He looked deep into my eyes. “No. I think there’s more to it, but your reasons aren’t sinister.” A sad look washed over his face. “You saw more of Seth’s murder than you’re lettin’ on. You saw the getaway vehicle.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I didn’t see anything.”

“That may be what you told the sheriff, but when I started to go after that truck, you told me it wasn’t the truck the murderer had escaped in.”

“Maybe I was only saying that to protect you,” I said, my voice shaky. “Maybe I was scared of what would happen to you if you chased after them.” I motioned to his truck. “See? I was right.”

“You saw the murder,” he said quietly, and when I didn’t protest, he added, “Hidin’ what you know was smart.”

My mouth parted. “What?”

“You’re right not to trust the sheriff’s department,” he said. “Some of them are dirtier than a pig in a mud bath.”

“Can I trust you?” I asked, and it was his turn to look surprised.

“I guess I haven’t given you much reason to,” he said, “but I was protective of that kid and his grandfather, and I thought you were a drug dealer from Atlanta come to town for a drug drop.”

I scooted off his lap onto the ground. “I figured.”

He stared at me in disbelief. “Excuse me? You knew about it?”

“You’re not the first person to mention it. Max told me the sheriff knew about a drug runner from Atlanta. But surely the fact that I’m from Georgia isn’t enough to convict me. Plus, you knew my plates were from Georgia the minute you pulled up. You were nice to me at first.”

“Where I found you—the only people who go up there are locals who want to make out or screw. Or do drug deals. Strangers definitely don’t go up there anymore. Then you got skittish as hell when I mentioned calling the sheriff, and you had a gun in your purse.”

He knew I had a gun in my purse? I started to get to my feet, but his arm tightened around me. “Carly. Stop. I’m not your enemy.”

“But you’re Bart Drummond’s son.”

He hesitated, then said, “What do you know about my father?”

“Not a whole lot, but I’ve heard enough to be worried about that fact.”

“What you’ve heard about my father depends on who did the tellin’. Some people love him. Some people hate him. Some people do both simultaneously.”

“And which camp do you fall into?”

He held my gaze. “I’m not loyal to my father, Carly.”

I wasn’t sure what to think. He could have gone anywhere after his prison sentence, but he’d chosen to come back here. Although he’d made it sound like he’d had no choice—that Drum had a hold on him—I struggled to believe that hold was sentimentality. “I’ve been told you’re not entirely trustworthy.”

“Because of my father?”

“Yes.”

He inhaled slowly, gazing down at what was left of his truck. “If I’d died in that heap, my father wouldn’t have given two shits.”

So maybe Wyatt and I had more in common than I thought.

“Most people try to argue with me on that point,” he said.

I gave him a wry smile. “Most people don’t have a father like I do.”

“I suppose not,” he said. Then he dropped a bombshell I hadn’t seen coming. “Then again, most people don’t have Randall Blakely for a father.”

Oh shit.

Chapter Eighteen

Shock reverberated through me, fueling my panic. I broke free of his hold and scrambled several feet away from him, trying to figure out how to handle this.

Carefully, he got to his feet and I got the impression he wasn’t moving slowly for his safety so much as he was trying not to spook me. Too late.

He held up his hands with an earnest expression. “Careful or you’ll fall down the hill and land on my truck.”

“Worried you won’t get the reward money if I’m a little bruised or battered?” I sneered. “Don’t worry. I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“Caroline,” he said, his hands still raised and staying in place. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

I hadn’t been called Caroline for months, and it felt like he was talking to someone else. “No, you’re just gonna turn me in for the reward money.”

“If I was going to turn you in for the reward money, I would have done it last night before I came to see you at the tavern.”

He had a point, but that didn’t mean he still wouldn’t do it. For all I knew, he’d already made the call and was waiting for my father’s cleanup crew to take care of the dirty business. “It didn’t take you long to put it together.”

He released a short laugh. “You weren’t exactly hiding your reaction to that news report. Then you used a VPN on my computer. Most people wouldn’t do that.”

I shook my head in horror as I berated myself for my stupidity. But I could still make a break for it. If I beat him up the hill to the car, I could…

Could what? Leave? Steal Ruth’s car and abandon Hank? Flee the sheriff’s department and put myself in even more danger?

Denial. I needed to deny the hell out of this.

“You’re crazy,” I snapped, facing him as I took a backward step up the hill, not an easy feat given that the ground was slippery.

“Am I?” he asked as he took a step up the hill after me.

Tears stung my eyes, but I held them wide, not wanting him to see. “So let’s say I was this Caroline Blakely…why would I be here on the side of a ravine with you?” I asked, swiping an arm wide for emphasis. “Why wouldn’t I be in Dallas with that fiancé who sounded so heartbroken she was gone?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

“Why are you tellin’ me this? You want me to confess so you can get some of the Blakely money? In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have any.”

He laughed again, but it was humorless. “Hell, I figured that out within ten minutes of meeting you.”

“Then what do you want? You keepin’ me busy until Randall Blakely’s goons show up? Or maybe you’re feeling guilty for turning me in because I just saved your life. Won’t you feel bad when you realize I’m not even her and the reward money doesn’t come.”

He gave me a sad smile. “I didn’t turn you in, Caroline.”

There it was again. Caroline felt like someone else entirely.

“I’m not Caroline.” Not anymore. It was startling to realize it was true. I’d chosen Carly because it was a nickname my mother had used for me. But she was the only one who’d ever used it, and before my stint in Arkansas, no one had called me that for two decades. And yet, it didn’t matter—I felt more like Carly than I did Caroline.

“Okay,” he said, still holding up his hands and bending forward slightly as he took a step toward me. “Carly. I didn’t turn you in.”

“Don’t take another step closer.” I moved a few feet up the hill toward my purse, not that it would do me much good. My gun was gone, and my scissors were in the truck at the bottom of the hill, but at least I had my shiny new ID. It was all the protection I had left.