Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2

by Denise Grover Swank

  “There won’t be nothin’ left of you to find. Unless…” A grotesque grin spread across his face. “Unless you tell me where Lula is.”

  “You know I have no idea where she is.”

  He laughed. “Well, all right then. Now I can kill you with a clean conscience.”

  Obviously his conscience was messed up.

  “You’re workin’ for Pete Mobley, aren’t you? Lula was delivering packages for him, but she didn’t contact him after this last run.” I was grasping at straws, trying to goad the truth out of him.

  “You really don’t know shit,” he said as he pulled out the last screw and threw it in my direction.

  I batted it away as I shrank against the back wall. “If I don’t know shit, then tell me how it happened.”

  “She called him and told him she wasn’t makin’ no more deliveries, and on top of that, she was havin’ his baby. Then she left town. He’s a respected man in the community. He couldn’t let the truth get out, so he asked me to take care of it. I suspect he meant to pay her off, but Lula knows more than she should. She’s a liability. Just. Like. You.”

  He got to his feet, sagging against the doorframe. “You like to dig holes so much, I think I’ll have you dig your own.” He pulled a gun out from behind his back and pointed it at my chest. “Come on.”

  He motioned for me to walk past him out the door, but I didn’t trust him. He was going to make me pay for causing him pain.

  “I said come on!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Get the fuck outside.”

  “I’ll go,” I said, hoping I was buying Greta more time. “But first I want to hear where Mobley fits into this situation. Is he the mastermind behind it all?”

  He laughed, filling the doorway. “Mobley in charge? Mobley couldn’t be in charge of a clusterfuck. Hell no, he’s not in charge. Purdy was, and now it’s fallen to me by default.”

  “But it only works with the stuff coming in with the coffins,” I said. “And now that everyone knows…”

  “I’m working on a new site in Chattanooga,” he said. “Lula was deliverin’ samples. They’re about to come on board, but Lula’s a loose thread.”

  “So after you kill me, you’ll hunt her down and kill her?”

  “That’s the plan. Now let’s go.”

  I could let him try to come get me or I could walk over to him. He didn’t seem to want to shoot me in here, or else he’d have already done it, so I decided to make this as difficult as possible for him. “No.”

  An evil grin filled his eyes. “Fine by me.” He aimed the gun right at me, and I knew I’d made the wrong decision as soon as I heard a gunshot and the smell of gunpowder filled the air.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I pressed my back against the wall, waiting for the inevitable pain, but Shane dropped to the ground like a rock, revealing Todd Bingham standing about ten feet outside the doorway. Several men were fanned out around him.

  “Where’s Lula?” he barked, his gun pointed right at my chest.

  I’d gone from one monster to another.

  Something inside me collapsed, like all the air had been let out of a balloon. I wanted to sink to the ground, sobbing in fear and pain, but I wasn’t going to back down. Not with him.

  Somewhere deep down, I found the last of my strength and straightened my back. “I don’t know.”

  “You said she was with Jones!” he shouted. “You said he had her!”

  “He didn’t,” I said, still standing against the wall. “He was lookin’ for her just like us.”

  “Then where the fuck is she?”

  Who else would want her? Her biological father?

  Pure panic raced through my blood. If he had her, I had no doubt that he would kill her.

  Unless…

  Did Max know the truth? Had he told Wyatt? Were they all holed up together, the two brothers stepping up to protect their half-sister and trying to figure out what to do next?

  Suddenly, I knew where Lula was—or at least who she was with—and the truth hurt so badly I doubled over in pain. I leaned to the side and vomited bile.

  Bingham’s voice wavered. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Drugged me with some failed concoction. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck, but I think I know where Lula is. Give me your sat phone and I’ll arrange for you to see her.”

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” he demanded.

  I sank to my knees. “Which part? The drugs or her location?”

  Then I realized I was six feet from a dead man, his blood slowly seeping toward me on the hard ground.

