all else aside to accomplish his goals. The typical Type A personality. Overachiever, perfectionist, determined to the point of obsession. He had deliberately built a wall between himself and the world. It was easier that way. Annette understood far more about him than he probably understood about himself.
And yet the one thing he craved above all else was someone to love him unconditionally ... as his parents and sister had. The world had turned its back on him after their murders, and he had been struggling to win someone’s—anyone’s—approval ever since. The teenage kid who’d lost everything in one fatal blow still waited inside him, needy and vulnerable.
That was the only way in for Annette. The only way to win the man’s support was to reach out to that boy. To touch that deeply buried weak spot. That was the thing. Every man had his weak spot, just likethe mysterious G-spot for a woman. Some had several. But Carson Tanner had only one and that was physical intimacy.
Annette had found that spot.
Ordinarily she would see that as a success. But this time something had gone wrong. In touching his weakness she had discovered one of her own.
He made her feel things. Things she hadn’t felt before. Ever.
That left her only one viable option for luring him to her side. Give him what he wanted above all else. The means to find the truth.
Risky on far too many levels.
But it was done.
Many of her clients called her an ice bitch. A she-devil. And numerous other things that should make her cringe. But none of those labels bothered her at all. She had worked hard to achieve that reputation. The persona was necessary in order to keep her clients in line.
To protect herself.
Yet she’d failed.
Steeling herself for confrontation, she emerged from the car. She reached back inside for the bag she’d brought along, then closed the door. He’d asked her to meet him here. He was probably watching for her arrival.
She eyed the Cadillac parked in front of his house. Where was his BMW? As she walked past the vehicle, she spotted the briefcase on the passenger seat. Definitely Carson Tanner’s.
Annette smoothed her silk dress. As usual she had dressed to accomplish her mission. A daring lavender sheath that fit her body as closely as a second layer of skin. The matching stilettos clicked on the steps as she ascended to the front entrance. She took a breath, then rang the bell.
The door opened and Carson Tanner filled the opening. He’d shed his jacket and tie. She unexpectedly enjoyed the bare skin revealed by the three buttons he’d unfastened on his shirt. Stop. This was business.
She held up the bag. “I brought you a birthday gift.” It was his birthday, after all. “Is the Cadillac a birthday present to yourself?”
He stared at her, his dark eyes dull. His jaw was set in hard, grim lines. That he hadn’t shaved today lent a dangerous air to his brooding good looks. She felt an uncharacteristic stirring of longing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced that sensation. Wished she didn’t now.
“Someone used my BMW for target practice,” he said flatly. “But never mind that, I want the truth.”
“What do you mean target practice?” Someone had shot at him?
“I. Want. The. Truth,” he repeated.
She shook off her confusion.Focus, Annette.Stokes had obviously told him. Good. Maybe. That Tanner continued to stand there, staring, without saying more or asking her inside made her uneasy. There was nothing in her research that suggested he couldn’t handle this. She thought of his uncle and his mental illness. No, Carson Tanner had shown no signs of having any issues—period. He could handle the truth. And then he would owe her. She needed him.
“I take it Stokes confirmed my story.”
Tanner drew the door open wider and took a step back, an unspoken invitation for her to come inside.
She crossed the threshold, goose bumps rising on her skin at the idea of the heinous murders that had taken place in this house. Though the thud of the door closing behind her didn’t echo, there was an eerie emptiness about the place.
Annette offered the bag again. “Happy birthday.”
He ignored the gift. “Let me be clear about this,” he said, his voice low, grim. The simmering resignation so uncharacteristic. “I trust Donald Wainwright unconditionally. I have no reason whatsoever to trust you. As far as your claims against Wainwright go, there’s just one itty-bitty sticking point. What could he have possibly hoped to gain? Where’s his motive?”
Annette stared into that severe expression. “Maybe it’s not about him ... maybe he’s covering for a friend. Protecting someone.” Secrets were a valuable commodity. She hoped Tanner appreciated what she was giving up.
