The deputy narrowed his eyes at Ruth. “I thought you were Franklin’s girlfriend.”
Max gave Ruth a look that read, You good? She nodded, and Max let go of her and turned to the deputy, pointing to me. “The other woman is his girlfriend.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “My bad.”
Max rolled his eyes, then told Ruth, “You go to Tater and take him to get stitches. Carly and I have got this.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking.
“And tell Marco that I’m gonna follow Carly back to his place, and we’ll meet him there.”
I started to protest, then stopped. Marco didn’t want me to be alone out there at night. And given that this was the second hit-and-run in a little over a week, he wasn’t wrong. It would put him at ease if Max followed me.
Fear and guilt skated through me again. Was Franklin’s accident my fault?
Ruth looked surprised but didn’t argue. She hugged us both, handed me her tip money and tickets, then ran out the back door.
I spent the next hour and a half tallying up the receipts. I tucked Ruth’s tips in an envelope and put it in Max’s office. When I walked back out to the dining room, Max was locking the front door and putting up the closed sign.
“It’s only a little after eleven.”
“The last customers have left, and no one else is comin’ in. Let’s get you home.”
Home. Where was home for me now? It wasn’t Hank’s right now, and deep in my heart, I wondered if he’d ever let me come back.
“I’m staying at Marco’s right now.”
“I figured we were headin’ there anyway. Come on,” Max said, heading toward the back of the dining room.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Tiny said, untying his apron strings. He usually cleaned up the kitchen as he went, so he was ready to leave as soon as people stopped ordering food. The other cook had left after the dinner rush.
“I’ll follow you out there,” Max told me again, turning lights off as 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 spoon on his bowl and grinned. “You didn’t think I’d try to get the reward? A half million dollars is a lot of money.”
I laughed. “If you were interested in money, you wouldn’t be working seven days a week in the tavern. You would have started your club in Nashville with Marco.”
He made a face. “I guess.”
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know where you stood with your father, and honestly, I still don’t. But like I said, he already knows the truth, so why not tell you too?”
“You said Wyatt already knows?”
“We were on our way back to Drum from Greeneville, and my dad came on the radio, pleading for my safe return and offering a reward to anyone who found me. I didn’t play it cool at all.” I released a bitter laugh. “Wyatt knew something was fishy, and later he caught me at a moment of weakness. Our agreement was I’d tell him about my father and the syndicate, and he would tell me about your father, but he never fulfilled his end of the bargain.” I scoffed. “For all I know, he was the one who told your father.”