  That man would have killed me if he’d had his way. It was all too much. Still, I forced myself to swallow the sob rising in my throat.

  You can’t fall apart now, Carly. Not in front of him.

  “If you lend me your sat phone and give me some privacy, I can confirm my theory. I think I know where she is.”

  He seemed to give it some consideration, then said, “There’s someone you might want to see first.”

  Oh God. Had he taken someone prisoner to use as motivation? To convince me that I’d better guess right this time?

  “Let him out,” Bingham said with the flick of a hand.

  It was then I noticed an SUV behind him—a dark Explorer—and Marco got out of the car, flying across the ground on his crutches. My first thought was that he was going to slip and fall in the snow.

  “Carly!” he shouted.

  I found the strength to get to my feet, forcing myself to walk over the dead body on the ground. Marco reached me a few feet outside of the shed. He dropped a crutch and engulfed me with one arm, holding me so tightly I could scarcely catch my breath.

  “You’re freezin’,” he said, releasing me to shrug off his jacket. He balanced on one crutch as he wrapped the jacket around my shoulders. Leaning down to look at my face, he said, “Are you hurt?”

  I shook my head, dangerously close to crying. Part of me wanted to collapse into him and sob, but I couldn’t fall apart. Not yet.

  “Where’s Greta?”

  “We dug a hole to escape, but he was coming out of the house, and I was still too unbalanced from the drugs he gave me to run. So I sent her to get help.” I lowered my voice. “Can we trust Bingham?”

  “As much as anyone can, but he won’t hurt Greta, if that’s what you’re worried about. Which way did she go? I’ll have him send someone to go find her.”

  “Through the trees, parallel to the road. I need to use Bingham’s sat phone, Marco. I think I know where Lula is.”

  He searched my face. “Did Jones tell you?”

  “No.”

  I held his gaze, and he must have seen something in my eyes because he simply nodded and led me over to Bingham. “Greta escaped toward the road. We need to send someone to find her. And you need to give Carly your sat phone and let her make her call.”

  The two men had a staring contest for a few seconds, and it ended with Bingham reaching into his jacket pocket. “Ty and Pitch, go look for Greta. Try to be as nonthreatening as possible.”

  Two men jumped into a truck and drove back down the lane, but Bingham still held the phone in his hand. “I’ll listen in.”

  “If I’m right, I’m giving you Lula, Bingham, and asking for nothing in return. All I ask for is some privacy.”

  His eyes darkened. “You have five minutes.”

  I took the phone and he walked away, leaving me with Marco.

  “I need to sit down,” I said, my legs shaky.

  “Let’s go over to my car.”

  I didn’t think I’d make it that far, so I sank down onto the snow-covered ground, a wave of dizziness washing over me.

  “Carly?” Marco cried out, tossing his crutch and sitting next to me.

  “I just need a minute.” But I didn’t have a spare minute. Bingham had only given me five of them. I blinked a couple of times, trying to see the touchpad, but it kept going in and out of focus.

  “I’
m sorry,” I finally said. “I can’t see the numbers. I need you to press the buttons.”

  He took the phone, giving me a worried look.

  “I’ll be fine. Greta warned me that it takes hours to recover.” I told him the number, pleased that I remembered given the state of my head.

  When he finished, he handed me the phone.

  I could hear it ringing. Then Wyatt’s hardened voice cut in. “Wyatt Drummond.”

  “Wyatt, it’s Carly. I know what you and Max are doing, but I need to speak to Lula.”

  He hesitated, then said, “Where are you callin’ me from?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Wyatt,” I said, my voice breaking. Then, lest he think I was calling under duress, I added, “I’m with Marco. Now put Lula on the phone.”

  More silence, and I knew he was torn between lying to me, again, and protecting his newly discovered sister. My heart felt ripped in two.

  “I know she’s with you,” I snapped. “And I understand why, now just put her on the damn phone.”

