He wrapped a hand around his still sheathed knife handle. “I could force him to leave.”

Bingham wasn’t a guy to be tangled with, and I couldn’t risk Max or Tiny getting hurt or killed on my account. “He’d just track me down later.”

“Wyatt can handle him,” Max said, although it looked like it pained him to admit it.

“I’d just be putting off the inevitable.” And risking the lives of the people I’d begun to care about. I gave Max a reassuring smile. “I can do this.”

“Do I need to remind you about Dwight?”

The crowd roared at the TV, half of the men groaning while the others cheered.

“Dwight was an impulsive hothead,” I said, leaning closer so he could hear me. “Bingham loves control too much to do anything in here.”

Max leveled his gaze on me. “And how do you know Bingham’s temperament? He wasn’t exactly in control on Monday night.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve had a run-in with him outside of here, haven’t you?”

“I’m okay, Max.”

“You don’t have to go over there, Carly,” Max pleaded. “I’ve got Carson workin’ on it.”

My mouth dropped open. “What?”

Max leaned into my ear. “I told you I had an ace up my sleeve. My father still has pull in the county.”

Although I knew Max wanted to help, I wouldn’t be surprised if his father was partially behind my person-of-interest status. “While I appreciate the offer, I still need to talk to him.”

Before I could change my mind, I strode over to Bingham’s table.

He was as cocky as the only rooster in a henhouse as I approached him. He saw this exercise in intimidation as a win.

“Have a seat, Carly Moore,” he said, gesturing to the empty chair at the table.

“We’re having this conversation here?” I asked, slightly incredulous.

The crowd released a string of curses and cheers.

“That’s what happens when you meet in a public place. You have witnesses,” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

I wanted to argue but decided not to waste my breath. I sat in the open chair directly across from him. Gesturing toward his men, both of whom I recognized from Monday night, I said in a firm voice, “I want them to leave the table.”

Bingham gave me a cold stare. “We don’t have any secrets.”

“So fill them in later. You don’t see me bringin’ my friends over to hold my damn hand,” I taunted. It might be a stupid move, but I could tell he was using his men’s presence as an intimidation tactic.

Bingham looked at me for what felt like ten minutes but was probably only ten seconds. Finally, he flicked his hand. “Go watch the game.”

One of the men got up and walked away without complaint, but the other guy gave me a look that suggested he’d shoot me on the spot if he could get away with it.

“Wilson,” Bingham snapped, and the man got up, throwing his chair back several inches in a fit of temper before he stomped off.

I worried Max or Tiny would rush over to my defense, but Bingham had positioned my chair so that my back was to the bar, which I was certain was intentional.

“I’ve been doin’ some investigatin’,” Bingham said with a satisfied smirk. “I think I know who the other two guys might be.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise.

The crowd roared again as he pulled out his phone and tapped his photo app. A crisp image filled the screen. A rough-looking man was sitting on a dirt bike, wearing a white shirt covered in splotches of mud. “Does he look familiar?”

“I didn’t see the men in the parking lot, Bingham,” I said, sounding as exhausted as I suddenly felt.

His eyes turned cruel as his gaze pinned on me. “The time for lyin’ is done,” he snarled. “Your life just might depend on it.”

I swallowed down my fear and waited for him to continue.

Bingham swiped his screen, pulling up a new photo. “What about him?”

He held up the screen for my perusal.

The image was of a man in camo with a rifle slung over his shoulder, holding up the head of a deer carcass by the antlers.

That was Deputy Timothy Spigot. And suddenly I knew where I’d seen him before, aside from the video and the news article.

Bingham’s eyes lit up. “He’s one of them.”

I lifted my gaze to fully meet his. “I didn’t see his face in the parking lot. I meant what I said, I didn’t see any of their faces.”

Anger distorted his features, and it was clear that he was about to chew me out.

I placed a hand on the table and leaned closer. “If you lose your temper,” I said in a no-nonsense tone, “Max will kick you out in a heartbeat, so I suggest you rein it in. Now.”

His face reddened. “I’m gonna need you to cut the shit, Ms. Moore. Did you see this man outside your motel room or not?”

“For the last time, I’m telling you that I didn’t see any of their faces.” Then, before he could erupt, I said, “But I heard them.”

Bingham went still and several long seconds passed before he finally said in a much calmer voice, “But you recognize the last man?”

I nodded, licking my bottom lip. Was this the right thing to do? Could I hold Bingham off for one more day so I could share my information with the state police?

But the cold hard truth was, I was unlikely to be alive tomorrow unless I appeased Todd Bingham, and the time for stringing him along was done.

I nodded. “I saw him the morning of the shooting. He was at the hospital in Greeneville. He was getting on the elevator on Hank’s floor while I was getting off.”

Bingham held up the phone again. “This man? You’re certain?”

Tears stung my eyes. “Yes.”

I knew the full weight of my admission, and it was heavy on my soul.

His grin was the thoroughly pleased look of an asshole who was used to getting everything he wanted. I’d seen it on my father’s face more times than I could count. Bingham wasn’t just pleased I’d caved—he was getting off on my tears too. He’d broken me, and my emotions were feeding his sick need to control everything and everyone.

That thought straightened my backbone. I was done kowtowing to men like my father. Men like Todd Bingham.

Grow a fucking spine, Carly Moore.

And in that moment, I let Caroline Blakely go. What was left of her was flung into the universe, and Charlene Moore took charge.

“I might have seen him in that elevator, but that’s hardly proof of his involvement,” I scoffed, leaning forward as I eyed him with disdain. There was no way I was letting him know about the videos. “He is a sheriff’s deputy. He could have been there on official sheriff business.”

Surprise filled his eyes as he took in my change in countenance. He shook his head. “He was off duty Tuesday morning.”

“Just because he was off duty doesn’t mean he was one of the murderers,” I said.

He released a bitter laugh. “Spoken like an innocent.”

“Turn him in,” I said. “Let the law take care of him.”

He laughed again, this time with more mirth. “Turn him in to the same snake pit he crawled out of? Are you insane?”