A sound somewhere deeper in the residence reverberated. A cell phone?
She looked startled by the interruption. “I have to take that.”
He started to argue but didn’t. Instead, he trailed after her like a freaking lost puppy, standing outside the door of her bedroom while she took the call. A “yes” then an “I’ll be right there” punctuated the lengthy pauses.
She hit the disconnect button and turned to him. “I have to get dressed.”
“Just so you know,” he said as she attempted to close the door in his face, “wherever you’re going, I’m going with you. I’m not-—”
“Look,” she shouted, “you’re not the only one in danger here. Some ...” She shook her head, threw up her hands. “Somebody has been following me. Tried to run me off the road after I left your house.”
“What’re you talking about?” He absolutely refused to acknowledge the protective instincts that immediately surfaced.
“I have to get dressed.” She slammed the door in his face.
Goddammit!He wasn’t letting her out of his sight until he had some answers. Until he got what he wanted. Fleming. Dane. And the truth about Wainwright and Stokes. And any damned thing else she was hiding.
6:00 a.m.
Montevallo Road, Birmingham
Magnolia Hills Individualized Care Center
At least now he knew where Paula Aldridge had vanished to.
She used the namePaula Anderson.Both the nurse and the doctor who had spoken to Annette had called her Ms. Anderson.
Again he had to admit that Baxter was good. Too damned good. But as good as she was, he felt confident that she couldn’t have faked her surprise about Drake’s murder.
She wasn’t the one . . .
He had to have answers. Carson would not stop until he knew who had murdered his family. Why Holderfield and Drake were dead. And why, apparently, the same black sedan that had been tailing him was tailing Annette, too. It would seem they both had stepped into something over their heads.
The position of Jefferson County District Attorney was likely out the window along with his position as DDA, but he no longer cared. The truth was all that mattered.
Paula Anderson sat in her bed, her knees curled against her chest, and rocked back and forth. The doctor had said that the outburst was so violent, heavy tranquilizers were required. Paula would slip into unconsciousness anytime now. Neither the doctor nor the nurse seemed able to explain whathad set off the outburst. One minute she was watching television in her room, the next she was attempting to tear it apart.
Annette cradled her cousin, whom she referred to as her sister, against her breast now as the woman lost the battle with the drugs. The emotion on Annette’s face startled Carson. Love, fear, desperation. She stroked her sister’s stubby hair, whispered softly to her. There was no question just how much she loved Paula.
How was it possible for a woman so cold to feel that depth of emotion?
Carson surveyed the well-appointed room. Individualized care like this wasn’t cheap. He imagined it cost Annette a sizable fortune to keep her sister in this facility.
Objectivity, no sympathy. He had to keep that in mind.
When Paula had settled into that drug-induced coma, Annette kissed her forehead one last time then led the way out of the room. She closed the door and sagged against it.
“Twice in one week.” She closed her eyes. “Why are they hurting her like this?”
Before Carson could ask her whom she meant bythey,the doctor and nurse approached, both wearing solemn faces.
“Ms. Anderson,” the doctor began, “I’m not sure how to explain this ...”
Annette straightened from the door. “What? You said you had no idea what prompted the outburst.”
The nurse and the doctor exchanged a look.
Carson tensed. There was definitely something amiss here.
