Buried in Secrets

by Denise Grover Swank

  We left the lights and music, and after Marco walked me to my car, I drove him to his Explorer. He followed me to his house. He got out of his car first and took my overnight bag as we walked inside.

  I knew he wanted to take me to his room, but he was too worried about what had happened with Emily. So instead, he led me to the sofa and settled in next to me. “Tell me what happened. In detail.”

  I told him everything, including Emily warning me not to tell him.

  “You told me anyway,” he said carefully.

  “Of course I did. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.” I took a breath. “Since she mentioned Rob and his family, there’s something else I need to tell you. Something I’ve been struggling with.” I drew a shaky breath. “No secrets.”

  He grabbed my hand and squeezed.

  “I’m worried Hank knows something he isn’t saying about the Crimshaws. Seems like he would have known about Stewart’s drug arrest, plus he didn’t say anything about Ricky and Seth being so close. There’s something he’s not telling me. What if he was involved in something shady?”

  He gave me a tight smile. “We already know he was involved in something shady.”

  “I mean really shady,” I said, knowing it didn’t make any sense. The fact was I didn’t even know what I was afraid of, only that I sensed something off.

  “What’s your line, Carly?” Marco asked. “The line that Hank has to cross for you to turn your back on him?”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I don’t know, Marco. I love him. He was there for me when no one else was. He’s like the father I always wanted, and I know he would do anything for me.” He killed a man to protect me back when he barely knew me. He’d offered to help me take on my father. I couldn’t turn my back on him.

  “I know, and I’m here to tell you that Hank’s a different man than he was when I was growing up. He was hard back then. Ruthless. His hard edges have softened, but does that change what he did in the past? Does that mean he should be forgiven?”

  Tears stung my eyes. “I don’t know.”

  He pulled me into a hug. “I don’t pretend to have any answers, and you don’t have to make any decisions tonight…but you may have to decide it soon.”

  “I know.”

  He released me and leaned back. “So let’s hypothesize why Emily wants you to talk to Bingham about Rob Crimshaw’s father. Or even Rob himself. I suspect the elder Crimshaw was runnin’ drugs for Bingham, but you need to be prepared for the possibility he might have been running for Hank.”

  “I know.”

  Marco made a face. “I agree that you should talk to Bingham, but don’t get your hopes up too high. If we’re to believe Emily’s insinuation, Bingham has something to help bring down Bart, but he hasn’t used it before because it wasn’t worth his time?” He shook his head. “I struggle to believe that.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t chase this lead at all.” When I glanced up at him in surprise, he said, “I meant what I said earlier. Maybe we cut our losses and figure out where you should go.”

  “Leave town,” I said dryly.

  “Carly, Emily knows your real name.”

  “Only my first name.” It was a pipe dream to believe she didn’t know my real identity. Especially after her statement about me being a blonde.

  He cocked his head and gave me a look that said he knew I wasn’t that dense. “We both know she found out who you are. And Bart was casually throwing your name around.”

  “Emily called me Caroline in front of Max.”

  Marco got to his feet, torment on his face. “Shit, Carly. How many people know now? Wyatt. Max. Me. Hank. Bart. Emily. That’s four people too many.”

  “I know.”

  Agony filled his eyes. “You can’t stay. I’ll figure out a place for you to go.”

  He’d said it like that earlier too. He wasn’t talking about going somewhere together. Had Wyatt been right? But Marco couldn’t just run away. He was a sheriff’s deputy, and if he went missing, people would go looking for him. Still, the thought of running again and leaving the people I cared about behind…I wasn’t sure I could do it.

  I got to my feet and walked in front of him, stopping his nervous pacing. “I’m not leaving you, Marco, and I’m not leaving Hank. Not like this.”

  “What if Bart’s already told your father? What if they have someone watching you? We can’t risk it.”

  “We’re so close,” I said, resting my hands on his firm chest. I suddenly itched to remove the cloth covering his muscles. “So freaking close to bringing Bart down. I can’t stop now. I won’t.”

  “I’m ninety-nine percent certain Pam didn’t murder a man for Bart. And we both acknowledged Emily might be sendin’ you on a wild goose chase.” He looked tortured. “We’re not close to bringin’ him down at all. If anything, we’ve made him more dangerous.”

  “When I met Emily before, she made it apparent that she and her husband aren’t partners. And she said she wants to bring him down. That is progress, Marco.”

  “Unless she’s settin’ you up.” His hand swept over my cheek as he searched my face. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  If he sent me away, he’d lose me anyway. Run and hide alone or take my chances here and then hopefully move on to deal with my father. If I left, I’d be starting from scratch with little money and no friends.

  No. I’d stay and take my chances.

  I gave him a soft smile, then moved my hand to the top fastened button of his shirt and worked it free.

  “This isn’t settled, Carly.”

  I undid a second button, revealing a good portion of his chest. “And it’s not getting settled tonight unless you were planning on packing me a bag and sending me off before sunrise.”

  The look in his eyes suggested he’d been considering it.

  “No more talk of running tonight,” I said. “I’d rather see you naked.”

