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  All the more reason for him to get his act together.

  Whatever game Annette Baxter was playing with him. it wasn’t going to work.

  He was better than that.

  He would not fall for her manipulative ploys again.

  He was going to nail her hot little ass straight to the proverbial wall.

  His determination renewed, he grabbed his briefcase and jacket, climbed the steps, and crossed the porch. Hell yeah, he was back on track now. No more fucking around. He jammed the key into the lock and opened the door.

  Carson Tanner was on the case.

  The Avenger …

  His hand hovered at the light switch.

  Instinct fired a warning, making him hesitate.

  What was that smell?

  He took a deep breath, analyzed the noxious odor.

  Gas?

  What the … ?

  The briefcase slipped from his fingers. Plopped onto the floor. The jacket followed.

  Moving with extreme caution, he headed for the kitchen. Only two possible sources—gas heating system, gas stove.

  As he entered the dark kitchen he raised his forearm to protect his nose. The foul smell was much stronger here. He blinked at the sting. Heard the faint rush of gas escaping.

  Carson reached out, touched the first knob on the cook top. Straight up in the off position. Next one, same thing. Next one …

  Shit.

  Set on high. No flame, just the rush of raw gas.

  Carson shut off the flow then quickly raised windows to ventilate the dangerous fumes.

  When the air inside was tolerable, he relaxed and turned on the lights.

  He hadn’t cooked that morning. Hadn’t even been home.

  How the hell … ?

  The near brush with the black sedan … now this?

  His heart rate reacted to a surge of adrenaline.

  Coincidence? Maybe.

  Then again, Otis Fleming was a powerful man. Maybe he was sending Carson a warning … or two.

  Let him give it his best shot.

  Carson wasn’t backing off. Not today, not tomorrow.

  He was going to bring Otis Fleming down.

  And Annette Baxter was going to help him.

  Chapter 10

  10:50 PM

  From his carefully chosen surveillance position, Lieutenant William Lynch watched Elizabeth Drake drive away from Carson Tanner’s residence.

  Nostalgic to see the two together again, Bill sighed. Tanner had done well for himself. Elizabeth had, too. Though their lives had certainly taken different routes, in many ways the final destination had been the same.

  Too bad a new course was taking shape … one that would surely lead to a bad end for the both of them. Again.

  Tragic.

  Bill shook his head as he started the engine of his Charger then rolled out of the driveway of the empty house just two doors east of Tanner’s.

  As a highly trained officer of the law, Bill had taken every precaution when selecting his surveillance position this evening. The house he’d chosen was empty; the owners had abruptly moved to Dallas, leaving the home in the hands of a reputable real estate agent. This late in the evening most folks were tucked in for the night. A vehicle parked in the drive of an empty house went unnoticed.

  He glanced one last time at Carson Tanner’s place, then drove away. Bill had been a homicide investigator for better than half his life, and he’d pretty much seen it all. No amount of experience changed how it felt to watch someone pulled under for the second time.

  For fifteen years he’d kept up with that boy. Cut him a break every chance he got. Seemed like the only right thing to do considering. Some folks just needed more help than others. Couldn’t catch a break on their own.

  But then, that was the problem with helping folks out. Once you got involved, it never ended.

  Unfortunately Carson Tanner had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.

  This time he just might not survive.

  Chapter 11

  Thursday, September, 9:00 AM

  31st Street, Fleming estate

  He wouldn’t be happy to see her.

  Annette Baxter entered the code at the gate to the twelve-foot wall shielding the Fleming estate from public access. With excruciating slowness the gate slid aside for her to enter.

  It didn’t matter whether Otis wanted to see her right now or not. She had to talk to him. She could trust no one else.

  She accelerated, rolled through the entrance, then sped up the curving drive. Once she passed the halfway mark, the zoom lens tracking her every move from the two-story home across the street wouldn’t be able to see her. For weeks now she had ignored the prying eyes of the federal agents as well as the occasional cop when they bothered, eluding surveillance only when necessary.

  But now everything was different.

  Now she understood that this wasn’t about Otis.

  It was about her. And what she knew.

  Evidently with the decision of one powerful client to turn on her, others had scratched up the courage to join the mutiny. Or perhaps they had been prompted. At this point there was no way for her to know who was an ally or who was an enemy. But the identity of the one who had started this domino effect was obvious. Stopping him might just be impossible.

  No. Annette climbed out of her Lexus. She was not beaten yet. She took a moment to adjust her slim-fitting jacket. She’d worn a black skirt that hit midthigh with a skintight, lace-trimmed black camisole. A leopard-print push-up bra showed just enough to intrigue; last were her matching black four-inch heels. Even her hair was styled in a flawless chignon.

  Otis liked her to look a certain way. He had taught her to use her mercilessly toned body to her advantage at every opportunity. Her no-good parents hadn’t given her much, but she couldn’t attribute most aspects of her looks to anything but genetics. At least her parents had been good for something before they deserted her, forcing her to survive on her own. And she had survived, by wit and sheer force of will.

  Pretty or not, socially acceptable or not. Legal or not.

