We continued for a couple more miles, the truck still behind us but at a distance of several car lengths, and I began to hope the color and make of the truck were a coincidence.

But as I noticed Hank’s drive up ahead, the truck began gaining on us.

Oh shit.

I considered speeding up and going past the turnoff, but then I caught sight of Ruth’s monstrous Cadillac parked in front of Hank’s house. I turned onto the gravel driveway, taking it faster than I normally would, sending a spray of gravel onto the road and pelting the truck.

Hank jerked awake as his side slammed into the door.

“What happened?” he asked, looking around wildly.

The truck continued on past the driveway and I felt like an idiot.

“Nothing,” I said, my pulse pounding in my head. “False alarm.”

Wyatt came bursting out of the house, and the look on his face made me tense defensively.

“What the hell?” he shouted as I opened the driver’s door. “What about that road made you think it was a racetrack? This isn’t Dukes of Hazard!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassment washing through me and making my cheeks hot. “I thought someone was following us.”

“Where are they now?” Wyatt asked, still angry as he opened Hank’s door.

“They drove on past,” I said sheepishly. “But it looked a lot like the truck that almost rear-ended us in Greeneville.”

“You almost wrecked my truck?” he asked in dismay.

“Now, hold on there, boy,” Hank admonished. “It wasn’t her fault, so lighten up.”

Wyatt pursed his lips and started to slip his arm under Hank’s legs to carry him inside.

“You stop right there,” Hank snapped. “I ain’t gettin’ carried into my house like a damn baby.” He glanced behind the seat. “Where’s my crutches?”

Wyatt grabbed them out of the truck bed and handed them to Hank. “What took y’all so long?”

“We had to make a couple of stops,” Hank said, swinging his legs around the side of the seat and slowly sliding down.

“A couple of stops?” Wyatt demanded as he held Hank upright once his foot hit the ground. “Where the hell did you go?”

“I made Carly stop for breakfast,” Hank said, gingerly tucking the crutches under his armpits. “And then I made her take me to see Seth.”

“You went to Johnson City?”

“No,” Hank said, taking a wobbly step. “Mobley had Seth moved to his funeral home early this morning.”

“How’d he make that happen?” Wyatt asked. “They don’t usually release bodies that quickly.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know how Wyatt knew that piece of information. “Maybe they figured it was a cut-and-dried case,” I said. “Gunshot wounds to the chest. No questions about cause of death.”

Wyatt sent me a scowl.

“I cancelled the visitation tomorrow,” Hank said. “Funeral’s on Friday. I was hopin’ you could say a word or two.”

Wyatt’s eyes widened slightly, but he swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his demeanor now subdued. “I’d be honored, Hank.”

“Good. That’s settled.” He cast a glance at the road as we heard a vehicle approach from the left. “There’s that truck again.” He nodded to road. “It is the same truck that nearly hit us in Greeneville.”

The truck had turned around and was now slowly passing Hank’s property, continuing down the hill without stopping.

“How can you be sure?” Wyatt asked, his voice tight.

“Because it had the same sticker on the tailgate,” Hank said. “The kangaroo.”

“How would you know that if it nearly rear-ended you?”

Hank shot him a look of annoyance. “I wondered why it hadn’t honked at her, so I turned around and looked at the back end after Carly turned. Didn’t honk at her now either, when she turned into my drive and showered them with gravel.”

Wyatt’s face hardened and he rushed toward me, holding out his hand. “Keys.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, feeling the terror of that night, of the cry in the dark, all over again.

“I’m gonna go chase it down. Now give me my keys!”

“No! You’re gonna get yourself killed!” I shouted.

He stared down at me, fury in his eyes. “If those are the guys who killed Seth, then I’ve got to find out who they are. Give me the fucking keys!”

I shook my head and stood my ground. “The man who killed Seth didn’t drive that truck, Wyatt, so let it go!”

“Are they still in the ignition?” Wyatt took my silence as confirmation and bolted for the driver’s door, not even bothering to close the passenger door. He jerked the truck into reverse, making a three-point turn, and the passenger door slammed shut as he whipped the vehicle toward the road.

“He’s going to get himself shot,” I said, trying not to freak out.

“Wyatt Drummond’s no fool,” Hank said. “He’ll be fine. Now help me inside before my leg gives out.”

I considered going after Wyatt, but what good would that do? I’d only get in the way. So I helped Hank inside and got him settled. Wyatt had left the prescriptions and supplies on the kitchen table. A raised toilet seat was on the floor.

The house was filthy, but it looked like someone had started to clean the toilet. Wyatt? I finished the job, then set the new seat on top so it would be ready when Hank needed it.

When I emerged from the bathroom, I glanced at a clock on the living room wall. “How long do you think Wyatt’s been gone?” I asked.

“He’ll be fine,” Hank said.

But anxiety churned in the pit of my stomach. How long had Wyatt been gone? Twenty minutes? A half hour? What if something happened to him?

What would he do if the men in that truck confronted him?

Heading back into the kitchen, I took a closer look at the three prescription bottles in the bag, thinking it was likely time to give Hank another pain pill. I found an antibiotic to be taken twice a day, pain meds to be taken every four hours, and a pill that Hank was to take daily with his evening meal. Plus lots of bandages and wraps, along with a thermometer and ibuprofen.

I moved to the doorway to the living room. “Hank, I think it’s time to take a pain pill.”

“I ain’t takin’ a pain pill,” he grunted, his eyes on the television. To my surprise, he was watching a soap opera.

“You have to take a pain pill. You need to keep the pain under control. You heard the nurse.”

“Drugs is what got my Barbara killed,” he said, turning his head to look at me. “She started by takin’ her momma’s pills. I ain’t havin’ ’em in the house. Get rid of ’em.”

“But—”

“Just get me some aspirin. That’ll be enough.”

Frowning, I got two ibuprofen pills and filled a glass of ice water, shocked at how little food was in the fridge and freezer.

When he saw the glass of water, he gave me a indignant look. “I ain’t drinkin’ that shit. Where’s the Coke? The Dollar General had a special a couple of weeks ago. Seth stocked up.”