Her Scream in the Silence (Carly Moore #2) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,73
I didn’t want to do it now, especially right after his brother had fired me.
I left the engine on and opened my door. “Stay here. I’ll do it.”
Marco just closed his eyes and grimaced as though a new wave of pain had hit him. I planned to look over his wounds when we got to his house. While I was hardly a nurse, I’d learned a thing or two from caring for Hank and Violet.
I grabbed the crutches out of the back, then walked around to the passenger side and opened the door.
Marco cracked his eyes open.
“I’m gonna take off your shoes,” I said. “You need to change them anyway, so I might as well wash them off here.”
He looked hesitant to agree.
“What?”
“They’re Air Ones.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I said wryly.
“They’re nearly two-hundred-dollar shoes.”
“Then what were you doing wearing them in the mud?” But I knew the answer to that, so I said, “Never mind. Don’t worry. I promise to be careful.”
He reluctantly nodded his head. I made quick work of untying his shoes. When I slipped off the second one, he cried out in pain, which made me seriously doubt he would be able to continue today. Maybe we should take a break. I’d wanted to cram as much investigating as possible into one day because of my work schedule on Sunday and Monday, but now I had all the time in the world.
I blinked away tears. Losing my job was nothing compared to this mess unfolding around us, and it wouldn’t help anyone if I fell apart now.
A heavy-duty black garden hose was connected to an outside water spigot, so I turned on the water and started to spray the ends of Marco’s crutches.
I wasn’t surprised when Wyatt walked out the back door a few seconds later. He propped his hands on his hips and took in what I was doing. “Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.”
“Why isn’t Marco cleaning his own crutches?”
“He slipped in some mud and I think he hurt himself.”
Worry filled his eyes, and he glanced back at the SUV. “Is he okay?”
“Honestly? I don’t know, but he wants to go somewhere before I take him back home, so we thought it best to hose these down.”
“And your boots?” he asked, his voice turning husky as he took a step closer.
“I have my tennis shoes in the car.”
“But are your boots ruined?” he asked.
I snuck a glance at them. “Maybe.”
He took the hose from me. “Why don’t you clean them inside? I’ll finish this up.”
“You don’t have to do that, Wyatt.”
“I know, but I want to.”
I gave him a warm smile. “Thanks.”
Taking Marco’s shoes, I headed back to the car and grabbed my bag. Marco hadn’t moved a muscle, and he didn’t react other than to flinch when I closed the door again. Not good.
I’d only been in Wyatt’s garage once before, and on my first visit, I’d stayed in the waiting area. Just one more reminder that there was so much I didn’t know about him.
Junior was leaning over an engine, but he looked up when I walked through the door.
“Hey, Carly,” he said, but I saw hesitation in his eyes. He thought he’d seen me getting cozy with Marco.
“Wyatt said I could wash off some shoes inside. Where would be the best place to do that?”
He stood up, his gaze shifting pointedly to the larger pair of shoes. He no longer looked quite so friendly.
I didn’t owe Junior an explanation, but I also didn’t want to make an enemy. “I know you think I’m cheating on Wyatt.”
He held up his hand. “It’s none of my business.”
“Clearly it is,” I said, moving closer. “And while Wyatt and I are still trying to figure things out, I’m only hanging out with Marco to look for Lula. She’s missing again.”
“She does that,” he said, his guard still up.
“This time is different. Now, if you could show me where I can clean these up?”
He motioned behind him to a large sink against the wall.
“Thanks.” I walked over, my heels echoing in the concrete space. I could clearly hear the water running outside. No wonder Wyatt had come outside in 3.2 seconds flat.
I turned on the water and tentatively put Marco’s shoe under the stream, picking up a brush from the back ledge of the sink and lightly scrubbing at the mud.
“Why do you think Lula’s leavin’ is different this time?” Junior asked.
“I can’t tell you the specifics,” I said, still facing the sink,