Starting with Lusk. If he found out she’d had anything to do with this screwup, she would so regret it.
His hands shook. He reached for another Vicodin. Swallowed it dry. This was bullshit.
One of Nash’s bodyguards approached Carter’s car.
Stay cool.
He powered the window down and looked up at the man.
“The King says join him in his ride.”
The King. Carter gritted his teeth. “Fine.” Deep breath and he climbed out. He followed the thug to Nash’s SUV. The rear passenger door opened, and Carter peered inside.
“Get in. Close the door.” Tyrone Nash reclined in the leather seat, a Black & Mild in his right hand contaminating the air inside the SUV.
“What do you want, Nash?”
The thug who’d knocked on his window moved in behind Carter. “He said get in.”
Fury broiling, Carter climbed into the seat and closed the door. A front interior light remained lit, preventing total darkness.
“Did you decide what your future is worth?” Nash asked.
Carter thought about the question. His fury dissolved into amusement. He was going to enjoy this. “Funny thing about that, Nash.” He turned to the bastard. “According to the autopsy report, Shelley wasn’t pregnant.” He let the amusement slide across his lips. “So, you see, that video you have is no longer relevant.”
Nash took a long drag from his Black & Mild. “When did you get this news flash?”
“Just a few hours ago.” Carter relaxed, enjoying the upper hand Nash couldn’t possibly deny. “I considered calling you, but I didn’t want to waste my time.”
Nash chuckled. “You hear that, boys? The man didn’t want to waste his time.”
The two thugs seated up front burst into laughter.
The laughter abruptly stopped and dead silence reigned for about ten seconds.
“What you fail to comprehend,Dr.Cost,” Nash countered, “is that at the time the video was made you thought Shelley was pregnant. You reacted based on that concept. Just because you found out she wasn’t pregnant after you killed her—”
Carter tensed. “Who said I killed her?”
“Don’t matter who said what.” Nash shook his head. “Uh-uh. That don’t matter one bit. What matters is what you thought the night she was murdered. What you think or know now don’t mean shit.”
Carter couldn’t breathe. His heart rammed mercilessly against his sternum. “What do you want, Nash?” He’d asked him that twice already. Why didn’t the son of a bitch just answer the damned question?
“What I want is simple,” Nash said. “About a quarter mil ought to convince me to part with that video.” He took another puff of his cigar. “Maybe we better add another fifty thou for the sentimental value. Shelley was my favorite ho, you know.”
“Three hundred thousand.” Carter felt his insides twisting into screaming knots. “I ... I can do that.” His mind raced with the hoops he’d have to jump through to pull together that kind of cash. But he had to do it. He couldn’t risk that video getting out.
“Why don’t I give you a couple days to come up with the money,” Nash offered, “then we’ll talk again? Course, unless you think it might be a waste of your valuable time.”
“How ...” Carter scrambled to think clearly. “How can I be sure you won’t make a copy of the video? You could keep blackmailing me—”
“Blackmail?” Nash reared his head back and guffawed. “This is a business transaction. Why you talking aboutblackmail?”
Carter blinked. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?
“You pay me,” Nash said, “I give you the only copy of the video. A simple business transaction.” Nash leaned in close. “Then you never have to see my pretty face again.”
Carter couldn’t help himself. He stared at the scar on the man’s cheek, flinched when Nash reached up and traced the mark.
