A Cry in the Dark

by Denise Grover Swank

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t think it was necessary, but a couple of things went through my mind. One, he suspected I knew more than I’d let on, and two, he wasn’t the guy who’d pulled the trigger on Seth, but I had no doubt that he’d killed before.

  He pulled me toward the bedroom door. “Open it.”

  Terror clutched at me as I turned the knob. Was I about to get Wyatt and Hank killed?

  I opened the door and stepped out into the living room, hardly able to breathe. Then a quick scan of the room revealed that both the sofa and the recliner were empty.

  I was torn between relief and terror. Wyatt had been my backup plan. What was this guy going to do when he realized I’d lied to him?

  “How’d you know I had it?” I asked, biding my time.

  “We’ve been watchin’ you. The way you’ve been stickin’ close to Hank. It wasn’t hard to figure out you’d found the stash here on Hank’s land.”

  Shit. I had no idea where it was—or if Seth had even taken it—but I’d told this guy it was here and now I was stuck. Maybe there’d be something I could use against him in the kitchen. A cast-iron skillet or a pan, maybe. Only I’d put away all the dishes, hadn’t I?

  With a viselike grip on my arm, he dragged me across the living room toward the kitchen, careful about bumping into things and making noise.

  “Aren’t you afraid of waking anyone else up?”

  “Drummond’s not here and the old man’s only got one leg. What’s he gonna do?” he sneered in contempt.

  Wyatt wasn’t here? Max had asked Wyatt if he was on call. Had they arranged for him to be called out for a tow truck run? Although, that didn’t explain where Hank had gone. Had Wyatt moved him to his bed?

  It struck me that my chances would be better if I got him outside. I’d have a chance to run, maybe, and I’d also get him away from Hank.

  “I lied,” I said, realizing I was risking his wrath. “It’s not in the kitchen.”

  I wasn’t surprised when he hit me, but I wasn’t prepared for the gut punch that stole my breath. I doubled over, panic seizing me when I couldn’t breathe. I knew I just needed a few seconds to recover, but he was already dragging me to the front door. “You stupid fucking bitch.”

  He hauled me across the porch and shoved me down the steps to the ground. “I ain’t playin’. Where the fuck is it?” He was losing his control, which made him dangerous.

  “I’ll show you,” I gasped out, tears streaming down my face.

  “Get up!” he shouted.

  Climbing to my hands and knees, I tried to get up, but my body was shaking, and I couldn’t get my legs to support my body.

  “Get. Up.” He stood over me and gave me a vicious kick in my ass, sprawling me flat on my face in the cold, wet grass.

  “Seems to me that’s not the way to get her up,” Hank said from the front door, his voice tight with fury.

  I glanced up and saw him leaning his shoulder against the doorway. He had a shotgun in his hands, the barrel pointed at the intruder.

  “Look at you, old man,” the guy sneered. “Hoppin’ along with one leg. Let’s see how you do when I kick that leg out from underneath you.”

  He started back up the porch steps and a loud boom filled the night air, quickly followed by another one.

  The intruder flew backward and landed in the yard on his back, within kicking distance of my feet.

  His eyes were wide with shock, but the holes in his gut confirmed what I already knew.

  He was dead.

  “Carly,” Hank called out. “You okay?”

  I started to violently shake. “We need to call someone.”

  Would Hank be in trouble? Would he get away with self-defense?

  Propping his hand on the side of the house, he hopped out the door toward a metal chair on the porch. “I already called for help.” He motioned for me to join him. “Come away from that piece of trash, girl.”

  Still shaking, I got to my feet and nearly fell.

  I felt the urge to sob, but if I gave myself permission, I knew I’d completely fall apart.

  “Come ’ere,” he said more gently. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  “But the sheriff…” I said. “How can we trust them?”

  “We’re not.” He sat down with a hard plop. “I need you to pull yourself together and go get my other shotgun out of my bedroom. Can you do that?”

  “Who’s comin’, Hank?” I asked, feeling my grasp of control slowly strengthen.

