A Cry in the Dark: Carly Moore Series

by Denise Grover Swank

  My mother had died in a car accident. She’d run off the road and hit a tree. Her body had been thrown from the car. I hadn’t seen the accident—either in person or in photos—but panic coursed through my veins, and I started to cry. “Wyatt!”

  “Carly?” he called back.

  I pressed a hand to my chest and slumped over my knees as relief swamped my head, making me dizzy.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, realizing it was a stupid question. His truck had crashed into a tree, which had uprooted on impact and was starting to fall over from the weight of the truck.

  “I’m fine” was his muffled response. “My truck door won’t open, and I can’t get my seatbelt undone. If I can cut the seatbelt, I can get out the other side.”

  “Give me a second.” I stared at the embankment, wondering if I’d be able to get back up if I crawled down. The snow from the day before had melted, but it looked wet and muddy in places. There were a bunch of scrub trees—although a six- or seven-foot-wide path had been cleared out by Wyatt’s truck—but we could use the small trees on the sides to pull ourselves back up. Assuming he was fit enough to make the climb. What if he’d just told me he was fine so I didn’t freak out?

  I popped Ruth’s trunk and searched around until I found a tire iron along with some yellow nylon rope, but there weren’t any blades or sharp objects. Nothing I could use to cut his seatbelt. Then I remembered my purse was inside the cab of his truck. I had a small pair of scissors inside it. Having a rescue plan and the tools I needed to carry it out helped subdue the worst of my terror.

  The truck released a metallic groan.

  “Wyatt?” I yelled in panic.

  “What the hell’s takin’ you so long?” he shouted up at me.

  “What do you expect me to do?” I called back even as I was tying the rope to a tree about six feet to the right side of his path.

  “Go for help!”

  “You expect me to run to town and just leave you here?” I pulled hard on the rope to test the knots. It held. “It would be a good twenty minutes before anyone showed up to help!”

  “I was alone before you showed up,” he said, sounding pissed, but I suspected he wasn’t mad at me. He was pissed to be in this situation.

  “Yeah, and look how well that’s working for you.”

  Holding the tire iron in my left hand, I tossed the end of the rope down the hill and then scooted down on my butt, grunting when a stump poked me in the leg, my jeans getting muddy in the process.

  When I reached the truck, I balanced precariously on the hill as I reached for the passenger door. The front end of the truck was about six feet above the ground, which put the door handle around the height of my head given the grade of the incline. I unlatched the handle and opened the door enough to get my shoulder wedged into the opening, then pushed it open even more.

  The truck groaned and shifted closer to me.

  “Carly, back up!” Wyatt shouted, sounding panicked. “What the hell are you doin’ down here?” He had a cut on his forehead and blood had trickled down the side of his cheek. His mouth quirked as he took in the sight of the tire iron. “Here to finish me off?”

  “Shut up. I’m rescuing you,” I said, scanning the floor for my purse. “I can see how it might be confusing to you, what with your caveman attitude and all.”

  “Who said I had a caveman attitude?”

  He had a point. Acting like an ass and offering to carry my suitcase didn’t exactly qualify him for caveman status. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have made the presumption.”

  “Stop talkin’ nonsense and get away from this truck. If you try to climb inside, it could fall and smash you or take you with me.”

  I glanced down and realized there was plenty more hill for the truck to fall down, with a bed of large rocks and boulders at the bottom of the thirty-foot deep ravine. I briefly wondered if I should go for help after all, but then the truck groaned again and slid a couple of inches down the length of the tree, which was bowing dangerously close to uprooting completely or snapping off from the weight of the truck.

  I jumped back, losing my balance and nearly tumbling down the slick hill.

  My panic began to resurface, but I took a deep breath to center myself. I could do this. I had to do this.

  “Carly. Get out of here,” he pleaded, and I was surprised that he sounded genuinely concerned.

  “Look,” I said, trying to think this through. “My purse is in the truck and I have a pair of scissors in there. If I can reach them, then you can cut yourself out.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Fine,” he said. “I can try it, but if the truck starts to move, then you get the hell away from it and go get help.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Do you see my purse?”

  “It’s at my feet,” he said, “but I can’t reach it. I already tried once before you got here.”

  “Maybe you can grab the purse with the tire iron. You can loop the handle with the end.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Yeah. It’s worth a shot, but you’re going to have to throw it to me. Don’t touch the truck.”

  I considered tossing the crowbar to him from where I stood, but I didn’t have the best aim, and I was worried my adrenaline would make me heave it too hard and smash him in the face. So I sidled closer to the open door. At least the floorboard was lower now, the seats about shoulder-level to me.

  “You’re too close, Carly,” he said, looking anxious. “Get back.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll get it to you if I’m this far away, and I only have one shot.”

  He held up a hand. “Just be careful. It’s not worth me gettin’ out of here if the truck smashes you in the process.”

  I shot him a grin, but it was wobbly. “Ah, see I knew you liked me after all.”

  Guilt filled his eyes. “Carly…”

  “Let’s discuss it when I get you out of here.” I lifted the tire iron. “You ready?”

