us seven dollars an hour after he and Ruth got into it last March, but he insists he’s going to get us benefits, another part of their bargain. And now he’s spending thousands of dollars on merchandise? I have to say I worry about his judgment when it comes to business.”
Marco frowned. “Well, he did make a killin’ on his street party last week. Maybe he’s usin’ cash from that.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I know one thing for certain—once Ruth sees these shirts, Max is going to be clean out of whatever he spent on them. She will never agree to wear them.”
My heart thrummed in my chest as we walked down to the bridge, turned left past the park next to the dilapidated mill, and then Marco finally stopped next to the river, dragging me toward a bench.
We both sat down, and I turned and took his hand. “What’s goin’ on, Marco? You’re scarin’ me to death. Do you have a lead on who killed Jerry?”
He frowned. “No. I promise Brian’s still workin’ on it. But this is something else. It’s about you.”
My blood turned to ice. “Is it about my father?”
“Indirectly. I’m still not sure how it all falls into place, but this is huge.”
“Okay,” I said with a slow nod. “What is it?”
“There was a massive bust last week on the crime syndicate your father was a part of. I have a Google alert set up for Hardshaw Group and Randall Blakely, but somehow I missed the alerts. I only found out today.”
“Okay,” I said, my brow furrowing. “What does that mean exactly?”
“There was a big bust in a small town called Pickle Junction, Arkansas. Multiple federal agencies—the FBI, DEA, ATF—had been setting it up for over a year, and they arrested a lot of the higher-ups in Hardshaw.”
Pickle Junction, Arkansas, was in the county where my friends from Arkansas lived. They had to be part of it, but I hadn’t checked my secret email account in nearly a month.
“They all fell like dominos,” he continued, “including a man named Carson Roberts, who they’re claiming was the ringleader of the organization.”
“He wasn’t the only one,” I protested. “My father was one of the three.”
“The feds likely know that,” he said. “They might be keeping that under wraps, still hoping to bust him.”
I huffed out a breath. “What does this mean, Marco?”
He gave me a warm smile, but I could still see the worry in his eyes. “It means that soon you might not have to hide anymore. You might not have to be Carly Moore.”
Which meant I could finally be free.
Why didn’t that sound as appealing as it should?
Chapter Three
If I didn’t have to hide, that meant I’d be able to leave Drum and go wherever I wanted.
The flicker of fear I saw in Marco’s eyes confirmed he knew it too. His fingers tightened over mine, offering support but also seeking it.
“Even if Hardshaw is gone, I’m not scot-free, Marco. My father has plenty of money of his own, and he holds a grudge as deep as the day is long. I mean, Exhibit A, look at what happened to my mother. That had nothing to do with Hardshaw.”
“True . . .” Concern filling his eyes. “Perhaps I should do some diggin’ into your mother’s death. Request a police report.”
I shook my head. “You can’t do that. If my father finds out, he’s going to wonder why a deputy in an eastern Tennessee county is looking. You’ll lead him right to us.”
“You know how paranoid that sounds?” he asked without any heat. “You think your father might have knowledge about what goes on in the Dallas Police Department?” It was posed as a question, but his tone suggested he didn’t think it was all that paranoid.
“The accident was in Highland Park,” I said, “and it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility that he would have contacts at the police department. Look at the lengths Jake and my father went to keep me on the path of their choosing. They arranged for men to date me and treat me with callous disinterest, all so I wouldn’t find a real boyfriend. They needed to make sure I was desperate enough that I’d be willing to marry Jake.”
Still holding my hand, he wrapped an arm around my back and pulled me into a hug, my chin resting on his shoulder. I soaked in his love and support. He didn’t need to tell me how sorry he was for what I’d