“Okay,” he finally said, “but then we need to talk.”

“I can’t discuss this now, Wyatt,” I said, choking up. “Just put her on the line.”

There was a rustle of distorted voices. Then Lula said into the phone, “Carly?”

I leaned my forehead against Marco’s shoulder, fighting the urge to break down. He wrapped an arm around my back and rested his chin on my head.

Sucking in a breath, I sat up. I’d made it this far. I wasn’t going to let myself fall apart yet. “Hey, Lula. You have no idea how happy I am to know you’re okay.”

“Max said I couldn’t tell anyone where I was.”

“He was trying to protect you,” I said in an even voice. “But I spoke to your momma this afternoon, and I found out that she lied to you about your father.”

“You talked to Momma? She told you?”

“She didn’t totally confess, but she admitted to lying to you about Bingham being your father.”

“I know,” she said in a tiny voice. “Turns out she lied about a lot of things.”

“She also lied when she told you that Mobley is the baby’s father. You should have the baby tested, but I’m pretty certain Bingham is the father. Your mother confirmed it.”

She started crying. “He is? But the baby…”

“He wants it, Lula, and he wants you. You should see the lengths he went to trying to find and protect you.”

She continued to cry.

“He wants you, Lula. The question is do you want him?” I said, lowering my voice. My vision was turning hazy and it was difficult to focus. But this was important, so I poured all of my remaining energy into finishing our conversation. “He’s a criminal. A hardened one at that. As your friend, I feel like I need to tell you it’s a bad idea, yet I know the heart wants what the heart wants. What does your heart want?”

She was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I want Todd.”

“Okay,” I said, and it sounded like I was speaking in a well. “I’m gonna give the phone to Bingham so you two can work out the logistics of getting together.”

“Carly?” she called out as I pulled the phone away from my ear.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” I said, handing the phone to Marco. What little energy I’d mustered to get through the call left me, and I slumped against him.

“Bingham!” he shouted as he wrapped an arm around me. “Lula wants to talk to you.”

Bingham strode over with a dark look, but his expression softened at the sight of me.

“Lula’s on the phone,” I said as my vision faded.

“Carly?” Marco asked, sounding panicked. “Talk to me.”

But everything went black.

Chapter Thirty-Four

I woke up screaming, but Marco was at my side, gathering me into his arms, stroking my hair and soothing my fears. “You’re safe. I swear you’re safe.”

I fell asleep again, and the next time I woke, my entire body was shuddering. Marco was still holding me tight.

“We should take her to the hospital,” he said in a wavering voice.

“No,” another man said. “It’s part of the detox. They can’t do anything other than give her a saline IV, which we’re already doin’.”

“You’re only sayin’ that to save his ass,” Marco sneered.

“No hospital.”

I pried my eyes open to stare up at him. “No hospital, Marco.” Then I tried to crack a smile. “I don’t have insurance.”

“Jesus, Carly. That’s the least of my concerns.”

“Easy for you to say,” I teased. “You’re not the one paying.”

I fell asleep again, and when I woke up, I was drenched in sweat. Sunlight filtered into the room. I felt more lucid this time, and I recognized my surroundings: they’d transported me to Marco’s bedroom. He was asleep in an armchair next to the bed, his leg propped up on a kitchen chair. An IV pole stood next to the bed, the tube running to my hand.

“Marco,” I said, but my mouth was dry, and it came out garbled.

He heard me anyway, and the sleep left his eyes in an instant as he sat upright. “You’re awake.”

“Either that, or I’m dead and I didn’t make it to the Pearly Gates.”

Relief filled his eyes, bringing his good humor with it. “I’ll have you know that a fair number of women have claimed to meet God on that bed.”

I closed my eyes and groaned. “Then I hope you put some antibiotics in that IV.”

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, sitting forward on his chair.

“A glass of water?”

“Comin’ right up.” He walked out of the room, using one crutch, and returned a couple of minutes later with a glass of ice water that sloshed with every step.

He sat on the side of the bed and set the water on the nightstand. Then he lifted me to a sitting position, propped up some pillows behind me, and handed me the glass.

I took a drink, then glanced down and realized I was wearing one of his T-shirts.

“Yours was wet and covered in dirt. This is the second one you’ve worn since you got here,” he said unapologetically.

“What time is it?”

He hesitated. “Around two.” Then he added, “You’ve been out for nearly two days. It’s Tuesday afternoon.”

“Hank!”

“He thinks that you’re stayin’ with Ruth while Franklin’s out of town.”

I nodded. That was probably for the best. “What happened?”

“Lula and Bingham met in the Laundromat parking lot, and I hear she left with him. Before he went to meet her, he had some of his men bring us to my house. I wanted to take you to the hospital, but Bingham said his medic could counteract the drug’s side effects better than any hospital. His guy stayed the entire first night and has been out multiple times to keep an eye on you. We’ve gotten you up a few times to pee, but other than that you’ve slept.”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“The medic said you probably wouldn’t.”

Then a new horror hit me. “Did I talk while I was out of it?”

“Only gibberish,” he said. “Nothin’ that made sense.”

It scared me that I’d been so vulnerable—even more so because I remembered so little of it. “What did Charlie/Shane Jones give me?”

“Something Mobley and the others brought in from Atlanta. A bad batch. Jones gave some to Greta, and while she suffered, she said it was much milder than your reaction. Bingham thinks you were lucky to survive.” Then he added, “It’s the same drug that killed Hank’s daughter.”

“I thought it was supposed to make you high. All it did was make me feel like I was coming down with the flu.”

“Like I said, bad batch.”

“What happened with Jones?” I asked.

He released a bitter laugh. “Bingham enacts his own justice, and the sheriff’s department is none the wiser.”