  “When you toss it, back the hell up in case this thing comes crashin’ down.”

  “Okay.”

  Whispering a quick prayer, I heaved the crowbar toward him. As soon as it was free from my grasp, I scrambled backward, watching to make sure he caught it. But just as his hand wrapped around it, I promptly lost my footing and hit a patch of mud. With nothing to hold on to, I started sliding down the hill.

  “Carly!” Wyatt shouted.

  I’d only descended about five feet before I grabbed a scrub tree. The trunk bent but held my weight. I took a deep breath, then called out, “I’m fine!”

  “Can you get back up?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t slide very far.” I took another deep breath to slow my racing heart. “Did you get my purse?”

  “I’m not moving a muscle until I’m certain you’re out of the way. I’m not going to risk taking you with me if the truck falls.”

  I took a moment to reassure myself I was fine, then started pulling myself up the hill, one tree at a time, until I was even with the truck. Sure enough, Wyatt was pretty much in the same position he’d been in when I’d fallen down.

  “Shit, Carly,” he said. “What’re you doin’? Get up to the road!”

  “Let’s get something clear, Wyatt Drummond. I don’t take kindly to orders.”

  He gave me a cockeyed grin. “Hell, I figured that out the night I met you.”

  “Then you know I’m not going up that hill until you do, right?”

  “What if I add a please?”

  “I’m going to stay right over here and watch your progress.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue, but I was out of harm’s way, so instead he slowly lowered the tire iron and started reaching it toward the floorboard and fishing around. After several attempts, he lifted the metal rod and dragged my purse up with it.

  Once he had the purse next to him, he tossed the tire iron through the passenger door opening. It landed on the ground in front of me.

  After Wyatt found the scissors, he zipped the bag
back up and tossed it out to me too. I scooped it up and heaved it up the hill. It landed in a patch of mud, but at least the important contents would be safe enough.

  He started cutting through the thick strap over his chest. “Why are you carryin’ around a pair of sharp scissors in your bag, anyway?” he asked.

  “You really want to know?”

  “I didn’t ask to make conversation.”

  “Protection.”

  He didn’t respond, instead finishing his hack job. As soon as he made the final cut through the thick fabric, his body fell forward into the steering wheel and dashboard, but he stretched out his arms and braced himself.

  The truck groaned and dipped forward several more inches.

  “Wyatt!” I screamed in terror. I couldn’t watch him die. I refused to watch him die. I was getting him out of that truck.

  “I’m okay,” he said in a soothing voice, and I found it odd that he was reassuring me even though he was the one in danger. “It’s the next part that’s tricky.” He lifted his feet against the dashboard, then scooted across the cab until he reached the passenger door. “Carly, climb up a little higher.”

  I grabbed the rope I’d tied to the tree up above and pulled myself up several feet, figuring it was faster than using the trees. “What’s your plan?”

  “I’m gonna jump.” He made a move to dive out, but just as he started to leap from the truck, it creaked and then pitched hard toward the passenger side.

  I screamed, but Wyatt somehow managed to remain inside the truck as it slid down the hill again, barely missing me, and fell another fifteen feet. The passenger side smashed into two pine trees with a terrifying crunch.

  Panic hit me full force. “Wyatt!”

  “I’m okay,” he called back, his voice muffled. The smashed-in driver’s door was angled up toward me, the window still up and intact. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I wanted to take a minute to recover, but I needed to get him out of there. Grabbing the rope, I let gravity pull me down the hill, the rope burning my palms as I pulled myself to a halt to grab the tire iron. “I’m coming!”

  “Stay where you are!” he shouted, his voice dampened inside the closed-up cab. “If you get near this thing, it might fall again.”

  I took a good look at the position of the truck, and I judged that it likely wasn’t going anywhere. At least not yet. “I told you I don’t take orders, Wyatt.”

  “Dammit, Carly!”

  Thankfully, the rope extended all the way down to the truck, so I continued my descent, trying to come up with a plan as I went. The driver’s side window was too high for me to reach, and even if I smashed it he would have to climb up, something that could jar the truck too much. I could only think of one way to get him out—climb into the truck bed and smash in the back window. It seemed safest to keep all the weight in the truck balanced in the middle, so instead of crawling in by the bumper, I climbed up the back tire and hiked my leg over the side into the truck bed.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” he shouted through the intact back window.

  “Getting you out of there.” I lifted my other leg over the side and spread my feet apart to keep my balance on the sloping bed. Holding the tire iron like a bat, I said, “Cover your head.”

  He stared at me in disbelief but scooted to the passenger side, which wasn’t hard, since the truck was listing that way. At least the trees had managed to close the door.

  “Hit it on the driver’s side,” he said.

  I nodded as he pulled his jacket over his head, and then I swung hard. The impact reverberated up my arm into my shoulder, but I’d only cracked the glass, so I swung again, shattering it this time. The pieces on the driver’s side exploded into the cab, but half the window remained in place, a spiderweb of cracks spread throughout.

  Wyatt sat up and lowered his jacket.

  “Back up,” he said, scooting to the middle of the seat.

