Her Scream in the Silence (Carly Moore #2) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,78

“But it’s not official. Someone needs to officially report her missing and see if they’ll start lookin’ for her. They’ll likely make you wait for forty-eight hours, but at least she’ll be on their radar.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” She glanced over at the table of customers. “I’ve gotta take care of ’em.”

“Of course,” I said.

Sheila brought our food over, and Marco and I quizzed her about Greta. But Sheila seemed to keep her nose out of everybody’s business, so I wasn’t surprised she didn’t know much.

Marco left business cards for both of them and asked them to call him if they remembered anything else. He also asked Angie to let him know what the sheriff said after she called to report Greta missing.

I laid enough cash on the table to cover the bill and tip, then helped Marco out of the booth and into the SUV. He fell asleep again and didn’t wake up until I pulled up in front of his cabin. It was on the cute side for being a bachelor pad. He had a porch that ran along the front of the house—which was only about twenty to twenty-five feet wide. The front door was on the left, and a large window on the right had two Adirondack chairs centered in front of it. The front of the house had a narrow view of the valley toward Greeneville, and I suspected he’d paid good money for the two-bedroom house and the view…good money for Balder Mountain, anyway. There was no telling how much that was.

“Marco,” I said, touching his arm lightly.

He stirred slightly, then opened his eyes, trying to focus on my face.

“You’re home,” I said. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Yeah,” he said, trying to sit up and reaching for his door handle.

“Just wait for me.” I jumped out and got his crutches from the back, then met him at the open passenger door.

“Do you have any idea how embarrassin’ this is?” he asked, his cheeks flushed as I helped him slide off the seat and onto the ground.

I handed him one crutch and wrapped his left arm around my shoulders, taking his weight. “Marco, you were shot a little over three weeks ago. You had major surgery. It takes time to recover from that. I’m pushing you too much.”

He grunted and took a labored step. It took longer than it should have to get him up the three steps and into the house. Once we were inside, I helped lower him to the sofa, then ran outside for our lunch and his shoes.

When I got back, he was dozing sitting up. I was about to tell him to lie down, but the cuffs of his jeans were caked in mud, and I wanted to examine his wounds.

“Marco, we need to take off your jeans.”

A grin spread across his face, but his eyes remained closed. “As many times as I’ve dreamed of you saying those exact words, I’m not in the mood.”

“Very funny,” I said sarcastically. “I want to look at your leg.”

He started to fumble with the button of his jeans, so I sat next to him and pushed his hands away.

“If you tell anyone I undressed you, I’ll call you a bald-faced liar,” I said.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

I got the button undone and the zipper pulled down, careful not to accidentally touch something sensitive underneath. Then I grabbed the fabric at his hips and tugged down as he lifted his butt off the sofa. It took some finagling, but I finally got his jeans past his hips and started to tug them down his legs. I tried not to look at his snug navy boxer briefs.

“God, you suck at undressing a man,” he said through gritted teeth. “I guess Wyatt doesn’t care about your lack of finesse.”

I wasn’t about to tell him Wyatt and I hadn’t gotten to that point in our relationship.

“Most men are more able and willing,” I said, carefully pulling the material over his bandaged leg.

“Who said I wasn’t willing?” he asked, cracking an eye to look at me.

“You. Just a few seconds ago.”

Once the jeans were at his ankles, I carefully pulled them free, then turned my attention to his left thigh. An elastic band that reminded me of Hank’s compression bandages was completely wrapped around his leg. It was stained with blood.

“When was the last time you changed your bandage?” I asked.

“This morning.”

“Does it still drain?”

“No.”

Pushing out a breath, I got to my feet. “I’m going to unwrap it