  “Just get the shotgun, girl. Do as I say, now,” he ordered with a tone so gentle it felt like an endearment.

  Nodding, I walked up the steps, feeling like I was having an out-of-body experience.

  “The gun’s on the bed,” he said in an even voice. “Be sure to get your coat before you come back out, but don’t dawdle. I suspect we don’t have much time.”

  “Okay,” I said, wiping my wet cheeks and heading to his room. Sure enough, the gun was on his bed, so I picked it up and carried it out to the front porch, lifting my coat off the coat hook on the way.

  “Grab a chair and sit next to me.”

  His kind voice felt grounding, and I found myself doing as he instructed.

  He shot me a glance. “Put on your coat. You’re in shock. You need to keep warm.”

  Leaning forward, I set the shotgun down on the wooden porch and put on my coat.

  “He was one of ’em, wasn’t he?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I figured. I heard ’im talking. I heard him hit you too. I don’t take to woman beaters.”

  “Who did you call, Hank?”

  “Someone who wants Seth’s murderers as much as we do.”

  I went lightheaded. “Bingham.”

  “I knew you were a smart girl,” he said with pride. “We can’t trust the sheriff, but I ain’t up to cleanin’ up a body. We need someone to take care of it, and I ain’t puttin’ Wyatt in that position. Bingham wants information about who’s tryin’ to gain a foothold in his territory, and the identity of that piece of trash will help ’im.” He waved the muzzle of his gun at the body in the front yard.

  “If he’s helping us, then why are we sitting here with shotguns, Hank?”

  “He thinks you know more than you’re lettin’ on.” He turned to face me. “So this is to keep him from tryin’ to get it.”

  “You don’t want to tell him?”

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s never a good idea to play your hand too early.”

  Fear crept up my spine to the base of my neck. “This is a dangerous game, Hank.”

  “I know, girl, and I would send you inside and try to shield you from it, but you don’t seem the type. Do you want to go inside?”

  I stared into his deep-set, bright eyes. He looked totally sane and not high on pain pills, and he knew this town far better than I did. I suspected part of the reason he’d called Bingham was to protect me, and I wasn’t letting him fight this battle alone. “No. I’m not hiding from this.”

  He gave a slow nod as we heard the rumble of vehicles approaching from down the mountain. Two trucks turned onto Hank’s property and flicked off their headlights as they pulled up in front of the house.

  “Let me take the lead on this,” he said.

  I didn’t answer, just gripped the shotgun with my sweat-slicked hands, wishing I had time to wipe them on my pajama bottoms.

  The two trucks came to a halt, and I noticed that one was a black truck with a crunched front end.

  I gasped. “That’s the truck that ran Wyatt off the road.”

  “It did what, now?” Hank asked.

  “The truck that followed us to Greeneville. When Wyatt chased after it, it ran him off the road.”

  “You let me take care of this,” he said, sitting up straighter and gripping his gun with a tighter grasp.

  If Bingham thought I had more information, and perhaps a connection to his competition in Atlanta, I wasn’t surprised he’d been following me, but w
hy would he have tried to kill Wyatt?

  The truck doors opened, and four men piled out and walked toward us.

  “That’s close enough,” Hank called out when they were about twenty feet away.

  A man laughed, but it was humorless. “You called me, old man.”

  It was Bingham. I resisted the urge to shiver.

  Hank wasn’t intimidated. “We need to work out a deal before I give you what you came for.”

  My gaze darted to the body on the ground then back to Bingham.

  “What sort of deal?” he asked.

  “First of all, you got a question, you come to me and ask me to my face. You don’t send a goon after me and my own. I thought that arrangement had already been set in stone.”

  Bingham held his hands out to his sides. “Seems to me you’re fresh out of kin, Chalmers.”

  “You know damn good and well I claimed Wyatt Drummond as mine. So why is your man runnin’ ’im off the road?”

  Bingham didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he spoke again, there was a little less arrogance in his voice. “That was a misunderstandin’.”

