“Your husband wasn’t drowning her in the creek?”

“Her father was drownin’ her, but it sure as shit wasn’t Walter. He showed up and tried to stop the man.”

The blood rushed from my head.

“That stupid girl didn’t remember shit about that day after she came to, so when my sister brought her to see me in jail, Lula believed me when I told her that her daddy did it. Broke her heart. She couldn’t believe her daddy would try to kill her. That man always treated her like the sun rose and set on her. And then Lula started rememberin’ bits and pieces she’d forgotten. She recalled another man was there, one who was furious to find out he was her real daddy.”

“But she didn’t remember who the man was.”

“No. That drowning took some of her common sense, you know what I mean? So she bought it hook, line, and sinker when I told her back in July that Todd Bingham was her daddy.”

For a split second, I felt struck dumb by the notion of Bingham being Lula’s father—had he knowingly slept with his own daughter?—but then I processed the rest of what Louise had said. “But he’s not her father. You just didn’t want her to be with him. Why?”

“I tried to hook up with that man years ago, but he wasn’t interested,” she spat. “I wasn’t about to let him have my daughter. And I’m sure as hell not going to let him lay claim to my grandchild. Thank God Lula isn’t too smart with the logistics of determinin’ due dates.”

I couldn’t believe she was confessing all of this to me. “Who is Lula’s father?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she cackled. “Walter was a simple man and believed he was her daddy. I think he might have realized the truth, but he loved her too much to care. He put up with me sleepin’ around just to keep that girl. He was weak.”

“He was a father.”

“And it got him killed in the end.”

“Her biological father didn’t know?”

“No. I purposely kept it from him, plannin’ to use it against him at some point, but I’m not a patient woman. I’d been needlin’ ’im, and he figured it out. His solution was to get rid of the evidence of his indiscretion. He was more worried that people would know I’d slept with him than the fact he had another kid.”

Which meant he had at least two.

“Louise,” I said in what I hoped was an authoritative tone. “Who is Lula’s father?”

She scoffed. “I’ve kept his secret for twenty years, and I sure as hell ain’t tellin’ you.”

Not that she needed to. She’d made it clear enough.

“But you have other plans to tell,” I said. “When you get out.”

“Let’s just say I’ve learned patience, and I’m ready to collect what’s mine.” Then she hung up.

I stared at the phone in amazement and horror. Louise Baker was using her daughter as a pawn, at the expense of her happiness and her life.

Sure, I had more information, but I felt even more helpless to find Lula.

Then I realized I knew someone who wasn’t constrained by the law, someone who’d be even more motivated to find Lula given the information I’d gained.

I dialed the number I’d memorized, and when he answered, I said, “Bingham. We need to talk. Now.”

Chapter Thirty-One

He didn’t waste any time getting to the tavern. He told me he could be there in twenty minutes and to meet him out back. I didn’t bother asking Ruth if I could take a break. We weren’t very busy, which meant I wouldn’t be missed for a few minutes, so I slipped out the back door. A truck was parked opposite it, and it didn’t surprise me to see Bingham behind the driver’s wheel. Alone. Not allowing myself time to think of all the ways this might be a bad idea, I hurried over and got into the passenger seat.

“This better be important,” he said with a growl, “or you might not have the opportunity to call me again.”

“It’s more important than you know.” I’d spent the past twenty minutes trying to figure out where to start, and I’d decided I’d do best to start with what meant the most to him. “I know how Louise Baker got Lula to break up with you.”

His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You got me to come runnin’ over here to discuss my damn love life?”

His anger rattled me in the close quarters of the truck cab, but I pressed on, deciding to cut to the chase. “Lula’s pregnant. I’m pretty sure the baby’s yours. Her mother somehow convinced her it wasn’t—and also that you’re her biological father.”

“What the fuck?” he shouted, turning to me in disbelief.

I turned to fully face him. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you strike me as a rip-off-the-Band-Aid kind of guy, and I think I might know where Lula and Greta are being kept.”

He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his tone was calmer. “Go on.”

“First, I need to know if you love her.”

“Back to my damn love life?” he snapped. “It’s none of your fuckin’ business!”

“Like I said, I’d bet good money she’s pregnant with your baby. I doubt you’d planned on having kids, but it’s too late to change anyone’s mind about this baby. She’s six months along, so it will be coming. I need to know that you’re goin’ in to save and protect Lula. Not to retaliate for some perceived wrong.”

“Perceived wrong?”

“Those packages we discussed. You told me you wouldn’t hold it against her because her mother put her up to it. Did you mean it?”

His jaw clenched and unclenched. “I could lie and tell you what you want to hear.”

“And that’s why I had to see you in person, to look into your eyes as you tell me. Anything you say will stay right here in the cab of this truck, because I know how dangerous it is for you to admit you care about someone. She’d become your greatest weakness. The last thing I want to do is save her now only to put her and the baby at greater risk later.”

His face remained expressionless, giving nothing away. “You say that as though you have experience in the criminal world.”

“I do. I have a friend who’s pregnant with a crime boss’s baby. I know how dangerous this is for both of you. So I need to know, Bingham. Do you love her? Will you try to protect her and her baby? Your baby?”

His gaze held mine, and I was surprised at the flicker of emotion in his eyes when I mentioned his baby. “Yes.” Then his face turned into a scary mask of rage. “Now tell me where she is.”

I was thankful that rage wasn’t directed at me. “I think they’re on Shane Jones’s property outside Ewing. Only his real name might be Charlie. It’s rural and a perfect place to hold someone against their will. We got the address from a—”

The corner of his eye twitched. “I don’t need to know the details of how you got the information, Ms. Moore. Only the address. Can you manage to give it to me without a story?”

I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him. “The GPS will lead you to it. The drive is blocked with a padlocked gate.”