“That’s not how trust works around these parts,” he said, his tone a little firmer. “You have to earn trust. It’s not just handed out, carte blanche.”

I could understand the concept, especially given everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. While I could make the argument that I hardly looked like a drug dealer, my connection to Atlanta notwithstanding, maybe I was wrong. Maybe my impression of what a drug dealer looked like had been influenced by Hollywood.

“I’m too tired and upset to fight with you, Wyatt,” I said, looking away so he couldn’t see I was close to tears again.

“So don’t fight with me,” he said softly. “Just let me give you a ride back to Drum. We don’t even have to talk.”

I had absolutely no reason to tell him, not other than my pride and the potential awkwardness of being cooped up with him for the hour-long car ride. I wasn’t worried about my safety. If he’d planned to hurt me, he’d had plenty of opportunity to do so by now. “Fine.”

I expected him to respond to my terse agreement, but he simply stood and waited for me to get up.

“I’m parked out front,” he said, gesturing toward the lobby doors.

We walked toward them, side by side, and I got confused when I didn’t see his tow truck. Instead, he headed toward a beat-up, red pickup truck.

I stopped in my tracks, my heart racing.

Wyatt realized I was no longer walking with him and turned back to face me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

Was my fear so obvious?

I took a step back, fighting to catch my breath. While pickup trucks were popular in this part of the state—I’d seen several of this make and model on the road—how likely was it there’d be two red ones within the city limits of Drum? If Wyatt was somehow involved with Seth’s murder, it would explain why he’d been so pissed to see me in Hank’s hospital room. Maybe he was worried I’d rat him out.

My mind tried to work through the possibility that Wyatt had played some role in last night’s tragedy, but certain pieces didn’t fit. If he’d had something to do with it, why had he shown up at the tavern this morning to verbally accost me? Was it because he’d found my gun and key fob? If so, why hadn’t he confronted me?

“Carly?” Wyatt walked toward me, worry in his eyes. When he reached for my upper arm, I involuntarily recoiled. He lifted his hands up next to his head, fingers splayed as he took a step back. “I’m not gonna touch you.”

To my horror, I started to cry.

His hands dropped to his sides, and he took a step toward me, then stopped.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

How did I answer that? Lie and say no? Tell him yes, and possibly risk my life?

He took another step back, taking my nonanswer as answer enough. “Okay, that’s fair. I’ve been an ass, and now I’m about to take you on remote mountain roads while there’s a murderer out in Drum. You don’t know me from Adam, and I haven’t really gone out of my way to earn your trust.”

I took another look at his truck and realized it didn’t have the long scratch the killers’ truck had sported, and now I felt like a fool.

“I don’t want to go back up there,” I confessed, wiping tears from my cheeks. “Part of me wants to jump on the next bus out of town, no matter where it goes, just to get the hell out of this nightmare.”

He watched me for a moment, mulling over my words, and then finally said, “So why don’t you?”

I expected to hear sarcasm, but he sounded genuinely curious. “What about my car?”

“Look,” he said with a sigh, “we both know it’s likely gonna cost more than it’s worth to fix it. You’d be better off puttin’ the money on a vehicle that actually works.”

But it wasn’t that easy. First, if I left, there’d be a warrant out for my arrest. The last thing I wanted was for my picture to get circulated with the name Charlene Moore attached to it. And what about Ruth? Detective Daniels had said he’d hold her accountable if I didn’t return to Drum. But I couldn’t tell Wyatt any of that. Whether he thought I had something to do with Seth’s death, or if he thought—or feared—I might have seen more than I’d admitted to before Seth died, no need to hand him another log to add to the fire.

Then there was Hank Chalmers. True, I barely knew him, but he’d just lost his grandson, and he needed help. For some reason, I felt compelled to give it to him. Perhaps it was guilt for not saving Seth. Or perhaps it was that I’d liked caring for Violet during her last month, offering the quiet support to help her die with dignity. Hank wasn’t dying, but he deserved to convalesce with dignity too. Besides, surely he needed to get home to plan his grandson’s funeral.

In the end, one point mattered more than the rest. Those men had shot down Seth in cold blood and casually left him to die. There were other wrongs I wasn’t strong enough to right, but I wanted to make Seth’s killers pay.

Still, could I really get in a truck with someone who might be involved in the murder? Part of me wanted to trust Wyatt, but Jake, my lifelong best friend had snowed me. I’d known Wyatt less than twenty-four hours.

I stopped crying and faced him with reluctant resolve. “No,” I finally said. “I have to go back to Drum.”

“Why?” he asked, taking a step closer. To my surprise, his eyes were still warm. Compassionate. He sure didn’t look like a murderer. Maybe I was a fool, but I decided I’d accept the ride. Whatever he might know, I didn’t think he’d hurt Seth. I didn’t think he had it in him. “Maybe I can help you.”

I inhaled deeply. “I don’t need any help other than the ride, but thank you for the offer.”

Sorrow and defeat washed over his face, but he just turned and walked toward his truck, leaving me to follow.

There was no way I could risk telling him anything.

Wyatt was right. He didn’t have my trust, and he was a long way from earning it. I knew the cost of trusting the wrong man.

Chapter Twelve

About fifteen minutes into the drive, Wyatt must have gotten tired of the silence that hung between us, taut as a wire, because he turned on the radio and country music filled the cab. After about ten minutes, he seemed to forget himself and softly sang the refrain of one of the songs, tapping his finger on the steering wheel of the truck. I couldn’t help smiling, but I turned to look out the side window, a mistake given the incline and all of the curves. My stomach started roiling.

At the top of the eleven o’clock hour, a newscaster came on and announced the national news. An update about Congress and something the president had done that had people all up in arms. I’d tuned most of it out until I heard the announcer mention my name. Caroline Blakely, not Carly Moore.

I sucked in a breath and turned to face the radio, hoping I hadn’t missed most of the report.

“…has been missing since August. Caroline was last seen the night before her wedding to Jake Wood, son of Roger Wood, CEO of Wood Technologies. Police have had few leads on the case, and the oil magnate and Caroline’s fiancé have held a press conference announcing a reward for her safe return.”