Any one of Shelley’s sleazy associates from the village could serve as suspect or perpetrator. There wasn’t a single one of them above killing out of necessity or for sheer sport. And every one of them was expendable.
Yes, he decided. That would be the quickest, most painless route out of this mess. All he needed was a dead body and evidence that pointed to the victim’s guilt in Shelley’s murder.
He would never get so lucky.
Sometimes a person had to make his own luck.
Sweat dampened his palms. A shudder quaked through him. The stress sharpened his needs. A call to his supplier might be in order a little early.
Just as he reached for his cell, it chirped. If it was his father again, Carter was going to ignore the call. His father was suspicious of Carter’s late-night activities. He’d started calling each night and morning to ensure his only son was following the rules. He, of course, didn’t say as much, but Carter knew what the calls were about.
He wouldn’t put it past his father to have him watched. Carter longed for a call from his mother saying his father had suffered a sudden heart attack or stroke. He didn’t wish his father dead, just out of commission on some level.
Maybe then he could live his life rather than the family plan.
A third chirp nudged Carter to check the screen. A local number, but not one he recognized.
He started to ignore it but at the last moment answered. “Cost.”
“It’s not nice to stalk the pretty doctor.”
Carter twisted in his seat, scanned the darkness for whoever was watching him. “Who is this?”
“The better question is, who do you think you are? You don’t belong here, boy. You shoulda realized that a couple months ago and maybe your balls wouldn’t be in a vise right now.”
Shit. Carter swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. “What do you want?”
“Why don’t you name the price, Dr. Cost? You’d have a better idea what your future is worth than I would.”
Fear ignited in his gut. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I got you on video, pretty boy. Pushing that bitch around. Telling her she better get rid of that baby. Threatening her if she didn’t. Yeah, I got it all.”
Carter went numb. “You’re ...” He tried to swallow but his throat had gone bone dry. “You’re bluffing.” The chilling words—his words—echoed in his brain.
The bastard laughed. “You need to wake up, cracker. I don’t bluff nobody. Your ass is punked. Now, you think on it awhile, come up with a number. I’ll get back to you.”
Carter couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe while his entire life flashed before his eyes.
For the first time he realized he had underestimated the importance of a plan.
He needed one.
Fast.
His hands shook. He reached into his console, popped a couple of pills.
A sense of calm rushed over him.
He could figure this out.
He knew people ... people who could make things go away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Mill Village Clinic
Wednesday, August 4; 11:30 a.m.