  “Just see me naked?” he asked with a teasing glint. “Nothing else?”

  “The naked part comes first. The rest comes after. Which means you have to get naked to find out what happens next.”

  His gaze landed on my collarbone at the edge of my dress. He placed a kiss there as he pushed the top of my sleeve over my shoulder.

  I quickly unfastened the rest of his buttons and tugged his shirt free from his jeans.

  We didn’t talk after that. He swept me into his room, and we made love with an intensity unmatched by our previous encounters. No man had ever made me feel a tenth of what I experienced with Marco.

  Afterward, I lay in his arms, my leg draped over his as his hand trailed up my arm.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about this,” he said softly, “but I care about you too much to ignore that you’re in danger.” His hand stilled. “Have you given any thought to where you might go?”

  “You mean if I run away?”

  He placed a finger under my chin and tilted my face up to look at him. “It might not be all bad. You ended up here…” He grinned. “It’s gotta get better than Drum.”

  I didn’t smile back. “I don’t know if I can do it again. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I’ll follow you, Carly. I’d just have to wrap up some things here.”

  I slowly shook my head as a tear slipped down my cheek. “And by that you mean you’d have to sell your house and resign from your job. If you did those things, Bart and anyone else would know you were coming to me. They’d follow you.”

  “Then I’ll run with you. I’ll leave it all behind.”

  “You can’t, Marco. The state police would come looking for you. A deputy who’s been helping root out corruption in his department? They’d suspect foul play, and your face would be all over the news. You’d be more recognizable than I am.”

  His arms tightened around me. “I won’t lose you, Carly.”

  “Which means I’m staying,” I said with a wavering smile. “Because I’m no
t losing you either.”

  It killed me to realize Wyatt hadn’t totally gotten it wrong. Marco wanted to go with me…he just couldn’t. I’d been deluded to think that he could. And as much as I’d insisted that I wouldn’t run, when it came down to it, I’d go if left with no other choice. Marco and Hank would defend me, possibly to their deaths. I couldn’t live with the guilt if that happened, which meant I needed to be prepared for the worst. I needed to figure out where and how to get a new identity.

  If or when I did leave, I would be leaving everything and everyone behind.

  Including Marco.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Marco didn’t have to go into work until ten, so we had a lazy morning in bed. After we made love, he made me breakfast. I wore one of his T-shirts and my underwear and he kept sneaking glances at my bare legs as I leaned my back into the counter opposite him and watched.

  “I have tomorrow off,” he said as he scrambled some eggs. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts that showed off his butt, and my gaze kept straying there since his back was to me. “What time do you start work?”

  “Five, but I guess it depends on whether Ruth’s friend takes Molly’s shift. If not, I might need to go in at noon.”

  He turned slightly to face me and grinned. “Are you checking out my ass?”

  A sly smile lifted the corners of my lips. “Maybe.”

  His grin widened as he turned his attention back to the skillet. “Jim Palmer’s funeral is tomorrow.”

  I frowned, momentarily forgetting about my view. “Do we care about that right now?”

  “Yeah. We do,” he said, shooting me a quick glance over his shoulder before he turned back to the eggs. “We don’t know if you’re going to get anything good from Bingham. For all we know, Emily’s trying to throw you off. Maybe you’re getting too close with Ashlynn or Thad, and she’s protecting Bart.”

  He had a good point. “What time’s the funeral?”

  “One. So you could go before your shift.”

  “I didn’t even know the man. Isn’t it going to look weird?”

  He shook his head. “There’s gonna be so many people there no one will even notice.”

  “Do you really think we’ll learn anything?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “Okay,” I said wryly. “I’ll be your date to the funeral.”

  He shot me a mischievous grin. “Look at me showin’ you a good time.”

  I wasn’t exactly feeling light-hearted, but I laughed anyway.

  “How do you plan on approaching Bingham?” he asked.

  “I guess I’ll just drop by. It’s worked for me before.”

  His mouth tugged down, but he didn’t say anything, likely because Todd Bingham and I had an odd relationship, made even more so by the fact that he didn’t usually tolerate people asking questions and I was known for being inquisitive. But I’d helped him find Lula when she’d gone missing, and I hadn’t used up his limited allotment of gratitude.

  He turned off the burner and started scooping eggs onto our plates next to the stove. “While I want to go with you, I think he’ll be more likely to talk to you without me.”

  “I agree,” I said. “I don’t feel unsafe. I doubt he would hurt me and risk Lula’s wrath. I am one of their baby’s godmothers, after all.”

  He laughed, but it held a bit of bitterness. “Like that would matter.”

  “Strangely enough, I think it does.”

  We finished breakfast, talking about our schedules for the weekend. I would stay with Marco again tonight, then I’d go to Hank’s on Saturday night and spend all day Sunday with him.

  We started cleaning up the kitchen together, but I glanced at the clock and sent him for a quick shower and to get dressed so he wouldn’t be late for work.

  I’d finished by the time he emerged from his room in his uniform. Smiling softly, I walked to him and wrapped my arm around his neck, hating that we had to go back into the world.

