A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,97

shock, but the holes in his gut confirmed what I already knew.

He was dead.

“Carly,” Hank called out. “You okay?”

I started to violently shake. “We need to call someone.”

Would Hank be in trouble? Would he get away with self-defense?

Propping his hand on the side of the house, he hopped out the door toward a metal chair on the porch. “I already called for help.” He motioned for me to join him. “Come away from that piece of trash, girl.”

Still shaking, I got to my feet and nearly fell.

I felt the urge to sob, but if I gave myself permission, I knew I’d completely fall apart.

“Come ’ere,” he said more gently. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“But the sheriff…” I said. “How can we trust them?”

“We’re not.” He sat down with a hard plop. “I need you to pull yourself together and go get my other shotgun out of my bedroom. Can you do that?”

“Who’s comin’, Hank?” I asked, feeling my grasp of control slowly strengthen.

“Just get the shotgun, girl. Do as I say, now,” he ordered with a tone so gentle it felt like an endearment.

Nodding, I walked up the steps, feeling like I was having an out-of-body experience.

“The gun’s on the bed,” he said in an even voice. “Be sure to get your coat before you come back out, but don’t dawdle. I suspect we don’t have much time.”

“Okay,” I said, wiping my wet cheeks and heading to his room. Sure enough, the gun was on his bed, so I picked it up and carried it out to the front porch, lifting my coat off the coat hook on the way.

“Grab a chair and sit next to me.”

His kind voice felt grounding, and I found myself doing as he instructed.

He shot me a glance. “Put on your coat. You’re in shock. You need to keep warm.”

Leaning forward, I set the shotgun down on the wooden porch and put on my coat.

“He was one of ’em, wasn’t he?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“I figured. I heard ’im talking. I heard him hit you too. I don’t take to woman beaters.”

“Who did you call, Hank?”

“Someone who wants Seth’s murderers as much as we do.”

I went lightheaded. “Bingham.”

“I knew you were a smart girl,” he said with pride. “We can’t trust the sheriff, but I ain’t up to cleanin’ up a body. We need someone to take care of it, and I ain’t puttin’ Wyatt in that position. Bingham wants information about who’s tryin’ to gain a foothold in his territory, and the identity of that piece of trash will help ’im.” He waved the muzzle of his gun at the body in the front yard.

“If he’s helping us, then why are we sitting here with shotguns, Hank?”

“He thinks you know more than you’re lettin’ on.” He turned to face me. “So this is to keep him from tryin’ to get it.”

“You don’t want to tell him?”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s never a good idea to play your hand too early.”

Fear crept up my spine to the base of my neck. “This is a dangerous game, Hank.”

“I know, girl, and I would send you inside and try to shield you from it, but you don’t seem the type. Do you want to go inside?”

I stared into his deep-set, bright eyes. He looked totally sane and not high on pain pills, and he knew this town far better than I did. I suspected part of the reason he’d called Bingham was to protect me, and I wasn’t letting him fight this battle alone. “No. I’m not hiding from this.”

He gave a slow nod as we heard the rumble of vehicles approaching from down the mountain. Two trucks turned onto Hank’s property and flicked off their headlights as they pulled up in front of the house.

“Let me take the lead on this,” he said.

I didn’t answer, just gripped the shotgun with my sweat-slicked hands, wishing I had time to wipe them on my pajama bottoms.

The two trucks came to a halt, and I noticed that one was a black truck with a crunched front end.

I gasped. “That’s the truck that ran Wyatt off the road.”

“It did what, now?” Hank asked.

“The truck that followed us to Greeneville. When Wyatt chased after it, it ran him off the road.”

“You let me take care of this,” he said, sitting up straighter and gripping his gun with a tighter grasp.

If Bingham thought I had more information, and perhaps a connection to his competition in Atlanta, I wasn’t surprised he’d been following me, but