  “A misunderstandin’ that nearly got the boy killed.”

  I hadn’t told Hank that part, but I supposed that getting run off the road in these parts could be considered attempted murder.

  “He should have left my man alone,” Bingham said.

  “And your man shouldn’t have been following me and Carly. He was protectin’ his kin, Bingham. You of all people should understand that.”

  Bingham turned his attention to me and took a step forward.

  Hank shifted in his seat and lifted the barrel of his shotgun, pointing it at Bingham’s chest. Bingham’s men all pointed their weapons at Hank, but he seemed unfazed. “You take one step closer, and I’ll blow a hole in ya just like I did to that guy lyin’ on the ground.”

  “And my men will kill you,” Bingham said evenly. “And her.”

  “I’m trustin’ in your sense of self-preservation to keep that from happenin’.”

  The air hung heavy with tension for a couple of heartbeats before Bingham patted his hand downward. His men lowered their weapons.

  “So what’s the deal, old man?” Bingham asked. “You claim you shot one of the men who killed your grandson. But how can I be certain this man was involved, and what’s to say there was more than one?” He turned his attention to me. “Unless Ms. Moore knows more than she’s let on up to this point.”

  “You can believe me or not,” Hank said, his own gun still raised. “But ask yourself why else this man would be breakin’ into my grandson’s room in the middle of the night.”

  Bingham jutted a foot in front of him and shifted his balance. “I suppose you have a point. But what makes you think he wasn’t the only one?”

  “Because he mentioned that he and his buddies were lookin’ for a stash. They thought Seth had brought it here.”

  “And did he?” Bingham asked.

  “Hell if I know,” Hank told him, “but if he had, I sure as hell wouldn’t be tellin’ you.” His back stiffened. “We had an agreement, Bingham, and you broke it. And I’m not talkin’ about running Wyatt off the road. I’m talkin’ about my grandson.”

  “Hey now,” Bingham said, raising up his hands. “I did no such thing.”

  “That’s not what your man said when he paid me a visit the day Seth died.” When Bingham remained silent, Hank said, “What? Cat got your tongue?”

  “That doesn’t count, Hank,” Bingham said. “The boy came to me.”

  “And I told you that if I conceded my business to you, you would leave me and my kin alone. That was the deal.” Hank’s voice was tight, and he sounded so mad I wondered if he was about to shoot Bingham, consequences be damned.

  Bingham was silent for a moment. “Okay, I can see your point. I should’ve come to you.”

  “Yeah,” Hank said, his voice breaking. “He’d still be alive if you had.”

  Bingham took a step closer, his hands out at his sides again, pleading, “That boy was bound and determined to find out who’d supplied his mother with those drugs. There was no way in hell I could have stopped ’im, and you sure wouldn’t have been able to stand in his way. Hell, you were laid up in the hospital.”

  Hank didn’t answer.

  “I didn’t kill your grandson, Chalmers,” Bingham said, more insistent this time. “You and I want the same thing. We both want to know who did.”

  “And I told you that I’ve got one of them. I’m willin’ to make a trade.”

  “What is it you want to trade for a dead man?” Bingham asked.

  “You get the identity of one of the interlopers, and in exchange, you leave Carly the hell alone.”

  I refrained from gasping, but Bingham didn’t hide his surprise. “Why?”

  “You don’t need to know why. You just need to agree to the terms.”

  Bingham shifted his weight, looking like a wildcat preparing to leap. “Here’s the thing, old man. None of that makes sense. If she doesn’t know anything, then why are you so protective of her? And if she knows who killed the boy, why would you hide it?”

  Hank didn’t answer.

  “Why would you stick your neck out for some woman you don’t even know?” Bingham asked more insistently.

  “This woman held Seth’s hand as he died,” Hank said. “This woman has stepped up to help me more than anyone else in this damn town.”

  “Maybe people would be more willin’ to step up if you didn’t treat ’em like shit,” one of the other men said.

