scratch the killers’ truck had sported, and now I felt like a fool.
“I don’t want to go back up there,” I confessed, wiping tears from my cheeks. “Part of me wants to jump on the next bus out of town, no matter where it goes, just to get the hell out of this nightmare.”
He watched me for a moment, mulling over my words, and then finally said, “So why don’t you?”
I expected to hear sarcasm, but he sounded genuinely curious. “What about my car?”
“Look,” he said with a sigh, “we both know it’s likely gonna cost more than it’s worth to fix it. You’d be better off puttin’ the money on a vehicle that actually works.”
But it wasn’t that easy. First, if I left, there’d be a warrant out for my arrest. The last thing I wanted was for my picture to get circulated with the name Charlene Moore attached to it. And what about Ruth? Detective Daniels had said he’d hold her accountable if I didn’t return to Drum. But I couldn’t tell Wyatt any of that. Whether he thought I had something to do with Seth’s death, or if he thought—or feared—I might have seen more than I’d admitted to before Seth died, no need to hand him another log to add to the fire.
Then there was Hank Chalmers. True, I barely knew him, but he’d just lost his grandson, and he needed help. For some reason, I felt compelled to give it to him. Perhaps it was guilt for not saving Seth. Or perhaps it was that I’d liked caring for Violet during her last month, offering the quiet support to help her die with dignity. Hank wasn’t dying, but he deserved to convalesce with dignity too. Besides, surely he needed to get home to plan his grandson’s funeral.
In the end, one point mattered more than the rest. Those men had shot down Seth in cold blood and casually left him to die. There were other wrongs I wasn’t strong enough to right, but I wanted to make Seth’s killers pay.
Still, could I really get in a truck with someone who might be involved in the murder? Part of me wanted to trust Wyatt, but Jake, my lifelong best friend had snowed me. I’d known Wyatt less than twenty-four hours.
I stopped crying and faced him with reluctant resolve. “No,” I finally said. “I have to go back to Drum.”
“Why?” he asked, taking a step closer. To my surprise, his eyes were still warm. Compassionate. He sure didn’t look like a murderer. Maybe I was a fool, but I decided I’d accept the ride. Whatever he might know, I didn’t think he’d hurt Seth. I didn’t think he had it in him. “Maybe I can help you.”
I inhaled deeply. “I don’t need any help other than the ride, but thank you for the offer.”
Sorrow and defeat washed over his face, but he just turned and walked toward his truck, leaving me to follow.
There was no way I could risk telling him anything.
Wyatt was right. He didn’t have my trust, and he was a long way from earning it. I knew the cost of trusting the wrong man.
Chapter Twelve
About fifteen minutes into the drive, Wyatt must have gotten tired of the silence that hung between us, taut as a wire, because he turned on the radio and country music filled the cab. After about ten minutes, he seemed to forget himself and softly sang the refrain of one of the songs, tapping his finger on the steering wheel of the truck. I couldn’t help smiling, but I turned to look out the side window, a mistake given the incline and all of the curves. My stomach started roiling.
At the top of the eleven o’clock hour, a newscaster came on and announced the national news. An update about Congress and something the president had done that had people all up in arms. I’d tuned most of it out until I heard the announcer mention my name. Caroline Blakely, not Carly Moore.
I sucked in a breath and turned to face the radio, hoping I hadn’t missed most of the report.
“…has been missing since August. Caroline was last seen the night before her wedding to Jake Wood, son of Roger Wood, CEO of Wood Technologies. Police have had few leads on the case, and the oil magnate and Caroline’s fiancé have held a press conference announcing a reward for her safe return.”
The audio switched over to a feed from the news conference.