A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,99
it you want to trade for a dead man?” Bingham asked.
“You get the identity of one of the interlopers, and in exchange, you leave Carly the hell alone.”
I refrained from gasping, but Bingham didn’t hide his surprise. “Why?”
“You don’t need to know why. You just need to agree to the terms.”
Bingham shifted his weight, looking like a wildcat preparing to leap. “Here’s the thing, old man. None of that makes sense. If she doesn’t know anything, then why are you so protective of her? And if she knows who killed the boy, why would you hide it?”
Hank didn’t answer.
“Why would you stick your neck out for some woman you don’t even know?” Bingham asked more insistently.
“This woman held Seth’s hand as he died,” Hank said. “This woman has stepped up to help me more than anyone else in this damn town.”
“Maybe people would be more willin’ to step up if you didn’t treat ’em like shit,” one of the other men said.
Bingham shot him a dark look, but when he turned back to Hank, he said, “Gates has got a good point. You turned this town against you after Barb died.”
Hank remained silent, his entire body tense.
“I claim Carly Moore as kin,” Hank said. “You recognize and honor that, and I’ll let you take that body and clean up the mess.”
Bingham released a harsh laugh. “I ain’t your cleanup crew, Chalmers.”
“Either agree to my terms or get the hell off my land,” Hank said. “And I’ll bury that body and his identity with him.”
Bingham scrubbed his face. “It’s late, old man. I don’t feel like dickin’ around.”
“And neither do I. Either agree to my terms or leave,” Hank said. “Those are your options. You have ten seconds to make up your mind.”
Several seconds ticked by before Bingham said, “Fine, I’ll leave her be, but I want to talk to her.”
“No,” Hank barked.
“I just want to talk to her, old man,” he said in frustration. “You would have done the same durin’ your time.” Then he shrugged and added, “How about this? We’ll have the meetin’ in public. Lots of witnesses.”
“And what if you don’t like what I have to say? Maybe I have some questions of my own,” I called out as I got to my feet.
Hank didn’t respond, but Bingham released a laugh. “So she speaks after all.”
“You know damn good and well that I speak,” I snapped. “We’ve met before.”
Hank shot me a quick glance.
“That we have,” Bingham said. “Although I’ve come to realize I was under the wrong impression about your identity.”
“And just who did you think I was?” I asked, hoping he’d let slip something I didn’t already know.
Bingham was silent for a moment, then laughed again. “You’re something else, woman.” He shifted his attention to Hank. “Is this part of your agreement? Answerin’ her questions?”
“She’s in the middle of this, Bingham,” Hank said. “She’s entitled to ask.”
Rubbing rubbed his chin, Bingham seemed to consider it then said, “Here’s what I’ll do. I want ten minutes with the woman—she gets to ask her questions and I’ll ask mine. Once the ten minutes are up, I’ll honor the terms.”
“Shouldn’t you address me with that part of the deal?” I said. “And how do I know you’ll answer my questions?”
“How do I know you’ll answer mine?” he retorted.
He had a point.
Hank shot me a long look. “Up to you, girl.”
The thought of being interrogated by Bingham for ten minutes scared the shit out of me, but I wanted answers. The real question was whether it would be a waste of time.
“I need a moment to decide,” I said.
“Take your time.” Sounding amused, he added, “I’ll be more generous with my time than your new kin was with his.”
I sat back down and turned to the elderly man next to me while keeping the outlaw in my peripheral vision.
“Hank?” I whispered.
“There’s pros and cons to this,” Hank said under his breath. “The remaining murderers will see you talkin’ to ’im, and they might think you’re teamin’ up with ’im.”
“Which is likely what he wants,” I said.
He gave me a slight nod. “Exactly. But they might not send a second guy if they think you’re under Bingham’s protection.”
“Or I might draw their wrath.”
“That too.” A wobbly smile tilted the corners of his mouth, but I could see the exhaustion beyond it. This had been too much for him, though he’d never admit it.
“But we might draw them out,” I said. “Next time we’ll be ready for them.”