I didn’t smile back. “I don’t know if I can do it again. I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’ll follow you, Carly. I’d just have to wrap up some things here.”
I slowly shook my head as a tear slipped down my cheek. “And by that you mean you’d have to sell your house and resign from your job. If you did those things, Bart and anyone else would know you were coming to me. They’d follow you.”
“Then I’ll run with you. I’ll leave it all behind.”
“You can’t, Marco. The state police would come looking for you. A deputy who’s been helping root out corruption in his department? They’d suspect foul play, and your face would be all over the news. You’d be more recognizable than I am.”
His arms tightened around me. “I won’t lose you, Carly.”
“Which means I’m staying,” I said with a wavering smile. “Because I’m not losing you either.”
It killed me to realize Wyatt hadn’t totally gotten it wrong. Marco wanted to go with me…he just couldn’t. I’d been deluded to think that he could. And as much as I’d insisted that I wouldn’t run, when it came down to it, I’d go if left with no other choice. Marco and Hank would defend me, possibly to their deaths. I couldn’t live with the guilt if that happened, which meant I needed to be prepared for the worst. I needed to figure out where and how to get a new identity.
If or when I did leave, I would be leaving everything and everyone behind.
Including Marco.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Marco didn’t have to go into work until ten, so we had a lazy morning in bed. After we made love, he made me breakfast. I wore one of his T-shirts and my underwear and he kept sneaking glances at my bare legs as I leaned my back into the counter opposite him and watched.
“I have tomorrow off,” he said as he scrambled some eggs. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts that showed off his butt, and my gaze kept straying there since his back was to me. “What time do you start work?”
“Five, but I guess it depends on whether Ruth’s friend takes Molly’s shift. If not, I might need to go in at noon.”
He turned slightly to face me and grinned. “Are you checking out my ass?”
A sly smile lifted the corners of my lips. “Maybe.”
His grin widened as he turned his attention back to the skillet. “Jim Palmer’s funeral is tomorrow.”
I frowned, momentarily forgetting about my view. “Do we care about that right now?”
“Yeah. We do,” he said, shooting me a quick glance over his shoulder before he turned back to the eggs. “We don’t know if you’re going to get anything good from Bingham. For all we know, Emily’s trying to throw you off. Maybe you’re getting too close with Ashlynn or Thad, and she’s protecting Bart.”
He had a good point. “What time’s the funeral?”
“One. So you could go before your shift.”
“I didn’t even know the man. Isn’t it going to look weird?”
He shook his head. “There’s gonna be so many people there no one will even notice.”
“Do you really think we’ll learn anything?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“Okay,” I said wryly. “I’ll be your date to the funeral.”
He shot me a mischievous grin. “Look at me showin’ you a good time.”
I wasn’t exactly feeling light-hearted, but I laughed anyway.
“How do you plan on approaching Bingham?” he asked.
“I guess I’ll just drop by. It’s worked for me before.”
His mouth tugged down, but he didn’t say anything, likely because Todd Bingham and I had an odd relationship, made even more so by the fact that he didn’t usually tolerate people asking questions and I was known for being inquisitive. But I’d helped him find Lula when she’d gone missing, and I hadn’t used up his limited allotment of gratitude.
He turned off the burner and started scooping eggs onto our plates next to the stove. “While I want to go with you, I think he’ll be more likely to talk to you without me.”
“I agree,” I said. “I don’t feel unsafe. I doubt he would hurt me and risk Lula’s wrath. I am one of their baby’s godmothers, after all.”
He laughed, but it held a bit of bitterness. “Like that would matter.”
“Strangely enough, I think it does.”
We finished breakfast, talking about our schedules for the weekend. I would stay with Marco again tonight, then I’d go to Hank’s on Saturday night and spend all day Sunday with him.
We started cleaning up the kitchen together, but I glanced at the clock and sent him for a quick shower and to get dressed so he wouldn’t be late for work.
I’d finished by the time he emerged from his room in his uniform. Smiling softly, I walked to him and wrapped my arm around his neck, hating that we had to go back into the world.
“I really want to take time off like we were talking about. What do you say we plan on going away in two weeks?” he said. “We can both take off work on Friday and the weekend. If we head out on Thursday night, we’ll have three full days together.”
“Okay.” But I wondered if it was a pipe dream. Would I be gone by then?
He gave me a deep, soulful kiss, and I suspected he was wondering the same thing.
“Call me today,” he said. “Especially after you talk to Bingham and the Genslers.”
“I’ll see about heading to Ewing today. Maybe we can meet up.”
He nodded. “You gonna stay here much longer?”
“I’m going to take advantage of your shower before I go,” I said with a grin. “It’s nicer than Hank’s.”
“Stay as long as you like,” he said. “I like knowin’ you’re here, even when I’m not.” He started to say something, then stopped. “I’ll see you later.”
“I love you, Marco.” Maybe I’d been saying it too much, but it felt good to say it, and I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to tell him in person.
“Love you too.” He gave me another kiss, and I walked him to the door and waved as he drove away. I headed to the bathroom and took a long shower, trying not to dwell on the uncertainty of our future.
I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around myself to dry off when I heard a noise in the front part of the house. Had Marco come back? But something told me it wasn’t him.
My clothes were in the bedroom, but Marco kept his shotgun in the closet attached to the bathroom. I rushed into the closet and threw on one of his button-down shirts, my shaking fingers fumbling with three of the middle buttons. I pulled the gun down from his top shelf and quickly loaded it with three shells and dumped several more into my shirt pocket.
Tiptoeing back into the bathroom, I paused by the door and listened to the silence. Had I imagined it? No. I could smell cigarette smoke.
It definitely wasn’t Marco.
I eased into the bedroom and paused again, the shotgun pointed toward the ceiling, when I heard a soft clang from the front of the house.