A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,113

since I saw you sittin’ on that rock at the overlook.”

Before I could respond, he kissed me again, this time with a hunger that matched my own. Needing more of him, I lifted my hand to the back of his neck, pressing him closer and tilting my head to give him better access.

He groaned and my body reacted with a primal urge I’d never felt with another man. And that was what brought me to my senses.

I pulled back, my chest heaving, and I took some satisfaction in the fact that Wyatt was in the same state.

“I can’t,” I said, sliding back toward the door to get some distance.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I told myself I wouldn’t kiss you, but you’re…” His voice trailed off.

“I’m not sorry you kissed me,” I said. “And obviously I kissed you back. But…” How did I explain this without insulting him and destroying the bridge of trust we’d just spanned?

“I trust you to keep me safe, Wyatt. And I trust you to help find Seth’s murderer. But after what happened with Jake, I’m not sure I can trust any man with my heart.” Despite everything that had transpired between us since meeting a few days ago, I knew Wyatt was a good man, and he deserved more than what I could give him. I had so little to offer.

And here I was, keeping secrets from him still, having withheld Seth’s numbers from him. But I’d tell him when he came back.

He gave me a sad smile. “We’ll take it slow. Give me time.”

I just smiled and scooted out of the car. We both knew time was a luxury I didn’t have. As soon as I found some closure for Hank and some justice for Seth, I had to leave town.

Suddenly, I wasn’t so eager to go.

Chapter Twenty-Six

When I looked back at Wyatt from the door of the library, he was still sitting there in his truck, keeping watch. I gave him a little wave and a smile, and he smiled back and took off toward Ewing.

The library was smaller than I’d imagined, and a quick glance told me there were more DVDs than books. The DVDs occupied four rows of shelves along the left side of the space, while three computer stations were situated along the right wall, currently in use by an older man, an even older woman, and a man in his twenties. The librarian sat at a desk at the wall opposite the front door, and she was on her own computer. Books lined the wall behind her, and the room opened past the computer stations, revealing an alcove full of books. In the middle of the book alcove was a small table with two beat-up elementary school chairs.

The middle-aged librarian greeted me with a warm smile.

“I’m looking for diabetic cookbooks,” I said, “but I don’t have a library card.”

“I’m Carnita,” she said, her eyes bright. “Welcome to the Drum Library. You can’t check out any books, but you’re welcome to look at whatever you’d like.” She stood and walked around the desk. “I take it you’re here for Hank?”

I nodded, unsure if it was a good thing she knew who I was when I hadn’t introduced myself, but she seemed pleased. “I’ve been trying to push information on that man for years. Let’s hope you’re more successful.”

She led me to a small section of cookbooks and pulled one out. “We don’t have many, but this is a good one.”

“Thanks, Carnita,” I said. “I’ll take a look.” She headed back to her desk while I carried the book back to the table and took a small notebook out of my purse, taking notes. I’d been working for about fifteen minutes when I felt someone brush by me then take a seat on the opposite side of the table.

My heart kick-started when I realized it was Bingham.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “This public enough for you?”

I didn’t answer.

He removed his phone from his coat pocket and opened the screen. Once he had his clock app open, he set the timer for ten minutes.

“I believe we agreed on ten minutes?” he asked with a quirked brow, setting the phone down between us without starting the timer. I suspected he was a good decade and a half older than me, but it wasn’t obvious from his appearance—until you looked in his eyes. His eyes bore the weight of all the hard living he’d done. They were hard and dark, and I