A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,133

he was bleeding from the abdomen.

“I need to call for help,” I whispered. “How do I use the radio in your car?”

“Button…” he said, then released a loud cry of pain.

“Shh!” I whispered, feeling like a first-class bitch, but I suspected Carson was on his way down, and if he thought Marco was still alive, he wouldn’t hesitate to put another bullet in him.

Dashing for the driver’s door of the sheriff vehicle, I formulated a new plan. I’d get Marco into his SUV, then take him to the sheriff station in Ewing. Surely there were some good deputies in the county.

But as soon as I got into the driver’s seat, I realized my plan wasn’t going to work. The keys weren’t in the ignition, and the radio’s mic cord had been cut.

I ran to Carson’s truck, and I wasn’t surprised when I found it locked. I had no doubt Carson had taken both sets of keys.

We were in big trouble.

The county road was fairly close, but we were miles from either town, and I hadn’t seen any other traffic when Wyatt and I had driven out of Drum.

Tears burned my eyes, but I stood up and forced myself to square my shoulders. Charlene Moore wasn’t going down without a fight.

I hurried back to Marco, and squatted next to him, feeling terrible that I hadn’t bothered to assess his wounds.

“Did you call for help?” he whispered.

“He cut the radio mic,” I said. “Do you have the keys? They aren’t in the ignition.”

His head barely moved with a shake. “Left… them…in…”

“I know this is against the rules, but can I borrow your gun? I only have four bullets and I’m not the best shot when stressed.” I vowed to book some time at the firing range first chance I got.

“He…took…”

“He took it.” Tears filled my eyes again. Things kept going from bad to worse.

“Carly!” Carson called out from the trail, and I knew he was close.

“I’m going to move you, Marco,” I said. “I’m scared he’s going to shoot you again, so I want to put you in the backseat of your car. It’s not perfect, but…”

“No. Go hide,” he whispered.

I would, but not yet. Marco wouldn’t have gotten shot if he hadn’t tried to help me. I wasn’t leaving him here as a sitting duck.

“This might hurt.” Grabbing his legs at his ankles, I started dragging him across the pavement.

He released a loud groan. Not only was I possibly making things worse, I’d just pointed a big neon sign at him that said, Marco’s still alive. Still, I’d started this and couldn’t stop now.

I opened the back door of Marco’s SUV. Slipping my arms under his armpits, I hauled him to the door and propped him up against the back tire, not an easy feat considering he probably weighed nearly twice what I did. I was trying to figure out how I was going to get him up to the backseat when I heard Carson say, “Carly, come on now. No need to hide from me.”

He hadn’t reached the entrance to the trail, but he was close.

“Do you have any other weapons?” I whispered.

“In…the back. But it’s locked.”

Carson had the keys.

“I’ve only got four bullets, Marco.” My voice broke.

He looked up at me and a smile tugged at his lips. “I guess you’d better make ’em count.”

I nodded and then crept to the front of the SUV and peered around the edge. Carson was standing at the entrance to the trail, his gaze scanning the area. His rifle was slung over his shoulder.

“Max sent me to fetch you, girl,” he said as he strode toward the tow truck. “Come on out. Let’s talk.”

I knew better than to take his bait. He wanted me to tell him where I was so he could shoot me.

How did I get us out of this?

Carson was waiting for an opening to kill me. I knew I could do the same to him. I could save myself, Marco, and Wyatt, who was still somewhere up the mountain and likely to put himself in danger to keep me safe. But I couldn’t bring myself to kill Carson in cold blood—then I wouldn’t be any better than him and the men who’d killed Seth. Yet I couldn’t figure out any other way to end this.

“Carson!” Wyatt shouted from somewhere up the trail. “Let her go!”

Carson spun around to face him.

“Take the shot,” Marco said.

“I can’t,” I whispered. But Wyatt was unarmed, and Carson had a rifle. Could I