The Last Execution (33 page)

He opened the folder lying on the table and studied the pictures he’d printed of Jason Carrington. Had he changed much in seven years? Doyle didn’t know what kind of car to look for or where the guy lived, making the family business the logical place to start his hunt. Hell, everybody in Atlanta knew the Carrington Tower sat right in the heart of town. If Carrington had returned to his job with the family firm after his stint in prison, eventually he’d walk right past this coffee shop.

Being a patient man, he leaned back and continued his vigil.

He’d almost convinced himself this execution would be his last. Could he walk away from a promise whispered over the grave of his dead daughter? The decision weighed heavy on his conscience. Could he move on? Start over?

The door to the coffee shop opened, and a man entered. Doyle kept him in sight, observing, needing positive identification. The clerk behind the counter asked Mr. Carrington if he wanted the usual. He remained seated, letting Carrington leave first.

The Fed he’d seen with Detective McBride approached Carrington on the sidewalk. Tall and broad shouldered, the Fed’s hands curled into fists, his face a study in anger. Damn, Doyle wished he could hear what the big man said, instead he settled for watching the show. Slammed against the brick wall, a finger jabbed in his chest, Carrington didn’t open his mouth. Not surprising. Men who beat up women rarely had the nerve to stand up to another man. Carrington was no exception. The Fed had his say, and then backed up as if waiting for Carrington to speak. Without a word, the coward spun on his heel and stormed off down the sidewalk.

Today was about following the target, learning his movements, picking the ideal location, and then executing him.

Then a new chapter in his life would begin.

****

Friday, May 14, 3:30 p.m.

When Leigh’s attorney’s office contacted her and insisted she come in right away, she hadn’t expected a lecture. The harder she tried to justify telling Jason off, the more serious Karen Parker’s expression became.

Leigh shifted the gun on her hip in a failed attempt to find a more comfortable position in the plush chair. The acid in her empty stomach multiplied and heated. The professional feel of the office with its mahogany desk and brocade upholstered furnishings didn’t calm or sooth her nerves. Thereby, she assumed, missing the designer’s intentions.

“How and when did I become the villain?” Leigh suppressed the urge to stand and pace, which was her normal habit. She jerked her hands away from her hair and swallowed back the indigestion.

“Nobody said you were the villain.” Karen rubbed the vein between her eyes. “Imagine my surprise when I received a phone call from another attorney threatening to petition the court for a restraining order against one of my clients and her boyfriend.”

“What boyfriend? I walked into Jason’s trap. I got mad and threatened him.” Leigh understood how Ethan felt this morning, when nothing he did was right.

Leigh scooted to the edge of her chair. They were getting nowhere.

“I need to get back to work. My temporary partner’s waiting for me.”

“Is this the agent who accosted Jason this morning?”

“He’s lying. J.T. and I have been in the field most of the day.”

“According to Carrington’s attorney, your FBI agent told Jason to back off. Pushed him around a little.”

“He did not.”
Maybe he did.
She should’ve known J.T. would step in at some point. A mixture of gratitude and concern hit her. He’d risked being reported, maybe sanctioned for his actions for her.

“You’re smiling. Who is this agent?”

Leigh battled back the heat rising in her cheeks and waved off Karen’s question.

“Be careful, Leigh.” Karen’s gaze sobered. “Don’t give the Carringtons ammunition for the judge.”

Leigh’s skin sizzled as she processed the warning. None of this should be happening. Her life was out of control. “This is bullshit. I’m not the one Ethan needs to be protected from. I’m not the rapist here. I’m not the psychopath. And you’re telling me I have to be careful how I act?”

Karen stood, came around her desk, and seated herself next to Leigh. “He’s a Carrington. His mother and father have influence with important people in town.”

“Their money shouldn’t matter,” Leigh muttered, blinking back tears. Karen’s hand on her arm offered little comfort. “Their wealth doesn’t give them the right to destroy my son’s security.”

