“Hey. Hey!” Luttrell jerked free of his hold. “What the hell is with you, man?”
Carson shoved the door closed and rounded on his colleague. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Luttrell shrugged. “Wainwright’s pissed.”
“No shit.” Carson raked a hand through his hair. “What the hell happened?”
Luttrell clapped him on the shoulder. “I’d love to hold your hand and talk you through this, bro, but I have a homicide to investigate.” He started to walk past Carson but hesitated. “Take my advice, Carson.”
Carson turned his head to look his old friend in the eye.
“Next time you get the highest profile case in Birmingham history handed to you on a silver platter, don’t fuck the prime suspect.”
Luttrell left him standing there with that profound truth echoing around him.Don’t trust anyone.
Carson was a fool. Problem was, he was the only one who hadn’t seen it until now.
He stormed outside, ripped the shoe covers off. He was through being a fool. Whatever the hell was going on, he would get to the bottom of it. To hell with the consequences.
“Glad I caught you before you got away.”
Carson stopped halfway down the steps and whipped around. “What do you want?” He didn’t give a damn about appearances any longer. He couldn’t trust Schaffer any more than he could anyone else.
She inclined her head and studied him quizzically. “Sounds like you’ve got one hell of a burr under your saddle.”
He took a breath. Told himself to calm down. This wasn’t the way to get the job done. He had to be cool to out-manipulate the people he now recognized as his enemies. “What’s up, Agent Schaffer?”
The agent stopped on the step above him. “You asked me to look into that lead about the sister.”
Carson’s instincts stood at attention. “Did you find something?” He wasn’t sure how relevant that was at this point, but what the hell?
“Annette Baxter doesn’t have a sister.” Schaffer sat down on the step and tugged the shoe covers off her colorful boots. “No known siblings.”
That just meant Delta Faye Cornelius had made a mistake. Carson no longer gave a shit. He had other leads to explore. And he wasn’t sharing any of it with Schaffer or anyone else.
“But,” Schaffer said when her gaze met his once more, “Baxter’s mother had a sister who died. She had a daughter, one Paula Aldridge. Thirty-four years old. She ended up in an institution when she was a kid. Autistic.”
Anticipation revved Carson’s determination. This could be the relative Cornelius remembered. “Where is she now?”
“Aldridge fell off the radar about nine years ago.” Schaffer smiled. “Now this,” she went on, “is the interesting part. Before she disappeared she was signed out of the state institution by someone we both know and despise.”
Carson smiled back. “Annette Baxter.”
“You got it.” Schaffer pushed to her feet. “Question is, what’d she do with Aldridge? If she cares enough about the woman to provide care for her, sounds like we might have an angle to develop. If Baxter wants to protect her cousin by hanging onto her freedom, she might just be willing to make a deal.”
“Yeah.” Carson’s tone lacked the enthusiasm Schaffer had expected judging by the way her expression changed from victorious to questioning.
He shouldn’t have second thoughts about using Baxter. The idea that she was a victim ... had been her whole life ... didn’t excuse who she was now.
He kicked aside the soft emotions that would interfere in what he had to do. Baxter, Dane, none of them would get in his way. Whatever the cost, he was going to find the truth.
“I have to get to the office,” he said to Schaffer to escape any more questions.
“Same here.” She started down the steps, then hesitated. “I couldn’t help overhearing what went down between you and Wainwright.”
Anger flared. Yeah, he’d bet she couldn’t have helped it. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll work it out.”
He took the final step, headed for his car.
