You Will Suffer

by Alexandra Ivy

  Nate studied her back as she marched away. No use in trying to force her to talk.

  He recognized the rigid set of her shoulders and the stiffness of her spine.

  She was done answering his questions. At least for now.

  Leaving the tavern, Nate headed for his truck. He suspected that there were only two people who could tell him why Larry was in his building. One was the killer. The other was Larry’s brother, Bert.

  Time for a road trip.

  * * *

  I stand in the alley, careful to remain in the deepening shadows. It is late enough that most businesses are closed, but I prefer not to be noticed. I press my back against the brick building behind me and inch my way to the side. At last I reach the space between the dentist’s office and the auto shop, where I can catch a glimpse of the local motel two streets away.

  He’s in room 112. I watched him carry in his suitcase, pleased to discover that he’d traveled to Curry without his wife. She might be fun to punish later, but for now I am only concerned with the men.

  Neville Morse. Dr. Lewis Booker. Mayor Ruben Chambers. Sheriff Walter Perry. And at long last . . . Justice Colin Guthrie.

  What a joke.

  Justice.

  I smile. Colin Guthrie might wear robes and carry a gavel, but he knows nothing about justice.

  Or vengeance.

  Those are my domain.

  And I am about to inflict both of them on the men who once played judge, jury, and executioner.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ellie was pacing her office when she heard the tap, tap, tap on the front door. Jolted out of her dark thoughts, she headed out of her office and into the reception room.

  It was a surprise to find the room empty. She had a brief memory of Doris sticking her head into the office, no doubt to say she was leaving for the day, but Ellie had been too distracted to pay attention. Instead, she’d continued to brood on her father’s sudden arrival in town and his adamant insistence that she return to Oklahoma City.

  She grimaced. Thank God, her client meetings had been preliminary consultations. She clearly was incapable of concentrating on her work.

  There was another tap, and she glanced toward the door. She smiled, a sizzling excitement flowing through her at the sight of the familiar male silhouette.

  Nate.

  She hurried forward, unlocking the door and pulling it open. A tiny part of her worried about her acute reaction to the man. It wasn’t just lust. Or relief that she had a trained FBI agent to keep her safe.

  This was soul-deep, gut-twisting awareness that was only intensifying with each passing day. She swallowed a sigh, accepting that she’d already reached the point of no return.

  Nate studied her with unmistakable concern, thankfully unable to read her mind.

  “Ready?”

  She glanced over his shoulder, noticing the darkness that shrouded the town square.

  “What time is it?”

  “Six thirty.”

  She hesitated, then gave a nod. “I can’t get any work done today,” she admitted.

  Less than ten minutes later she had the office locked and was climbing into Nate’s truck.Dropping her briefcase on the floorboard, Ellie settled back in her seat. She could sense Nate’s lingering glances, but it wasn’t until he pulled away from the curb that he spoke.

  “I didn’t see your father’s car.”

  “He’s spending the night at the motel.”

  “Oh.” He sounded surprised. “Your mother isn’t with him?”

  She shook her head. “She had a charity event in Oklahoma City.”

  “It doesn’t seem right to have him staying at a motel,” he said. “He’s welcome to stay at my ranch.”

  Ellie stiffened. Had Nate lost his mind? There was no way she was spending the evening listening to Colin Guthrie insulting Nate’s decision to leave the FBI and become a simple rancher. Not to mention his opinion of her own intelligence in becoming involved with any man who didn’t pull in a multimillion-dollar salary.

  Yeah. That wasn’t going to happen.

  Not ever.

  She intended to keep Nate and her father far, far apart.

  “He’s already made reservations,” she said in a tone that revealed she was just fine with that.

  He stopped at the corner, turning his head to study her in the glow from the streetlight.

  “Are you having dinner with him?”

  She shook her head. “Breakfast.” Her lips twisted. “Unless he’s too busy.”

  Nate’s brows rose. A silent reminder of her own workaholic habits? She pointed a warning finger at his face.

  “Don’t say a word.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Turning the truck, he pulled off the square and wove his way through the nearby neighborhoods. “Do you want to eat at the diner or at home?”

  “Home.” The word slipped past her lips, sending a tiny burst of panic through her. Nate’s ranch wasn’t her home. Even if it already did feel like it.

  He pressed his foot on the gas as they reached the edge of town. “Good choice.”

  Feeling oddly vulnerable, she cleared her throat. “How was your afternoon?”

  A smile played around his lips. “I didn’t get thrown in jail.”

  “A miracle,” she said in dry tones.

  “Not really. I spent most of the afternoon driving around Tulsa.”

  She sent him a startled glance. “Why?”

  “I want to know why Larry was in Curry,” he told her. “And more importantly, why he was in my building.”

  Ellie gave a slow nod. She’d been so focused on making sure Nate didn’t get himself arrested for murder that she hadn’t really considered the victim.

  That was her job as a defense attorney.

  “And you thought the answers would be in Tulsa?” she asked.

  “I wanted to talk to his brother.”