  She strode toward the front of the grand Georgian mansion. As she did she considered that Otis had taught her how to dress, how to wear her hair and makeup, and just about every damned thing else she knew. She had learned her lessons well.

  Independently wealthy, highly sought-after skills, and the fear, if not the respect, of everyone who was anyone in Birmingham. Otis Fleming had schooled her in how to survive. For nearly a decade no one had dared cross her … until now.

  Strangely enough, the sole reason she was in this predicament was because she’d done her job. Exactly what was required despite the extreme risk to her position, professionally and personally. Was he thankful? Fury set her teeth on edge. Not one damned bit.

  All she had worked for, her entire world was poised on the brink of crashing down around her … and there appeared to be nothing she could do to stop the inevitable plunge toward certain destruction.

  He had the power to do that.

  Her lips trembled but she squelched the outward display of weakness. She would not be afraid. She was not ten years old anymore.

  Annette stilled, closed her eyes, and fought the surge of memories. She had gotten her period. Her mother had been at work on her assigned street corner. But her mother’s boyfriend, Reggie, well, of course he’d been home. He was always home. And always drunk. He’d shown her exactly what to do … and then he’d raped her. The first of many personal violations.

  Deep breaths. Slow, really slow, deep, deeper. Annette forced the ugly past behind her. She was not that little girl anymore. She squared her shoulders. She was a powerful woman. One who could meet any challenge and survive.

  This one would prove no different. One way or another she would regain control. He had no idea how very resourceful she could be when necessary. The real question was, could she bring him down before he brought her down?

  It was all in the timing.
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  At the intricately adorned double doors Annette steeled herself for the encounter. Though she trusted Otis explicitly, he was the one person who possessed the power to intimidate her with a single glance.

  Otis owned her as he did so many other powerful people in Birmingham.

  Annette didn’t bother knocking or ringing the bell. She opened the door and walked inside. Otis’s personal security would have identified her vehicle and her as she navigated the driveway long before she ever reached the door.

  “Good morning, Ms. Baxter.”

  Annette nodded to the tall, wide-shouldered man who served as the head of security. “How are you this morning, Blake?”

  Blake Dillard had been with Otis for twenty years. He was trained in every manner of hand-to-hand combat and was an expert marksman. Four years in the army’s special forces had ensured that his survival instincts were honed to perfection. No one got past Blake.

  The big man smiled. “Seeing you always brightens my day.”

  The genuine sentiment made Annette smile. “Is he in?” He would be. He rarely left home.

  “Yes.”

  Annette didn’t have to ask where she would find him. Even Otis possessed one or two predictable traits.

  “Thank you, Blake.”

  Annette’s heels clicked on the marble floor as she followed the entry hall to the observatory. When she reached for the door, she prepared for the change in temperature. The instant she opened the door the hot humidity rushed to meet her. A jungle of greenery towered to the second-story glass ceiling. An array of blooming plants served as the undercanopy. Otis had spent years cultivating his hobby. He insisted the gardening provided great stress relief. Annette was certain that maintaining the moisture content and nutritional level of hundreds of plants would do nothing for her stress level. But then, operating at a higher state of arousal had its benefits.

  “This is an unexpected pleasure.” Otis Fleming did not look up from his scrutiny of the beautiful orchids he tended so meticulously. As casual as his comment might sound to anyone else, Annette understood that he was not pleased, much less pleasured, by her unscheduled appearance.

  “We need to discuss my situation.” A detailed explanation was not necessary. He was aware of her current circumstances.

  He set aside the spray bottle he used to mist the fragile flowers and turned his full attention on her. Despite his age, Otis continued to be a handsome, distinguished man. His hair had grayed to a lustrous white. His blue eyes were sharp and bright. Though not a tall man, his posture remained perfect, his bearing nothing less than refined. The multithousand-dollar suits he wore were tailor-made for him. He flew to New York each spring and fall to revitalize his wardrobe.

  Most importantly, behind that sophisticated appearance thrived an intelligence bordering on sheer genius.

  “I’m certain I’ve made my position clear on the matter.” He reached for a cloth and wiped his hands. “What more is there to say?”

  He had no intention of making this easy. She took a breath of the muggy air and reinforced her courage. “My assumption that Wainwright would assign the case to Carson Tanner was correct. He’s already begun his investigation.”

  Otis folded the cloth and placed it on the table next to the lovely pot of orchids. “I would’ve been immensely surprised had he not chosen Tanner. He is, after all, the very best employed by the District Attorney’s Office.”

  “Then you can understand my reservations.”

  “Certainly.” Otis approached her, his gaze sweeping from her chignon to her stilettos and back. When he had finished his meticulous appraisal, approval glinted in his eyes. “You, my dear, have no reason to be concerned.” He stopped one step away and took her hand so that he could cradle it in both of his. “You need only keep your head about you. Unless you crack under the pressure, he will find nothing.” He studied her a moment that turned to two, then three before adding, “Unless there is some facet of this situation about which you’ve failed to make me aware.”

  Annette tensed before she could stop the reaction. Instantly schooling the response, she placed her free hand atop his and squeezed. “I’ve told you everything. Of course.” She pressed her lips together and gave her head the slightest shake. “But my instincts are screaming at me. There is something more here than we know. This goes deeper than a mere attempt to tie you to certain activities. I can feel it.”