  “Okay,” he finally said, “but then we need to talk.”

  “I can’t discuss this now, Wyatt,” I said, choking up. “Just put her on the line.”

  There was a rustle of distorted voices. Then Lula said into the phone, “Carly?”

  I leaned my forehead against Marco’s shoulder, fighting the urge to break down. He wrapped an arm around my back and rested his chin on my head.

  Sucking in a breath, I sat up. I’d made it this far. I wasn’t going to let myself fall apart yet. “Hey, Lula. You have no idea how happy I am to know you’re okay.”

  “Max said I couldn’t tell anyone where I was.”

  “He was trying to protect you,” I said in an even voice. “But I spoke to your momma this afternoon, and I found out that she lied to you about your father.”

  “You talked to Momma? She told you?”

  “She didn’t totally confess, but she admitted to lying to you about Bingham being your father.”

  “I know,” she said in a tiny voice. “Turns out she lied about a lot of things.”

  “She also lied when she told you that Mobley is the baby’s father. You should have the baby tested, but I’m pretty certain Bingham is the father. Your mother confirmed it.”

  She started crying. “He is? But the baby…”

  “He wants it, Lula, and he wants you. You should see the lengths he went to trying to find and protect you.”

  She continued to cry.

  “He wants you, Lula. The question is do you want him?” I said, lowering my voice. My vision was turning hazy and it was difficult to focus. But this was important, so I poured all of my remaining energy into finishing our conversation. “He’s a criminal. A hardened one at that. As your friend, I feel like I need to tell you it’s a bad idea, yet I know the heart wants what the heart wants. What does your heart want?”

  She was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I want Todd.”

  “Okay,” I said, and it sounded like I was speaking in a well. “I’m gonna give the phone to Bingham so you two can work out the logistics of getting together.”

  “Carly?” she called out as I pulled the phone away from my ear.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m just glad you’re safe,” I said, handing the phone to Marco. What little energy I’d mustered to get through the call left me, and I slumped against him.

  “Bingham!” he shouted as he wrapped an arm around me. “Lula wants to talk to you.”

  Bingham strode over with a dark look, but his expression softened at the sight of me.

  “Lula’s on the phone,” I said as my vision faded.

  “Carly?” Marco asked, sounding panicked. “Talk to me.”

  But everything went black.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I woke up screaming, but Marco was at my side, gathering me into his arms, stroking my hair and soothing my fears. “You’re safe. I swear you’re safe.”

  I fell asleep again, and the next time I woke, my entire body was shuddering. Marco was still holding me tight.

  “We should take her to the hospital,” he said in a wavering voice.

  “No,” another man said. “It’s part of the detox. They can’t do anything other than give her a saline IV, which we’re already doin’.”

  “You’re only sayin’ that to save his ass,” Marco sneered.

  “No hospital.”

  I pried my eyes open to stare up at him. “No hospital, Marco.” Then I tried to crack a smile. “I don’t have insurance.”

  “Jesus, Carly. That’s the least of my concerns.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I teased. “You’re not the one paying.”

  I fell asleep again, and when I woke up, I was drenched in sweat. Sunlight filtered into the room. I felt more lucid this time, and I recognized my surroundings: they’d transported me to Marco’s bedroom. He was asleep in an armchair next to the bed, his leg propped up on a kitchen chair. An IV pole stood next to the bed, the tube running to my hand.

  “Marco,” I said, but my mouth was dry, and it came out garbled.

  He heard me anyway, and the sleep left his eyes in an instant as he sat upright. “You’re awake.”

  “Either that, or I’m dead and I didn’t make it to the Pearly Gates.”

  Relief filled his eyes, bringing his good humor with it. “I’ll have you know that a fair number of women have claimed to meet God on that bed.”

  I closed my eyes and groaned. “Then I hope you put some antibiotics in that IV.”

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked, sitting forward on his chair.