  I did as he said, giving him about three feet. He lifted his elbow and smashed out the rest of the window, then slipped off his coat and laid it over the bottom edge. Diving headfirst out of the window, he landed in a heap in front of me.

  One of the trees began to crack. The truck pitched a few feet to the passenger side.

  I started to fall over toward the trees, but Wyatt grabbed my arm as he got to his feet, pulling me to the other side, the one closer to the road above us. He pushed me up and onto the edge. “Jump!”

  I looked down at the ground, which was about six feet below the nearly sideways truck.

  The tree cracked again, and the truck jerked, tilting to the side even more. We didn’t have long.

  Terrified out of my mind, I let him launch us off the truck toward the ground.

  The tree trunk made a loud snapping sound.

  Wyatt rolled me over midair so that his back hit the ground with a hard thud and I landed on top of him.

  The truck let out a loud, yawing groan, then fell tail-bed-first, rolling end over end several times until it landed on its now smashed-in roof on top of the rock bed.

  I stared down at it in shock. “You could have been in there,” I gasped.

  He lifted his head to stare down at the crash. “And you could have been trapped underneath,” he said, his voice tight. “What were you thinkin’?”

  “I was thinking that you could be in that truck right now,” I answered, my temper rising.

  Wyatt rested his head back on the ground and stared up at the sky.

  We’d almost died.

  Lightheaded, I laid my cheek on his chest, waiting for the dizziness to pass as I listened to his wildly beating heart. At least he was shaken up too.

  After a few seconds, he shifted slightly, and I realized I was lying on top of Wyatt Drummond, his arm draped across my back. I found far too much comfort in his embrace, yet I couldn’t seem to find the gumption to move out of it.

  “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  “You’re the one who wrecked his truck.”

  “I didn’t wreck it,” he grunted. “I was run off the road.”

  “By the black truck?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you know who was in it?”

  “No.”

  “Did you get a license plate number?”

  “Nope.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I could tell from the way he was holding me that most of his suspicions had withered away. Which meant he was likely trying to protect me. I lifted up to look him in the eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  He made a face. “Mostly my pride.”

  The cut on his forehead suggested otherwise.

  I knew I should move off him, but my arms and legs started shaking and there was no way I’d make it up that hill.

  He sat up and shifted me so that I was sitting on his lap, my legs draped to one side. His arm tightened around me, pulling me to his chest. “Your adrenaline is crashing. Give it a minute and it’ll pass.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder, trying to pull myself together, but I had a perfect view of the truck crashed at the bottom of the ravine.

  “They tried to kill you,” I said. “Why?”

  “They didn’t want me to know who they are?” he said. “They’re worried I know something and tried to permanently shut me up? They don’t like Drummonds? Or maybe they were just good ol’ boys who were pissed I was riding their ass. The possibilities are endless.”

  He had a point, but the fact that they had been following me since Greeneville ruled out his last suggestion. Had they been following Hank because they thought he knew where the stash was hidden? Or maybe they’d suspected I knew more than I was letting on? But I couldn’t ignore that we’d been in Wyatt’s truck. What if they’d thought they were following him?

  “Why’d you do it?” he asked quietly.

  “Do what?” I asked defensively. What was he accusing me of now?

  “Risk your life to help me.”

  How could he a
sk me that? But at least this question had an easy answer—one I could give him without any lies or equivocation. The muscles in my back relaxed. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

  “You could have been killed, Carly,” he said emphatically.

  “And you could have too. You were lucky you only lost your coat.”

  “Don’t forget my pride,” he said in a teasing tone.

  We were silent, lost in our own thoughts. I knew I needed to get off his lap, but for some reason I felt less scared down on the side of the hill with Wyatt. Which was ridiculous given we were looking down at his totaled truck. “I have to get to the Dollar General before I go to work.”

  His brow shot up. “What?”

  “Hank doesn’t have any food, and he said the only place to shop in Drum is the Dollar General.”

  “Why are you helpin’ him?” he asked with narrowed eyes. “I know for a fact there’s no money in his house. Do you know differently?”

  I groaned. “Are we back to that? Is that the rumor in town? That Hank has a buried treasure somewhere and I’m out to get it? I’ve already been accused of being after his ‘fortune’ once today. I don’t need it from you after saving your life.”

  I started to get up, but he pulled me back down. “Carly. Wait.”

  “What do you want to hear, Wyatt? That I’m out to rob him blind?”

  “You say you’re helpin’ him because of Seth, but you have to understand that this is above and beyond what a normal person would do. The whole town’s gonna be talkin’ about it.”

  “Ruth and Franklin let me stay with them. Are you worried about them too?”

  “That’s different. People know Ruth and Tater can take care of themselves, but some of them are gonna think you’re out to scam Hank and that you killed Seth to make it happen.”

  “And the others will think I killed Seth over drugs?” I asked with raised eyebrows. “I can’t help what people think. Plus, I won’t be here much longer. Let ’em talk. It likely means more customers for Max.”

  He frowned. “But I suspect not more tips for you.”

  I flashed him a smile. “I’m hopin’ to win them over with my charming personality.”