  Otis released her hand and placed his on her shoulder to gently turn and guide her from the observatory. “There is always that possibility. But you must never allow your instincts to override your logic.”

  The cooler air in the hall rushed into her hungry lungs. “You’re right, as always.”

  “As always.” He ushered her toward his study. “Why don’t we have coffee and chat?”

  “That would be nice.”

  The study had a classic design, yet the decor was anything but the usual fare. Exotic woods and art from the deepest, darkest corners of the earth ensured a strikingly alien feel steeped in mystery.

  While Otis instructed Blake to prepare their refreshments, she surveyed the room she knew as well as any in her own home. Elegantly bound books, exquisite art, and no shortage of plaques proclaiming his vast philanthropic deeds. But not a single photograph. None of relatives, none of friends. Not one single thing that could connect him to anyone. And yet he knew everyone.

  Blake arrived with the tray and served the coffee.

  Annette accepted the cup and thanked him.

  “So.” Otis sipped his steaming brew. “Tell me about Mr. Carson Tanner.” His gaze settled on hers. “You’ve done your preliminary work?”

  Images of frantic sex attempted to invade her head, but she banished them. “Yes.”

  She contemplated for a time what she would say next. Otis waited patiently. He preferred a thorough analysis, not some half-baked pitch.

  “He’s relentless as well as resourceful. He won’t give up easily.” Her curiosity roused. She told herself the reaction was foolish, certainly uncharacteristic. Carson Tanner was work, self-preservation, nothing more.

  “Where would the challenge be if he chose not to do his job to the fullest extent of his capabilities?”

  Annette tasted her coffee to cover her irritation that Otis seemed to consider this a game. “Carson Tanner will be a challenge.”

  “You have what you need. You can turn him around.”

  Their gazes held for five seconds that lapsed into ten. “Yes.” Her pulse rate increased. The stench of blood assailed her nostrils as too-vivid images zoomed across her retinas. She blinked the ugliness away.

  “You’ll know when the time is right to use that asset.”

  Her chin lifted in defiance of the uncharacteristic doubt nagging at her. “Yes.” She would not hesitate to do whatever was necessary when the time came. Timing was everything.

  “You also realize,” he qualified, “that in doing so, you will be taking yet another huge risk. Think carefully before each move you make.”

  “Very carefully,” she agreed.

  Otis studied her a long moment, again igniting the uneasiness she so rarely felt in his presence. “Despite his hard-earned position and beloved reputation, Carson Tanner is far more expendable than he knows.”

  Wasn’t everyone? But Otis was correct. Maybe that was the part that bothered Annette the most. Carson Tanner was only doing his job … he had no idea the price he might very well pay for being too damned good at what he did.

  Otis held up his cup for a belated toast. “To the survival of the fittest.”

  She raised hers. “Survival.”

  In the end, survival was all that really mattered.

  Chapter 12

  11:15 AM

  1000 18th Street

  Federal Bureau of Investigation

  Behind her cluttered desk, Special Agent Kim Schaffer turned to a new page in her file. Carson waited patiently. He’d been doing that for an hour now. First to get in for the briefing h
e’d been invited to attend and now for Agent Schaffer to get down to business.

  The lady was not happy with his relentless questions.

  He wasn’t a cop. He wasn’t an agent. He was from the DA’s Office, which meant he was the guy looking over her shoulder. She had said as much.

  Schaffer exhaled a big breath and lifted her gaze to his. “Considering what you’ve told me, I’m not sure I have anything to share that you’ll find relevant, Mr. Tanner.”

  Bullshit. Judging from the amount of surveillance the bureau had spent on Fleming and his associates, there had to be more than what she’d given Carson in that flimsy report she’d e-mailed him yesterday.

  He pulled a don’t-give-me-that-crap expression. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that, Agent Schaffer?”

  Nothing like playing nice with the feebees.

  “Well.” She stood, shuffled the reports and surveillance photos back into the folder, and walked around her desk to settle into the chair beside him. “Why don’t we go through this one page at a time? If you have any more questions, by all means feel free to speak up.”

  She couldn’t have said that half an hour ago?

  “Fine.” He sat up a little straighter and prepared to review the contents of the file.

  Schaffer propped one booted foot onto the opposite knee and positioned the file in her lap. Carson wasn’t aware that cowboy—or cowgirl as the case was—boots were a part of the standard dress code for federal agents. These boots were shocking pink. Her no-nonsense attitude was followed through with a face free of makeup and a practical short hairstyle. No frills, no fuss. Pink boots aside, he would wager that beneath that classic navy business suit she had a pair of brass ones bigger than any of the male agents assigned to the Birmingham field office.

  “We’ve been routinely following the activities of Otis Fleming for the past three years.” She tapped the date on the first report in the file. “The distribution of handguns and drugs; stolen vehicles; Acme Landfill”—she glanced up at Carson—“which we have reason to believe is connected to New York organized crime. And yet,” she added, shrugging, “we’ve had zero success in tying him directly to anything other than his philanthropic deeds.”