“I intend to win this case. Be aware, a court in Alabama recently ruled the father had paid his debt to society and proven himself worthy of visitation.”

Darkness clouded Leigh’s vision. “But we’re in Georgia.” She gripped the arms of the chair and squeezed.

“It was an example of how things don’t always go as expected.”

“Any idea of when the visitation plea will get in front of a judge?”

“None. The docket is always backed up. I’ll call you when I hear.”

“If we lose, Ethan and I will go underground.” Leigh had considered this option for days. Not the optimum solution, but one that would work.

“Running’s not the answer. You’re a member of law enforcement contemplating violating the very principles you stand for.”

“Don’t lecture me. The law is wrong if a psychopath like Jason Carrington can manipulate the system to suit his whims.”

A warm calm settled over Leigh. She wouldn’t hesitate to take Ethan and vanish. The pain she’d cause her mom and dad would be crushing. Leigh could only hope they’d understand. Her mind filled with ideas. An exit plan, a way out would be in place in case the judge ruled against her. Before she surrendered Ethan for weekend visits with Jason, she and her son would disappear.

“Leigh, what are you thinking?”

Karen’s voice drew her attention away from strategizing.

“This is his way of punishing me for sending him to prison. He thinks I owe him.”

“You owe him nothing.”

“I know. I will be ready to act in the event we lose.” Leigh stood. She had a lot to do. “If we’re through, my ride’s waiting.”

“You’ll remember my instructions?” Karen rose and straightened her gray suit jacket.

“If he contacts me again, tell him to call my lawyer.”

“And?”

“Don’t give him ammunition to use against me in court.”

Karen walked Leigh down the hall to the reception area. J.T. rose, his smile sent her blood moving faster. She doubted there’d ever be a time her heart wouldn’t do cartwheels at the sight of him.

How cruel of fate to give her someone to love and then force her to leave him behind. It was a possibility she had to consider.

“That’s your agent?”

“He was for a while.” Leigh answered with a painful ache deep in her soul.

“Tell him to back off,” Karen said. “And don’t give up on me and don’t run.”

****

Friday, May 14, 4:30 pm

J.T. waited by the door, hoping Leigh’s meeting with her attorney eased her mind and stress level. She’d been edgy all day, jumping and snapping over the smallest irritation. They’d canvassed the neighborhood where she’d had her car wreck and showed the forensic sketch to a number of people. Granted that type of legwork was long, tedious, and sometimes unrewarding, but Leigh’s lack of attention had been noticeable today.

He considered his ability to read other people’s body language to be damn good. When Leigh’s attorney met his gaze, the air in the room cooled. A foreboding chill rolled up his spine.

Leigh gave him a half-baked smile and winked. It didn’t ease his concern. An underlying darkness in her eyes scared the fuck out of him. He sensed desperation in her, lurking beneath her brave façade.

“Let me guess.” The urge to pull her into his arms and say something stupid—like everything will be all right—was overwhelming. “Your attorney heard about my conversation with Carrington this morning. Said I shouldn’t threaten him.”

“She said, ‘tell your friend to back off.’” Leigh’s words were ice crystals.

“Easy, Hotshot. I could’ve done a hell of a lot more to the bastard. I wanted to.”

She walked ten feet ahead of him back to the car. J.T. shoved an old jazz CD in the player and concentrated on Friday afternoon traffic. No way was he sorry and no way was he apologizing for bouncing that freak off a brick wall. If she didn’t get it, too damn bad.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to take your head off.”

“No sweat. My head’s at your disposal.” He tried to lighten the atmosphere as he parked. “How about I take you out to dinner?” A night out with Leigh sounded good. He’d check on his grandmother and touch base with David on Sunday.

“Can’t. I’ve got to pick up Ethan from the babysitter. We’ll help Dad this weekend. Mom’s supposed to take it easy.”

“Of course. He’ll probably need relief.”