  “A glass of water?”

  “Comin’ right up.” He walked out of the room, using one crutch, and returned a couple of minutes later with a glass of ice water that sloshed with every step.

  He sat on the side of the bed and set the water on the nightstand. Then he lifted me to a sitting position, propped up some pillows behind me, and handed me the glass.

  I took a drink, then glanced down and realized I was wearing one of his T-shirts.

  “Yours was wet and covered in dirt. This is the second one you’ve worn since you got here,” he said unapologetically.

  “What time is it?”

  He hesitated. “Around two.” Then he added, “You’ve been out for nearly two days. It’s Tuesday afternoon.”

  “Hank!”

  “He thinks that you’re stayin’ with Ruth while Franklin’s out of town.”

  I nodded. That was probably for the best. “What happened?”

  “Lula and Bingham met in the Laundromat parking lot, and I hear she left with him. Before he went to meet her, he had some of his men bring us to my house. I wanted to take you to the hospital, but Bingham said his medic could counteract the drug’s side effects better than any hospital. His guy stayed the entire first night and has been out multiple times to keep an eye on you. We’ve gotten you up a few times to pee, but other than that you’ve slept.”

  “I don’t remember any of that.”

  “The medic said you probably wouldn’t.”

  Then a new horror hit me. “Did I talk while I was out of it?”

  “Only gibberish,” he said. “Nothin’ that made sense.”

  It scared me that I’d been so vulnerable—even more so because I remembered so little of it. “What did Charlie/Shane Jones give me?”

  “Something Mobley and the others brought in from Atlanta. A bad batch. Jones gave some to Greta, and while she suffered, she said it was much milder than your reaction. Bingham thinks you were lucky to survive.” Then he added, “It’s the same drug that killed Hank’s daughter.”

  “I thought it was supposed to make you high. All it did was make me feel like I was coming down with the flu.”

  “Like I said, bad batch.”

  “What happened with Jones?” I asked.

  He released a bitter laugh. “Bingham enacts his own justice, and the sheriff’
s department is none the wiser.”

  My heart sunk. “I’m sorry, Marco. I know you were hoping to do this the right way.”

  He gave me a tight smile. “The important thing is that you’re safe. Greta and Lula too.”

  Something about his tone caught my attention.

  “He blackmailed you, didn’t he?” When he gave me a blank look, I said, “He wouldn’t let you take me to the hospital, but it was pretty generous of him to provide medical assistance, so I’m sure he got something for it. He asked you not to involve the sheriff, didn’t he?”

  “Don’t feel bad,” he said. “You saved my life. I saved yours. We’re even.”

  So why didn’t it feel like that?

  Because he hadn’t just saved my life. For my sake, Marco had given up his morals and his aspirations for the sheriff’s department.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “No. My guts feel like they’ve been scrubbed with sandpaper.”

  “The medic says you probably won’t be able to go back to work for a few days.”

  That sobered me some. “I’m not sure I’m going back to the tavern.”

  “Max said you have your job back.”

  “I know,” I said. “But if Max had just been honest with us, then we never would have gotten this deep.”

  Wyatt too, but I didn’t want to say it.

  “He and Wyatt did what they thought was best given the circumstances. They think you’ve got a bad case of the flu,” he said in a tight voice. “They don’t know how many times you came close to dyin’ over the last few days. We didn’t tell them about what happened with Jones. Greta and Lula have sworn they won’t tell a soul.”

  “How are they explaining Greta’s face?”

  “She’s tellin’ everyone her ex kidnapped and beat the shit out of her, but she refuses to press charges. Hines is Bingham’s man, so he won’t make a peep.”

  “And Mobley?”

  “Disappeared.” He swallowed, then said, “But Bingham paid Mobley a visit and got the location for where Charlie Jones was keepin’ you and Greta.”

  “And then Bingham shut him up permanently,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  Marco didn’t need to respond, and he didn’t.