  “I really want to take time off like we were talking about. What do you say we plan on going away in two weeks?” he said. “We can both take off work on Friday and the weekend. If we head out on Thursday night, we’ll have three full days together.”

  “Okay.” But I wondered if it was a pipe dream. Would I be gone by then?

  He gave me a deep, soulful kiss, and I suspected he was wondering the same thing.

  “Call me today,” he said. “Especially after you talk to Bingham and the Genslers.”

  “I’ll see about heading to Ewing today. Maybe we can meet up.”

  He nodded. “You gonna stay here much longer?”

  “I’m going to take advantage of your shower before I go,” I said with a grin. “It’s nicer than Hank’s.”

  “Stay as long as you like,” he said. “I like knowin’ you’re here, even when I’m not.” He started to say something, then stopped. “I’ll see you later.”

  “I love you, Marco.” Maybe I’d been saying it too much, but it felt good to say it, and I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to tell him in person.

  “Love you too.” He gave me another kiss, and I walked him to the door and waved as he drove away. I headed to the bathroom and took a long shower, trying not to dwell on the uncertainty of our future.

  I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around myself to dry off when I heard a noise in the front part of the house. Had Marco come back? But something told me it wasn’t him.

  My clothes were in the bedroom, but Marco kept his shotgun in the closet attached to the bathroom. I rushed into the closet and threw on one of his button-down shirts, my shaking fingers fumbling with three of the middle buttons. I pulled the gun down from his top shelf and quickly loaded it with three shells and dumped several more into my shirt pocket.

  Tiptoeing back into the bathroom, I paused by the door and listened to the silence. Had I imagined it? No. I could smell cigarette smoke.

  It definitely wasn’t Marco.

  I eased into the bedroom and paused again, the shotgun pointed toward the ceiling, when I heard a soft clang from the front of the house.

  “Who’s there?” I called out, wondering if that was wise, but Marco’s only phone was in the kitchen and it would likely take a sheriff’s deputy a lot longer to get here than I had time to deal with the intruder.

  The person didn’t answer, so I leveled the gun tip to point toward the living room and went out to confront them.

  “Who’s there?” I called again in a harsher tone.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you,” a man said with a short laugh. “You can come on out. I’m only here to give you a message.”

  His voice was coming from the kitchen and dining area, so I eased around the corner and saw a man I didn’t recognize. He’d made himself at home, tapping his cigarette ashes onto one of Marco’s plates while he sipped coffee from a mug. His hair was long and needed a trim, and his face was scruffy. He looked like he was in his forties, and most of those years had been a challenge.

  “What do you want?” I asked pointing the gun at his chest.

  “You know how to use that thing, little girl?” he asked as his eyes danced with amusement.

  “Trust me, I do. Now what do you want?”

  “I told you, I have a message.” His gaze drifted down to my bare legs sticking out of Marco’s shirt, which hit mid-thigh, as he took a drag from his cigarette. “Something sure smells good. You make your man some breakfast before he left? Want to whip some up for me?”

  As if. “I’m going to ask you one more time, what do you want?”

  His face turned hard. “You need to let this go, little girl.”

  “I’m afraid you need to be more specific.”

  He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “I think it’s pretty clear.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He stubbed the cigarette out on Marco’s tabletop, then left it mashed on the wood. “You may have noticed there are a wh
ole lot of accidents around these parts.” He gave me a tight grin. “I’d hate to see something happen to someone you care about.”

  I swallowed my fear and thrust out my hip, hating that his lecherous gaze followed the movement. “You think you can scare me? You’ve just wasted your time, so go back to whatever lowlife sent you and tell them I’m my own woman and I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

  He rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug as he set the mug down and scooted his chair back. “Your funeral.” He started around the table toward the front door. “Naw, the funerals will be for the people you care about.” He grinned. “I bet you look damn sexy in black. I might just off one of ’em myself to see those legs again.”

  Standing in place, I kept the gun tip on him as he reached for the door. “Who sent you?”

  “That part’s not important,” he said. “The important part is that you listen.” He tapped his temple with his fingertip, then opened the front door and strode down the steps toward an older black pickup truck parked on the street at the end of the long drive.

  I stood on the porch with Marco’s gun, watching as he got into his truck and drove away.

  I tried to read the license plate, but the distance was too great and it was smeared with mud. Part of me wanted to grab my keys and follow him, but one, I wasn’t wearing any underwear. Two, he had a head start on me. And three, if he realized I was following him, he might make me sorry I’d found him.

  Instead, I went back inside and locked the door (which was pointless since I’d locked it before), set the gun on the table, and called Marco.

  I wasn’t surprised when I got his voicemail. I left him a message, trying to sound calm so I didn’t freak him out.

  “Marco. I’m still at your house, and I need you to call me as soon as you get this message. Just call me.” Then I added, “Please, please, please be careful.”

  I hung up and immediately called Hank. It took him about ten rings to get to the phone, and he wasn’t happy when he answered. “What?” he barked, sounding out of breath.

  “Hank, it’s me.”