  Bingham shot him a dark look, but when he turned back to Hank, he said, “Gates has got a good point. You turned this town against you after Barb died.”

  Hank remained silent, his entire body tense.

  “I claim Carly Moore as kin,” Hank said. “You recognize and honor that, and I’ll let you take that body and clean up the mess.”

  Bingham released a harsh laugh. “I ain’t your cleanup crew, Chalmers.”

  “Either agree to my terms or get the hell off my land,” Hank said. “And I’ll bury that body and his identity with him.”

  Bingham scrubbed his face. “It’s late, old man. I don’t feel like dickin’ around.”

  “And neither do I. Either agree to my terms or leave,” Hank said. “Those are your options. You have ten seconds to make up your mind.”

  Several seconds ticked by before Bingham said, “Fine, I’ll leave her be, but I want to talk to her.”

  “No,” Hank barked.

  “I just want to talk to her, old man,” he said in frustration. “You would have done the same durin’ your time.” Then he shrugged and added, “How about this? We’ll have the meetin’ in public. Lots of witnesses.”

  “And what if you don’t like what I have to say? Maybe I have some questions of my own,” I called out as I got to my feet.

  Hank didn’t respond, but Bingham released a laugh. “So she speaks after all.”

  “You know damn good and well that I speak,” I snapped. “We’ve met before.”

  Hank shot me a quick glance.

  “That we have,” Bingham said. “Although I’ve come to realize I was under the wrong impression about your identity.”

  “And just who did you think I was?” I asked, hoping he’d let slip something I didn’t already know.

  Bingham was silent for a moment, then laughed again. “You’re something else, woman.” He shifted his attention to Hank. “Is this part of your agreement? Answerin’ her questions?”

  “She’s in the middle of this, Bingham,” Hank said. “She’s entitled to ask.”

  Rubbing rubbed his chin, Bingham seemed to consider it then said, “Here’s what I’ll do. I want ten minutes with the woman—she gets to ask her questions and I’ll ask mine. Once the ten minutes are up, I’ll honor the terms.”

  “Shouldn’t you address me with that part of the deal?” I said. “And how do I know you’ll answer my questions?”

 
“How do I know you’ll answer mine?” he retorted.

  He had a point.

  Hank shot me a long look. “Up to you, girl.”

  The thought of being interrogated by Bingham for ten minutes scared the shit out of me, but I wanted answers. The real question was whether it would be a waste of time.

  “I need a moment to decide,” I said.

  “Take your time.” Sounding amused, he added, “I’ll be more generous with my time than your new kin was with his.”

  I sat back down and turned to the elderly man next to me while keeping the outlaw in my peripheral vision.

  “Hank?” I whispered.

  “There’s pros and cons to this,” Hank said under his breath. “The remaining murderers will see you talkin’ to ’im, and they might think you’re teamin’ up with ’im.”

  “Which is likely what he wants,” I said.

  He gave me a slight nod. “Exactly. But they might not send a second guy if they think you’re under Bingham’s protection.”

  “Or I might draw their wrath.”

  “That too.” A wobbly smile tilted the corners of his mouth, but I could see the exhaustion beyond it. This had been too much for him, though he’d never admit it.

  “But we might draw them out,” I said. “Next time we’ll be ready for them.”

  He nodded slowly. “Next time we will.”

  I stood and faced Bingham. “I’ll agree to your terms.”

  He held his hands wide. “Now we’re talkin’.”

  “But I have one more requirement of my own to add.”

  Bingham laughed in what appeared to be genuine amusement. “Go on.”

  “You will reimburse Wyatt Drummond for all expenses incurred from his accident.”

  “Now, hold on,” Bingham protested.

  “And in exchange, I guarantee that I will give you one piece of information the sheriff doesn’t know.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I dialed up the attitude. “If I told you now, then we wouldn’t need an agreement, would we?”

  Bingham turned to Hank. “Now I see why you like ’er. She’s got backbone.”

  Hank remained silent.