  Ellie tried to remember what Nate had told her about Bert and Larry Harper. She knew that they were drug dealers. And that they’d met with Daniel the night his body ended up in the field.

  And now he was dead.

  Was there a connection?

  “What did he say?” she asked.

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel, revealing his frustration.

  “Nothing. I couldn’t find him.”

  “He’s disappeared?”

  “He’s not at his apartment. And it looked like he’d taken off in a hurry.”

  She turned in her seat, glaring at his profile. “You broke in?”

  He shrugged. “I had a quick look around.”

  Ellie clenched her teeth. He’d trespassed in the apartment of a known drug dealer. Was the man deliberately trying to get himself in trouble?

  “I’ve had clients who went to jail for less,” she informed him.

  He chuckled, as if she’d told a joke. “I have to get caught first.”

  She released a resigned sigh. Nate Marcel might be a rancher, and soon-to-be owner of a furniture store, but at heart he was still an FBI agent.

  “So much for your pretense that you no longer crave danger.”

  He sent her a quick glance. “I behaved myself.”

  She snorted. “You illegally entered his apartment.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t track down any local druggies and threaten to have them castrated if they didn’t tell me where I could find Bert Harper.”

  “That’s behaving yourself ?”

  “I thought so.”

  She studied him with blatant suspicion. “So, you’ve given up on finding him?”

  “I called a friend who might be able to trace him, but if he’s gone to ground, I don’t have a lot of hope that he’s going to be found. At least not for a few days.”

  She released a small sigh. At least he wouldn’t be charging around Tulsa threatening desperate criminals with slicing off their manly bits.

  “Why would he just disappear?” she asked.

  “That’s the questi
on, isn’t it?”

  She studied his profile. “Do you think he killed his brother?”

  “I suppose it’s possible. That would explain why I can’t find his car.”

  “You don’t sound convinced,” she said.

  “I’m not,” he promptly admitted. “If the brothers got in a fight he would have shot him in their apartment. Or even on the street. Why drive to Curry? And how did he get a key to my building?”

  She agreed. It did seem unlikely.

  “So what’s your theory?”

  “I think he’s running from whoever killed Larry.”

  Ellie settled back in her seat, staring at the headlights from Nate’s truck, which sliced through the thick darkness.

  “More questions without answers,” she said.

  A short time later they were parking in front of Nate’s ranch house, and he was escorting her up the path to the front door. Entering the house, she headed for the spare bedroom, anxious to change into a casual pair of yoga pants and loose sweatshirt. She brushed her hair, allowing it to tumble over her shoulders, but she didn’t bother glancing in the mirror as she headed out of the room.

  The one thing she knew with absolute certainty was that Nate couldn’t care less if she was plastered in makeup and draped in designer clothes. He wasn’t interested in glamour, or money, or her father’s power.

  Which made him the complete opposite of every other man she’d dated.

  Thank God.

  Wandering through the house, she located Nate in the kitchen.

  He held up a glass filled with a ruby-red liquid. “Wine?”

  She reached to pluck it from his hand. “Do you have to ask?”

  He chuckled, grabbing his own glass. “I defrosted a quiche my mother sent home with me after my last visit,” he said, nodding toward the nearby oven. “It shouldn’t take long to heat.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. The kitchen was already filling with the scent of bacon and warm pastry.

  “It smells delicious.”

  Taking a sip of her wine, Ellie wandered toward the oak china cabinet set against the wall. She didn’t have to ask to know that Nate had made it with his own hands. The wood was as smooth as glass, with delicate leaves carved along the edge. You didn’t get workmanship like that from a factory.

  She moved to the center of the room, halting at the table that matched the cabinet. Running her fingers over the smooth wood, she accidentally bumped against the stack of papers. About to straighten them, her gaze caught the name of Hopewell Clinic on the top sheet.

  “What’s this?”

  She grabbed the papers just as he took a jerky step forward.

  “Shit,” he breathed. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you about this.”

  Her mild interest turned to avid curiosity at his unexpected reaction.

  “Hopewell Clinic is the place that burned down on Neville Morse’s land, right?” she demanded.

  “Yeah.”

  Her gaze skimmed down the page, easily processing the legal jargon that set up the clinic from federal grant money, and incorporated it as a nonprofit.

  “Did you get this from your FBI contact?”

  “No comment.” He reached out his hand. “Ellie, let’s wait until tomorrow.”

  She set her wineglass on the table and shuffled through the stack of papers.

  “Why wait?”

  “Because it’s been a rotten day and I want to enjoy my dinner.”

  The words were smooth. Perfectly reasonable. But Ellie didn’t believe him. There was something in the papers that he didn’t want her to see.

  So, of course, that made her all the more determined.

  Taking a step back, she flipped to the next page. “I’m not a corporate lawyer, but this all looks in order,” she said, confused why Nate was so tense.

  Then she reached the portion that established the board of directors, and she gasped.

  “Some familiar names,” Nate said, easily realizing what had caused her shock.

