Wyatt grimaced. “An old man who doesn’t cook livin’ with a teenage boy…I suspect he’d been living like that for a while.” He smiled at me. “Thanks for cookin’ him dinner. He raved about it when I showed up. I had a plate, and he was right.”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Maybe so, but I’m not sure he should be eating pasta. Turns out I don’t know anything about the proper diet for a diabetic. I plan on going to the library to look it up, then I’ll figure out a way to sneak it in. Make it so he’s eating healthy but not realizing it.”

His expression turned guarded. “You’re getting attached to him.”

“Well, of course I am,” I said, insulted and hurt. “After all of this, you still think I’m here to hurt him?”

“No, Carly, I’m past that.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared up at him.

“It’s just that wanting to cook the right food for him goes beyond exchanging care for room and board.” He shrugged. “Although judging from the groceries in the fridge and cabinets, you’re providing the board too.”

“He has to eat,” I said in defense. “And he only had forty-three dollars in his wallet.” Which I didn’t even have, but I didn’t see the point of reminding him of my financial situation.

“Most people around here qualify for food stamps,” he said. “And processed food is cheapest, not to mention there’s not a lot of fresh food and vegetables available in the winter.”

“Oh.”

He watched me for a second, then lowered his voice. “I wish you’d told me about Dwight Henderson sooner.” He lifted a hand before I had a chance to protest. “I understand why you didn’t, but I want you to trust me, Carly. I plan to earn your trust.”

“I shouldn’t be here long enough for that to be necessary.” It was true, so why did I feel like a bitch for saying it?

Some emotion passed over his face, something that looked a lot like hurt. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead he nodded. “I’ll be on the sofa if you need me.”

Then he walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Wyatt had shoved the clutter that had previously been strewn all over the floor to one side. I knew the sheriff’s department must have come here to search Seth’s things, but for all I knew, the deputy who’d murdered him had shown up and searched under the guise of doing his job. I took a moment to scan the room.

The walls were covered in pencil drawings on loose-leaf notebook paper, which I supposed was more readily available in Drum than sketch paper. The drawings were mostly of wildlife, but a few were of people. Several of Hank, a few of a woman, and one of Wyatt.

Presuming these were Seth’s, they were very, very good. He obviously had been uber talented, and it made me sick to think he’d never be able to explore it. To attend art school, or learn how to paint.

I moved closer to the drawing of Wyatt. While Seth had been better with animals, he’d had a way of drawing eyes that made them feel like windows to the soul. The woman’s eyes were mostly confused and cloudy. Hank’s were stoic and strong. But Wyatt’s…it took me a moment to decide what emotions they conveyed. Gentleness and strength. What was Wyatt’s role in the boy’s life? Did he know more about what had happened to Seth than he was letting on? Would he help me find justice for him?

I started searching through Seth’s bedside table and his dresser, looking for anything that could help me figure out what Seth had found and where he’d hidden it. My biggest dilemma was that I had no idea what I was looking for, and I couldn’t help wondering how much of the mess was Seth’s and how much was from the sheriff’s deputies.

I sat on the floor and started to sift through the stuff I’d had to carefully step over just to make my way into the room. There were quite a few dirty clothes, and I searched pockets until I found a folded piece of paper tucked in the deep corner of an old pair of jeans. I pulled it out and carefully opened it, revealing a handwritten website address: eyecam.com

My heart started racing. Was this the site Seth had used to store the camera footage?

This felt huge, but I had no idea what to do with it. Even if I’d found the access code, I still didn’t have the login information. My best bet was to keep searching his things for any clues.

I spent the next half hour going through the piles on the floor, folding the clothes and sorting the other items into smaller piles. A search of the closet didn’t reveal anything else, and the walls in the closet seemed secure, so I doubted Seth had hidden a stash of drugs or a paper with his login info in some hidden hidey-hole.

Frustrated and exhausted, I changed into pajamas and lay down in bed, planning what to do next. I could check outside tomorrow. Maybe I’d find something in the detached garage. Feeling better that I had a plan even though I knew it was likely a long shot, I turned off the light hoping I fell asleep quickly. I needed my rest.

I had a lot of investigating to do tomorrow.

Chapter Twenty-One

I woke to the sound of breaking glass.

At first the sound insinuated itself into my dream—Jake started smashing the crystal we’d gotten for wedding gifts with a golf club. But a grunt shook me free of sleep. I sat up in bed abruptly. The room was completely dark except for the moonlight streaming through the partially obscured window.

Partially obscured because someone was climbing through it.

By the time I was awake enough to react, the intruder had already climbed inside.

Running purely on instinct and adrenaline, I grabbed the table lamp and smashed it on the intruder’s head.

He seemed momentarily dazed, so I lunged toward the end of the bed where I’d left my purse next to my suitcase.

I didn’t make it. The intruder leapt for me, knocking me onto the floor and landing on top of me.

“Wyatt!” I screamed. “Wyatt!”

The intruder rolled me over onto my back and straddled my chest as he hit my cheek with an open hand. A flash of pain followed, but I realized that he’d held back. I took small comfort in the fact that he wore a ski mask. Maybe he didn’t plan on killing me after all. The fact that he hadn’t tried to knock me out meant he needed me coherent.

He slapped a hand over my mouth and nose and pressed hard. “Shut up or I’ll smother you to death.”

I recognized the voice. This was one of the men who had killed Seth.

Terror snaked through my head and I saw spots. Instinct told me to fight, but he was sitting on my prone body, in the few feet between the bed and the wall. Even if I tried to throw him off, there was nowhere to throw him off to.

I went totally still, and the masked man said, “Good girl. Follow my instructions and I’ll let you live. If you scream, I’ll make it painful for you. Do you understand?”

I slowly nodded, desperate to take in a breath. My pulse pounded in my head.

My purse was only about a foot to the left of my head, next to the wall. If I could reach the gun…

He removed his hand, and I gulped in air but remained silent.

“Good.” He lifted his weight off me and grabbed my arm, pulling me to my knees as he stood. “Now you’re gonna bring me to the stash.”