he made his way down the hall.
He did, and I had to admit it made me feel better, seeing the lights of his truck in my rearview mirror.
Marco had left on the porch lights and a lamp in the living room. I unlocked the door and dropped my purse on the dining room table before heading into the kitchen. “Are you hungry? We have some leftover chicken stir-fry.”
He hesitated as he glanced around the house. “Don’t go to any trouble.”
“No trouble. Let me heat you up a bowl.” I scooped a generous portion into a bowl and put it in the microwave, then walked into the living room.
Max was still looking around. “Did you help him decorate?”
“Nope,” I said, leaning my shoulder into the doorjamb between the living area and kitchen. “It was pretty much like this the first time I saw it last November.” I squinted at him. “You haven’t been out here?”
“Not since a month or so after he bought it.”
“I thought you came out to check on me when I had the flu.”
“He wouldn’t let me through the front door.” He gave me a sad look. “And we both know you didn’t have the flu.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds. Then the microwave dinged and broke the moment.
I gave him a tight smile. “I’ll go grab that. Want something to drink? Water? Tea? Beer?”
“Water’s fine.”
I got his food and some ice water and brought it out to the dining room table. “Here you go.”
“Are you not eatin’?” he asked as he ambled over and took a seat.
“I’m not hungry just now. I’m going to grab a glass of water, and I’ll sit and talk while you eat.”
I joined him less than a minute later, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. He’d already eaten a good portion of his stir-fry.
“You must be starving,” I said. “I can heat up more.”
“No, this is good,” he said, pointing to the bowl with his spoon. “It’s kind of funny seein’ you all domestic.”
I grinned. “As opposed to seeing me feral?”
“More like in the wild.” He glanced down at this bowl. “Do you have any idea how many gray hairs you’ve given me from all your encounters with Bingham? I thought he was going to throttle you tonight.”
“Yeah, well . . . to be fair, I was a little worried too.” I took a breath. “You guessed that I’m running away from someone, and you’re right. My real name isn’t Carly Moore. It’s Caroline Blakely.”
He stared at me with an expressionless gaze. “That explains why Mom called you Caroline. And you’re runnin’ from your father?”
I gave him a weak smile. “There’s a whole long sob story, but I’ll move us along to the bottom line. The night before my wedding, I heard my father and my fiancé plotting my murder.”
His eyes bugged out. “Say what?”
“My father is a wealthy oil magnate, but he’s also one-third of a powerful crime syndicate. He knew I’d never approve of his activities, so he planned to have my new husband assume the duties I would have inherited. But according to the rules of the crime organization, my husband couldn’t take over unless I was dead.”
“Jesus, Carly.” He shook his head in disgust. “And here I thought my father was bad.”
“Your father is bad. My father just wins the prize for most evil.” I shrugged. “Or maybe not, since your father tried to drown his daughter in a creek.”
“Touché.” He was silent for a moment, just staring down at his half-empty bowl. “So you ran?”
“Yeah. I landed in a town in Arkansas for a couple of months, but the crime syndicate had a foothold there, and we’d caught word that they might have found me. So my friends gave me a new identity and sent me on my way with a beat-up car and a couple thousand dollars in my bank account. I had no idea where I was going, but I ended up breaking down on the overlook.” I released a short laugh. “And the rest is history.”
“That’s why you had a gun that night you found Seth.”
I nodded. “My friends gave me that too.” I gave him a pleading look. “I hated keeping all of this from you, Max, but my father offered a half-million-dollar reward for my safe return. I know you would never go for that, but the more people who know, the riskier it is for me.”
“Loose lips sink ships.” He rested the tip of his