The stiffness in Leigh’s voice added to the fact she’d avoided eye contact with him sent J.T.’s nerves jumping. He’d gotten in too deep, in fact way over his head. She’d let him in her life. Inside her mind, heart, and body. Why did he feel as if she’d shoved him back out?

Something odd was going on. Something she wasn’t saying. Something he didn’t like.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Friday, May 14, 6:00 p.m.

David exited the precinct dressed in jeans and a shirt, both of which were wrinkled and looked like he’d slept in them. Ah, yes. Divorced. J.T. decided against commenting.

“I was beginning to think you were being held hostage.”

“You could’ve come inside. We don’t arrest Feds for trespassing unless they start shit.”

“Very funny. I didn’t want to start a rumor you’d wised up and decided to become a real law enforcement officer.”

“Like I’ve got time to spend at Quantico.”

J.T. clasped David’s hand, and for a second they tested each other’s grip before relaxing and sharing a chest bump. Being around David was good. A hot meal topped the agenda.

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride in a good car. Might even buy you supper.”

David flashed his white veneers, courtesy of some offensive lineman in the NFL. “Damn right you’re picking up the tab. I’m pushing boundaries by giving you information without you going through channels. Although, I’ve already sent you everything I found.”

J.T. had half expected David to come empty handed. J.T. had run backgrounds on the entire Carrington family and hadn’t shaken any extra skeletons loose. J.T. needed one good reason—just one—and he’d squeeze Jason’s balls until he sang soprano. So far finding something that would stick was like grabbing at steam.

J.T. stifled a laugh when David ran his hand lovingly across the Corvette’s hood before getting in and buckling up. “She’s a classic, man. Take care of her.”

“I do.” J.T. started the ’Vette, revving the engine a little before driving out of the police parking lot.

“How’s your mother? She still at Nana’s?”

“She’s sober, weak, and underweight. She’ll stay long enough to regain her strength. Her sobriety is a minute-by-minute deal.”

“Nana’s strong. She’ll whip your mama into shape.”

“Age is finally catching up with my grandmother. If my mother screws up this time...” J.T. hated to think about the possibility. “The heartbreak might kill her.”

After he parked at the restaurant, he changed the direction of the conversation. He hadn’t come to talk about his family. “I hoped you’d turn up something on Carrington.”

David shook his head. “The department’s not looking at him for anything.”

“I need leverage, a reason to lean on this bastard. The son of a bitch is too smart to cross the line.”

David held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry, man. You’re not getting off the hook, you’re buying my supper.” He was out of the car and headed to the front door of the steak house before J.T. could protest.

Talking over old times made for an okay evening. Throughout the meal, J.T had sensed something wasn’t being said. David shifted his gaze everywhere in the restaurant except at J.T. when he brought the topic back to Leigh. He bided his time, gave the couple of beers David drank with his meal a chance to relax him and then pressed.

“What are you
not
saying?”

“I’ve heard rumbles. Hated to mention them.” David tossed his napkin on the table and leaned back in the chair. “You ain’t gonna like it.”

“‘Like’ is not a requirement.”

David inhaled and let out a big breath. “Your girl is getting a bad reputation. People are talking.”

“About?” J.T.’s patience wore thin, quickly.

“She keeps pointing the finger at Carrington. Over the past couple of weeks, she’s insisted he was out to get her. The guys are beginning to think she’s got a hard on for the dude.”

The rush of blood hit J.T.’s head so hard he jerked. “That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t get pissed at me.” David leaned across the table and his hand clamped on J.T.’s shoulder. “She wouldn’t be the first woman with a vendetta.”

****

Saturday, May 15, 6:00 p.m.

Ellen’s excitement bubbled out and spilled over. She beamed like a kid at Christmas. She smoothed the tablecloth with her fingers and studied the silverware with curiosity.

“I don’t know which fork to use.” Her cheeks reddened slightly while she fingered her napkin. “Feel how soft.”