  “Colin Guthrie,” she breathed, a ball of dread settling in the pit of her stomach. Why would her father be on the board of a rehab facility? And just how closely had he been involved in the clinic? She forced her gaze to continue down the list, her sense of unease deepening. “And Daniel’s father and Mandy’s father and Tia’s.”

  “And Barb,” he pointed out.

  She lifted her head to study his stark expression. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

  “ No.”

  She dropped the papers on the table, her brain trying to process what she’d just discovered.

  Hopewell Clinic had been formed thirty years ago from money that had been obtained through a grant acquired by Dr. Booker. It had been the doctor who’d presumably negotiated the contract to rent land from Neville Morse, to build the facility, and to invite her father, along with Walter Perry and Mayor Chambers, to be on the board. Five years later the place had burned to the ground and they’d made no attempt to rebuild.

  On the surface, it seemed perfectly legit. Dr. Booker wanted to create a clinic to address the needs of addicts, and submitted a grant, which he received. He rented land that was far enough away from town to avoid any protests from the local citizens, and yet close enough to be easily accessable. And then he’d invited the most prominent citizens of Curry to sit on the board.

  Even the fire could have been nothing more than a tragic accident.

  But the recent incidents convinced her that there had to be some mystery connected to the Hopewell Clinic that was causing the horrifying events that were sweeping through Curry.

  The deaths of Daniel and Mandy and Barb. Perhaps even Larry Harper. Plus, there was the petty harassment that was directed at her and Tia Chambers.

  And now she knew that her father had been one of the board members . . .

  “Oh.” She began to pace across the kitchen, her thoughts whirling.

  Nate stepped directly in front of her, grabbing her shoulders to bring her to a halt.

  “What is it?”

  She tilted back her head to meet her worried gaze. “My father.”

  “What about him?”

  “Today in my office he was asking me about Barb.”

  Nate nodded, almost as if he’d expected her confession. No doubt he’d already accepted the fact that Colin Guthrie was somehow involved.

  “Specific questions?”

  She nodded. “He asked if she’d spoken to me before she died.”

  Now he was surprised. “He knew that you were with Barb when she died?”

  “Yeah, there’s someone in town who’s been keeping tabs on me and passing the information to my parents.” A fresh wave of anger raced through her at the knowledge she was being monitored like she was a child. “When I find out who it is, I intend to make them very sorry.”

  His lips twitched before his expression was once again set in somber lines.

  “Why would he be interested in what Barb said before she died?”

  “He gave some vague answer about the importance of last words and then he asked if she’d given anything to me.”

  “Given you what?”

  She held up her hands in a gesture of confusion. “That was my question.”

  Nate took a few minutes to ponder what she’d told him, his brow furrowed with concentration. Ellie remained silent, listening to the tick of the old-fashioned clock on the wall. At last he lifted a hand to shove his fingers through his hair, as if he remained as baffled as she was.

  “She could have some sort of information your father didn’t want exposed,” he suggested.

  “Maybe. But why would she give it to me?” she asked. During the long afternoon, she’d considered a dozen possible reasons for her father’s strange questions, only to dismiss them. “Besides, when I got there she tried to warn me that people were in danger, not that she had something she wanted to give me.”

  Nate didn’t remind her of her suspicion that someone might have been in the house when s
he arrived. Someone who might have been there to keep Barb from talking, or to find something that Barb had hidden in her house. She was already freaked out.

  Instead he gave a casual shrug. “I think we should find out what your father thought Barb might have given you.”

  “How?”

  “We search her house.”

  She paused, trying to decide if he was joking. When it became clear he was serious, she gave a shake of her head.

  “We don’t have any legal authority to go through her things.”

  “You were her lawyer.”

  “Not for her estate.”

  “Close enough.”

  “I doubt a judge would agree,” she argued. “In fact, I’m pretty sure we’d be locked up for trespassing.”

  He smiled. “A good thing I can ensure that no one will ever know we were there.”

  She hesitated. She’d always been a boring, law-abiding citizen. She didn’t seek danger, or take pleasure in bending the rules.

  But now she had to admit that she desperately wanted to get into Barb’s house, even if it did mean breaking the law. Maybe the older woman did have something that would reveal what was going on in Curry. Or how her father was involved with Hopewell Clinic.

  If nothing else, they might discover if her death had been a tragic result of her alcohol abuse, or something more sinister.

  “How can you ensure we won’t get caught?” she demanded.

  He reached out to brush his fingers down the curve of her throat. “I’m good. Really good.”

  Heat spilled through her body. She shivered. How did he do that? He was barely touching her, but she was suddenly aching to strip off his clothes and get him naked.

  She cleared her throat, hoping that her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

  “You’re good at B and E?”

  His fingers moved to lightly trace her lips. “At everything.”

  Another shiver snaked down her spine. She couldn’t testify to Nate’s every skill, but she did know that he was good at a few very specific things.

  “Do you think Hopewell Clinic has some connection to Barb’s death?” she managed to ask.

  His eyes darkened as they swept over her face. “I think it’s one possibility.”

  “We should go search Barb’s house now,” she said. “While it’s dark.”

  “Tomorrow,” he insisted.