“Which included kidnapping you out of the back of the tavern,” he said in a flat voice.
“He drugged me to get me out. The same drug that killed Hank’s daughter.”
His face lost color. “Jesus, Carly…”
“He drugged Greta too, but thankfully she didn’t react as badly as I did. I’d been talking to Bingham about my search for Lula, giving him updates, and when I was kidnapped, Marco humbled himself to ask Bingham for help. Bingham went to Mobley and found out where his partner, Shane Jones, was keeping me and Greta. Sure, he did it because he thought Lula was there too, but he saved us nonetheless.” I finally got the knot worked loose and pulled the rope free. “I would have died if not for Bingham. Twice over. Because if those drugs hadn’t killed me, Shane would have.”
I got to my feet and headed to the kitchen to look for a knife or scissors to cut his ropes, but it was the barest kitchen I’d ever seen, and I had to open multiple drawers to find a dull butcher knife. “But Bingham refused to let Marco take me to a hospital, probably because he killed Shane Jones too, and there would be too many questions. He sent a medic to stay with me at Marco’s, and they hooked me up to an IV. I was unconscious until Tuesday, and then it took me over a week to recover. So, yes, Bingham saved my life, but it had nothing to do with me being on his payroll.”
Wyatt watched me walk toward him, regret in his eyes. “Carly…I’m sorry.”
“I really don’t want to hear it, Wyatt,” I said, my voice tight. “There’s no apology that can make up for the way you treated me.” Purging that out of my system had been cathartic, but also emotional and exhausting. Plus, I was really starting to feel the places where Paul Conrad’s heavy shoe had connected with my ribs.
“Nevertheless, I’m sorry.”
Ignoring him, I sawed through the ropes on his legs. He scooted forward a bit, and I worked on his arm restraints, setting the knife on the bed. When he was free, he swung his arms a couple of times, then rubbed them. “Where’s your car?”
“Down the county road, but your truck’s out front.”
“The asshole took the keys.”
“Then let’s hope he didn’t take my keys too. He didn’t get them when he stopped me, but he likely stopped and grabbed them when he left.”
We headed outside, and I was struck anew by the depth of the darkness. Lula’s cabin didn’t have electricity, and I had no idea how close her neighbors were. While it took a second for my eyes to adjust, there was no denying the sound we both heard: a car was approaching on the county road.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wyatt snuck a glance at me, studied the lane leading to the county road, and then grabbed my arm. “Come on.”
We raced down the steps, moving toward the tree line to the west, away from the creek.
The sound of the vehicle came closer and headlights appeared on the lane. My fear turned to relief when I saw it was a sheriff’s SUV. A familiar face was behind the wheel.
“It’s Marco,” I said, pulling free from Wyatt’s hold. “He heard me.”
I started to leave the tree line to run to Marco, but a gunshot rang out nearby, shattering the driver’s window of SUV.
Wyatt dove on top of me as he pushed me to the ground.
“Marco!” I screamed.
Another shot rang out, and Wyatt’s full weight held me flat on the ground. Marco’s car continued on toward the shack, coming to a stop on the other side of Wyatt’s truck. Its headlights illuminated the sagging front porch. The back window of his SUV had been shot out.
“Son of a bitch,” Wyatt growled. “It’s coming from the trees close to the driveway.” He rolled off me and got into a squat.
Another shot hit Wyatt’s truck.
“He’s aiming at Marco,” he said, pulling me to a squatting position too. “Let’s make a run for the trees ahead.”
I got to my feet, hunching low to the ground, and Wyatt kept himself between me and the gunman as we ran for cover.
The next gunshot was aimed in our direction, and another shot quickly followed from behind Wyatt’s truck. Marco.
“Give it up, Conrad,” Marco called out. “Backup’s on the way.”
“And who are they going to believe?” Paul shouted. “A veteran deputy or a deputy who’s thick as thieves with the Drummonds?”
“Maybe they’ll believe this,” Marco said. Paul’s voice filled the air, radiating from his car’s stereo system, turned up full blast, as the Explorer’s headlights switched off.
“You stay away from Mitzi or I’ll make your life a livin’ hell. Trust me, girl, I’ve got the power to do it.”
The words he’d said to me when I’d showed up at Mitzi’s house to ask her questions.
The volume lowered and Abby’s confession played. How had Marco gotten that?
Marco shouted, “You’ve been under investigation, Conrad. And Abby Donahey’s statement will be the nail in the coffin. Come with me peacefully.”
“And spend the rest of my life in prison on trumped-up charges?” Paul’s voice carried across the small clearing.
Wyatt leaned into my ear and whispered, “Keep going around toward the back of the cabin.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, my heart in my throat.
“Get answers, but he’ll know my location, so we need to separate. I can’t risk him shooting at me and hitting you.”
“I don’t want him shooting at all,” I protested.
“Me neither, but something tells me we’re not going to get our wish.”
“Be careful, Wyatt.”
“I will. Go.” He gave me a little shove, and I started walking through the trees while my voice and Paul’s filled the air from the Explorer’s speakers.
“Turn it off!” Paul said, his voice sounding closer, which meant he was moving through the trees toward Wyatt. “I’ve heard enough.”
The
