“So he was alive when you found him,” I said more to myself than him. “That’s good. He has a chance.” But Jerry was so cold beneath my touch I was struggling to believe it.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Marco said. “He has a deep laceration on his inner right thigh. I used my belt as a tourniquet, but he bled quite a bit before I got it on.” He took a breath and cleared his throat. “He was worried he’d lose the leg if we left it on too long. But I told him he and Hank could start a one-legged man club.” He released a chuckle that turned into a partial sob.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and the sound seemed to invigorate Marco. He got to his feet as I gave Jerry another breath.

“I’ll take over the breathing,” he said. “You do compressions until you get tired, then I’ll take over again.”

I hoped to God an ambulance showed up before I got too tired, but I wasn’t used to an upper-body workout, and I was already sore and fatigued.

Max called out Marco’s name from the top of the hill, and Marco answered. I could see a flashlight beam bouncing around on the hill as he scrambled down to us. “An ambulance and some sheriff’s deputies are on their way.” Then he reached Marco and cursed before he wailed, “Jerry.”

I looked up into Max’s face, not surprised to see his anguish. He’d always had a soft spot for the older man. Max had made sure Jerry had a roof over his head and multiple meals a day for years.

The sirens grew closer.

“What happened?” Max demanded, sounding angry. “How did this happen?” He turned an accusatory glare at me.

“He was run off the road,” Marco said, regaining his composure. “I ran down and found him like this.”

The sirens were directly above us, and Marco turned to his friend.

“I set up a flare so they knew where to find us. No way was I leavin’ Carly down here alone. We thought it was you.”

Marco didn’t respond.

We continued CPR for a couple minutes longer until the EMTs reached us. They took over and told us to go back up the hill to give our statements.

I didn’t want to leave Jerry, but I knew we were in the way. Marco helped me out of the truck, then the three of us climbed back up the hill with the help of a rope the emergency personnel had wound around a tree. It reminded me of when Wyatt’s truck had been run off the road after I’d first come to town, and I’d climbed down to help him.

That felt like it had been years ago now.

By the time we reached the road, my wet clothes were plastered to my body and I began to shiver. A sheriff deputy gave us blankets and offered to let us sit in the back of his car to warm up, but the three of us huddled together, watching the narrow clearing so we could see them bring Jerry up. We heard the sound of a saw, so presumably they’d managed to get him out. Then an EMT emerged from the clearing, glancing our direction before he got into the ambulance and grabbed a folded bag.

“No.” Marco gasped.

“What?” I asked, grabbing a handful of his shirt.

He took two breaths before he said, “It’s a body bag.”

I broke into tears, which quickly turned into sobs. I cried so hard I hyperventilated. An EMT offered to look me over, but Marco led me to his Explorer. Max chose to stay with the ambulance, but he gave me a worried look before we crossed the highway.

Marco’s car was already running, so it was warm when we both sat in the back seat. He wrapped an arm around me and assured me it was okay.

“It’s not okay,” I said emphatically. “This is my fault. He’s dead because of me!”

“You did not run him off the road, Carly,” Marco said in a stern voice. “And you have no idea what you did to provoke this. Jim Palmer’s murder had nothing to do with Bart.”

“But they knew I was looking into it because I thought it was one of his favors. Maybe something else we discovered was more on the mark. Or…I contacted Bingham. Maybe they found out? But Bingham didn’t come to the tavern until around ten.”

“After Jerry was run off the road.”

I started crying again. Poor sweet, kind Jerry was dead, and it was all my fault.

Marco pulled me onto his lap and held me close as he tried to comfort me. But it all felt hollow.

Jerry was dead, and I might as well have been the one to run him off the road.

Bart Drummond was going to pay.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Less than a dozen people attended Jerry’s graveside service. His supervisor at the construction site, a couple of other construction workers, plus Max, Wyatt, Ruth and Franklin, and Marco and me. Marco and I clung to each other during the short service, both of us devastated, and Max looked no less miserable. I wasn’t sure who he thought had run off Jerry off the road, but if he believed it was his father was responsible, he didn’t let on.

I’d half expected Bart to show up—he’d paid for the funeral since Jerry had died while on the job—but thank goodness, he’d stayed away.

Max had closed the tavern for the weekend, but he opened it after the funeral to hold a wake to celebrate Jerry’s life. At his encouragement, the guests took turns sharing stories about Jerry. They lifted their glasses and spoke about how kind he had been. How much he’d adored his wife. He’d lost everything in his efforts to save her…only he hadn’t succeeded.

Marco stood next to me and squeezed me tighter, staring down at me with so much love and adoration, it took my breath away.

“I would go to the ends of the earth to protect you,” he whispered.

“And I you.”

He leaned over and kissed me, and when he lifted his head, I realized Wyatt was watching us with an uncomfortable interest.

The sheriff deputies hadn’t found the truck or the person who had run Jerry off the road. For all they knew, it had been a case of road rage.

But I knew different, and I was still struggling to deal with my guilt.

Thad had chosen not to give a statement to Marco or Detective White, but two other victims—a now twenty-year-old man from a rec basketball team Jim had coached a decade before, and an older teen from the same youth group—had come forward, and the sheriff’s department planned on questioning Jim’s wife to see how much she knew about her husband’s activities. Marco and I had decided Ashlynn must have acted so strangely at the mention of Jim’s name because she’d discovered her brother’s secret and kept the information quiet to protect him. Selena had confirmed it. Ashlynn was living with her now, and she still refused to name the father of her baby.

It was too early for Pam to have worked out a plea bargain, but Marco said it wasn’t looking good for her. Her crime seemed random and motiveless, which suggested she was a risk to society. He didn’t expect the DA to go easy on her.

Since I hadn’t needed to work over the weekend, Marco and I had holed up in his house, trying to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist—a pretense that might have worked better if he hadn’t kept trying to discuss my escape plan. Hank had assured me he could take care of himself, that I only needed to consider my own safety, and Marco had said the same. They’d both insisted I could afford to let my psyche rest and heal before I did anything.