to go.”
She gave us an odd look but nodded. “Okay.”
Marco was silent while we waited, his jaw tight.
I watched him, worried I’d pissed him off.
Greta brought out our food and Marco took the ticket, something he usually did when we ate together, and slapped down some cash. He told Greta to keep the change and was out of the booth in a flash.
I followed him out the door, my nerves a tangled mess. I knew he was upset that I was putting myself in danger, and while I wanted to ease his concerns, I couldn’t. I refused to give this up.
Out on the sidewalk, he stared down at me, still holding our lunches. “We need somewhere quiet to talk. Why don’t you get in my car and we’ll drive over to Old Mill Park so people aren’t gawking at us while we eat.”
“Okay.”
I got into the front seat of his sheriff’s car, and he drove the short distance to the edge of Drum’s downtown, then turned onto a road that ran along a creek at the edge of downtown proper. A couple of blocks north was a dilapidated waterwheel attached to a small building with faded red paint. Rumor had it the Drummonds had built it for the town over a hundred years ago as a gift—and proceeded to use it for their moonshine business.
I took it as a reminder that if someone was offering you something for nothing, they usually had other motives in play. Especially in Drum.
Turned out I was adopting that philosophy as my own.
The building needed to be torn down, but a few women had created a historical society and convinced the citizens it was an important part of Drum history. And while the townsfolk had agreed to keep it, they hadn’t loosened their purse strings to fix it up either.
You couldn’t go in it, nor anywhere close to it—it was surrounded by a chain-link fence, covered by a thick canopy of tree branches—but there was a picnic table a few feet from the fence. There was a small parking area in front of it—trampled grass—and it was a known picnic area…or make-out spot. Often both.
“Did you bring me here to make out, Marco?” I teased as he put the vehicle in park.
He turned off the engine and stared out the windshield at the creek. “I might try if I thought it would make a difference.”
“Your skills are that magical?” I asked in a wry tone.
He turned to look at me, but there was no teasing glint in his eyes—I saw all the marks of a tortured soul. “I think it’s time for us to come up with a plan to get you out of town.”
I jolted, unprepared for his statement. “You want me to leave Drum?”
“Selfishly, no. God, no.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t even want to think about life without you, but I care about you, Carly, and you’re not just playin’ with fire, you’re takin’ on a ragin’ inferno.”
“He’s one man, Marco. One man.”
“He is not just one man, and underestimatin’ him will be your downfall.” He took a breath. “Bart Drummond is cunning. You think Max and I never tried to best him over the years? It became a competition to Max, his F-you for all those years Bart overlooked him and rained down all his blessings on Wyatt. He never succeeded, Carly. We never succeeded. Bart found out every. Damn. Time. He knows exactly what you are up to right now—before you’ve even started doin’ it. Why do you think he invited you to tea with Emily? Why do you think he took you over to that hole and asked you to tell him what you found? He knew you’d look into Heather’s murder, and he knows you intend to use it against him.”
“So you’re tellin’ me to just let it go? Let the sheriff’s department arrest Wyatt for a murder he didn’t commit?”
“How do you know he didn’t commit it?” he said, his voice rising. “What makes you so damn sure?”
I was taken aback by his anger. “Because the man I got to know wouldn’t do that.”
“People can surprise you, Carly. In bad ways as well as good. Think about your childhood friend, the one you were supposed to marry. Did you ever think he might be capable of murder? Of murdering you?”
Tears stung my eyes, because he was right. About all of it.
He grabbed my hand and held on tight, his eyes burning