“I don’t know where it is.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a gun, pointing it at my forehead. “That’s not good enough. I know you took it.”
I fought the urge to sob, telling myself I needed to keep my shit together to get out of this.
Where the hell was Wyatt?
Could he still be asleep?
I needed to get this guy out of the bedroom and into the living room in hopes that Wyatt could take care of him—and do what I could to make sure Hank didn’t get hurt in the process.
“It’s in the kitchen,” I said in a shaky voice. “Hidden under the refrigerator.” Then, for good measure, I added, “With Hank’s fortune.”
“I knew that fortune was real,” he said in triumph. He jerked me to my feet. “Let’s go, but don’t try anything funny or I’ll shoot you. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve killed men before, but then you know that already.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t think it was necessary, but a couple of things went through my mind. One, he suspected I knew more than I’d let on, and two, he wasn’t the guy who’d pulled the trigger on Seth, but I had no doubt that he’d killed before.
He pulled me toward the bedroom door. “Open it.”
Terror clutched at me as I turned the knob. Was I about to get Wyatt and Hank killed?
I opened the door and stepped out into the living room, hardly able to breathe. Then a quick scan of the room revealed that both the sofa and the recliner were empty.
I was torn between relief and terror. Wyatt had been my backup plan. What was this guy going to do when he realized I’d lied to him?
“How’d you know I had it?” I asked, biding my time.
“We’ve been watchin’ you. The way you’ve been stickin’ close to Hank. It wasn’t hard to figure out you’d found the stash here on Hank’s land.”
Shit. I had no idea where it was—or if Seth had even taken it—but I’d told this guy it was here and now I was stuck. Maybe there’d be something I could use against him in the kitchen. A cast-iron skillet or a pan, maybe. Only I’d put away all the dishes, hadn’t I?
With a viselike grip on my arm, he dragged me across the living room toward the kitchen, careful about bumping into things and making noise.
“Aren’t you afraid of waking anyone else up?”
“Drummond’s not here and the old man’s only got one leg. What’s he gonna do?” he sneered in contempt.
Wyatt wasn’t here? Max had asked Wyatt if he was on call. Had they arranged for him to be called out for a tow truck run? Although, that didn’t explain where Hank had gone. Had Wyatt moved him to his bed?
It struck me that my chances would be better if I got him outside. I’d have a chance to run, maybe, and I’d also get him away from Hank.
“I lied,” I said, realizing I was risking his wrath. “It’s not in the kitchen.”
I wasn’t surprised when he hit me, but I wasn’t prepared for the gut punch that stole my breath. I doubled over, panic seizing me when I couldn’t breathe. I knew I just needed a few seconds to recover, but he was already dragging me to the front door. “You stupid fucking bitch.”
He hauled me across the porch and shoved me down the steps to the ground. “I ain’t playin’. Where the fuck is it?” He was losing his control, which made him dangerous.
“I’ll show you,” I gasped out, tears streaming down my face.
“Get up!” he shouted.
Climbing to my hands and knees, I tried to get up, but my body was shaking, and I couldn’t get my legs to support my body.
“Get. Up.” He stood over me and gave me a vicious kick in my ass, sprawling me flat on my face in the cold, wet grass.
“Seems to me that’s not the way to get her up,” Hank said from the front door, his voice tight with fury.
I glanced up and saw him leaning his shoulder against the doorway. He had a shotgun in his hands, the barrel pointed at the intruder.
“Look at you, old man,” the guy sneered. “Hoppin’ along with one leg. Let’s see how you do when I kick that leg out from underneath you.”
He started back up the porch steps and a loud boom filled the night air, quickly followed by another one.
The intruder flew backward and landed in the yard on his back, within kicking distance of my feet.
His eyes were wide with shock, but the holes in his gut confirmed what I already knew.
He was dead.
“Carly,” Hank called out. “You okay?”
I started to violently shake. “We need to call someone.”
Would Hank be in trouble? Would he get away with self-defense?
Propping his hand on the side of the house, he hopped out the door toward a metal chair on the porch. “I already called for help.” He motioned for me to join him. “Come away from that piece of trash, girl.”
Still shaking, I got to my feet and nearly fell.
I felt the urge to sob, but if I gave myself permission, I knew I’d completely fall apart.
“Come ’ere,” he said more gently. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“But the sheriff…” I said. “How can we trust them?”
“We’re not.” He sat down with a hard plop. “I need you to pull yourself together and go get my other shotgun out of my bedroom. Can you do that?”
“Who’s comin’, Hank?” I asked, feeling my grasp of control slowly strengthen.
“Just get the shotgun, girl. Do as I say, now,” he ordered with a tone so gentle it felt like an endearment.
Nodding, I walked up the steps, feeling like I was having an out-of-body experience.
“The gun’s on the bed,” he said in an even voice. “Be sure to get your coat before you come back out, but don’t dawdle. I suspect we don’t have much time.”
“Okay,” I said, wiping my wet cheeks and heading to his room. Sure enough, the gun was on his bed, so I picked it up and carried it out to the front porch, lifting my coat off the coat hook on the way.
“Grab a chair and sit next to me.”
His kind voice felt grounding, and I found myself doing as he instructed.
He shot me a glance. “Put on your coat. You’re in shock. You need to keep warm.”
Leaning forward, I set the shotgun down on the wooden porch and put on my coat.
“He was one of ’em, wasn’t he?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“I figured. I heard ’im talking. I heard him hit you too. I don’t take to woman beaters.”
“Who did you call, Hank?”
“Someone who wants Seth’s murderers as much as we do.”
I went lightheaded. “Bingham.”
“I knew you were a smart girl,” he said with pride. “We can’t trust the sheriff, but I ain’t up to cleanin’ up a body. We need someone to take care of it, and I ain’t puttin’ Wyatt in that position. Bingham wants information about who’s tryin’ to gain a foothold in his territory, and the identity of that piece of trash will help ’im.” He waved the muzzle of his gun at the body in the front yard.
“If he’s helping us, then why are we sitting here with shotguns, Hank?”