Buried in Secrets (Carly Moore #4) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,30

did it because he wanted something else over me?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I know I sound crazy, but Bart Drummond has made it clear there’s a target on my back, so is it really that far-fetched?”

Hank petted the kitten in his lap, his gaze far-off. “Maybe not,” he finally said. “Drummond’s definitely playin’ the long game here. He’s gonna keep tethering you to him with hooks until he’s ready to call in that favor. Maybe he thought he could use Wyatt to hold you, but when that fell through, he set his sights on Jerry.”

“And you,” I said, deciding to put all my cards on the table. “He’s threatened to expose you.” He’d made that threat back in November, and I’d kept it a secret, but I realized Bart had probably expected me to do just that. He’d isolated me by putting up barriers between me and the people I cared about, presuming I’d keep my silence to protect them. So far his plan had worked, but I was done playing by his rules. I was making my own, and the first step was to make Hank part of my team, not treat him like someone I needed to protect.

“Expose me?” he asked with a chuckle. “What exactly is he plannin’ to expose? Everything’s out there in the open.”

“Then why aren’t you in prison?”

“Because I had my own deals with the sheriff’s department back in the day, and because there’s no proof at this point, not to mention the statute of limitations.”

“What if he has proof?”

He snorted. “Trust me, if Bart Drummond had evidence that could put me in prison, he would have used it by now, especially back in the nineties with Reagan’s War on Drugs. He can’t hurt me.”

“What’s the statute of limitations for selling drugs?”

Releasing a chuckle, he said, “The hard stuff? Fifteen years. I’m just about out of prosecuting range.”

“But there’s no statute of limitations for murder.”

Hank’s face lost all expression. “I did what needed to be done.”

I was referring to the man Hank had killed last fall. One of his grandson’s killers had broken into the house to murder me, and Hank had gotten to him first. It had been self-defense, but if Bart had somehow caught wind of it, he could find a way to construe it as cold-blooded murder. But Hank’s choice of words implied there were more crimes that could be used against him. I suspected I wasn’t the only person he’d protected in that way.

“What if Bart has evidence of a murder? Even if it’s concocted?”

“He would have used it by now,” he said. “Just like I would have used anything I had against him.”

“Turned him in?” I asked with a short laugh. “Somehow I doubt it. Something tells me you’d handle things more like Bingham.”

He was silent again. “I think it’s fair to say I was a mix of the two. I could play the role of the gentleman, but I was ruthless when necessary.”

I’d already come to that conclusion. His past had come up before, and the more I learned about how he’d conducted business, the more I learned that the man I currently knew was very different than the man he’d once been.

And some days I wasn’t sure what to think about that.

Chapter Ten

Hank knew where Sandy lived, so finding her address was easy. She would have been able to direct me to Ashlynn, but I didn’t necessarily want to ask. A lot depended on how our talk went. So instead I called Greta at Watson’s Café, knowing she was on the morning shift on Wednesdays.

“I hope I’m not getting you into trouble calling you at work,” I said.

“Not at all,” she said in a cheerful tone. “We’re past the morning rush. What’s up?”

“I heard about Pam Crimshaw and I feel just terrible,” I said, which was true. “I wanted to take her daughter Ashlynn a casserole, but I don’t have her address. Do you have any idea who might?”

“I can help you there,” she said. “Ashlynn was younger than me, but I dropped her off after school a few times.”

“Thanks, but I need to know where she’s livin’ now.”

“It’s the same place,” she said, then added, “well, kind of. She and Chuck live in a trailer on her parents’ land.”

“Oh.” That was actually better. It gave me an excuse to see where Pam lived. I was about to thank Greta and hang up, but I couldn’t help wondering what she knew