One Eye Open. Karen WhiddonЧитать онлайн книгу.
right, she would bite. “Why? What’d you find out?”
“My informant told me that Hades’ Claws is having a big meeting. Hundreds are assembling in a week’s time in a place they have north of Hawk’s Falls.”
“How do you know you can trust him?”
“Trust who?”
“The informant.”
“I’ve worked with him before. His tips have always panned out. As long as I pay, he tells me the truth.”
“I thought you didn’t pay for information,” she said.
“Seldom.” He smiled. “Sometimes I bluff.”
“And if you don’t pay?”
“Then he’d sooner let me die.”
For some reason that touched her. “You live a sad life, Carson Turner.”
His expression froze, the falsely pleasant mask slipping slightly to reveal hard ruthlessness underneath.
“Sad?” He shook his head. “Angry, maybe. Mad. Oh yeah, definitely furious. But not sad, not anymore. Not ever again.”
She saw that her words had hit some deeply hidden mark. “I meant,” she said, “it’s sad that you have to pay people to help you.”
He shrugged, a quick jerk of his shoulders. “Not in my line of work.”
“And this?” With her hand she indicated the road ahead. “Is all this work, too? Pretending to be an active DEA agent, lying to other law enforcement guys, making me a captive?”
Holding her breath, she waited to hear his answer. Though he’d lied to her initially, since she’d caught and confronted him, perhaps now he would tell her the truth.
“This is my life,” he said, after a long silence. “Finding Alex, finding them, keeps me alive.”
“Vengeance?”
He nodded.
Bleakness settled in her chest, icier than any northern blizzard. “You do mean to kill him.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. If he was the one—”
“If?” She pounced on the word. “You have doubts then?”
He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “If he was the one who betrayed me—us—and had Julie and Becky killed, he deserves to die.”
She seized on the word. “‘If.’ You said if again.”
“I saw him, Brenna.”
“No.” She remembered his exact words as clearly as if she’d written them down. “You said you saw him with a gun. But you never saw him shoot, did you?”
“Semantics,” he snarled. “It’s not like he tried to help me, now is it?”
“And you have the right to be his judge and his jury?”
“The right?” Raw savagery burned in his expression, from the hard set of his chin to his burning gaze. “I lost any rights long ago. I should have been the one to die, not my family. They were blameless, damn it. It was because of me, because of my job. They died without warning, without protection. They’d done nothing—” His voice broke, and he swallowed. White-knuckled, his hands gripped the steering wheel while he struggled to regain control of his emotions.
Such pain. Raw anguish. As quickly as it had begun, her protective anger faded. What must it have been like to lose everyone he loved? Brenna could only imagine.
“What about your parents?”
He continued to stare straight ahead. “What about them?”
“I imagine they care what happens to you.”
“Imagine all you want. They’re divorced. My mother lives in Seattle. She calls me once in a while, or I call her.”
“Your father?”
He made a rude sound. “Remarried. New family. He doesn’t need any of this.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“Look, what is this?” His gaze raked her before he turned his attention back to the road. “Why are you asking so many questions? Why does any of this matter to you?”
His reaction stung. “I’m trying to figure you out, that’s all.”
“Well, stop. All the relatives in the world can’t make up for the loss of my wife and daughter.”
“I didn’t think they could,” she said softly. “But having them to depend on sure helps.”
“Like you depend on Alex?”
She ignored the mockery in his tone. “Yes, exactly. Like I depend on Alex.”
“I wouldn’t depend on him too much. Looks like he ducked out on you, too.”
She heard the unspoken: like he ducked out on me.
Though she tried to tear herself away, she found her gaze drawn to him. Despite the painful emotions still plain in the hard cast of his features, he handled the Tahoe with deft precision, moving in and out of lanes with the confidence of a skilled driver. His law enforcement training, no doubt.
Watching him channel his agony into driving, Brenna knew Carson meant what he said. The more she learned about him, the more she realized he wanted the truth and meant to find it, no matter what. This man took no half measures. He would be absolutely certain he had the right person before he started any course of action. Given that, she couldn’t blame him for wanting to find her brother.
A thought struck her so hard that for a moment she couldn’t catch her breath. What if Carson was right? What if her brother had been the one who’d murdered Carson’s family? Just thinking such a thing felt disloyal and impossible, yet…
The evidence seemed damning. Carson himself had seen Alex with the gun. He was still involved with the biker gang. If he wasn’t undercover, why was he with them? There had to be some sort of rational explanation.
“I don’t understand why Alex hasn’t contacted you,” she mused. “Unless he’s in danger.”
“Because he’s guilty.” After a quick glance at her face, his tone softened. “Believe me, that’s something I’ve wondered, too. Hell, Julie loved him like a brother. Becky called him Uncle. And he was my best friend.”
Was. Once again, past tense. Did Carson see no possibility that he might be wrong? That someone else might have killed his family?
“When I was lying on the floor bleeding, I raised my head and looked at him. He knows I saw him. That’s why he’s trying to have me killed.”
Brenna started. Though he spoke without inflection, she heard no doubt in Carson’s voice. He truly believed that Alex…She couldn’t complete the thought.
Again Phelan whimpered, shifting in her arms. Instantly she stilled her heart rate. She didn’t want to alarm the puppy. In a moment he snuggled into her warmth, drifting back into a fitful doze.
“You should have let him out when we got gas,” Carson commented. Since he was right, Brenna merely nodded.
With the radio off, the ebb and flow of traffic combined with the Tahoe’s engine in a soft roar. Twice Brenna’s eyes drifted closed. Both times she forced herself to sit up and stretch her neck and shoulders.
“How much longer will it take to get there?” she asked, not from any real need for conversation, but merely to break the silence and stay awake.
“An hour, maybe less.” From his terse response, she doubted he wanted to talk any more than she did. Tough. She had to prepare herself for the situation they were headed into.