Nate continued his leisurely pace as they neared his home. Ellie fully approved. She was still feeling bruised from their mad dash to Neville Morse’s field.
“I wonder if an autopsy was performed,” he mused.
Ellie felt a pang of annoyance. She should have put in a greater effort to discover if Barb had an heir, and if that person had demanded to know the cause of death. The local hospital had limited resources. Without family or law enforcement pressing for answers, they might have closed the file with the assumption it’d been a natural passing.
“I’ll call the hospital when we get to the ranch. I did act as her lawyer. They might be willing to give me an answer.”
Nate nodded. “We can’t be sure what she meant by the warning, but it’s possible that she was killed to prevent her from talking to you. We need to know how she died.”
“And why the killer or someone else searched her house,” she added. “We assumed it was for the file we found, but it could have been something they took before we arrived.”
“In the meantime, Mandy was lured to the field and injected with enough heroin to kill her,” Nate said, his thumbs tapping on the steering wheel.
Ellie felt a sharp pang of sadness. Not only at the thought of poor Mandy being killed and discarded like a piece of trash, but at the realization that little Charlie’s life had been forever changed. Children never fully recovered from the death of their mother.
“The same field where the Hopewell Clinic used to be,” she said.
“What does all that tell us?”
She heaved a sigh. She’d hoped that listing the events out loud would jog something in her brain. Instead, she felt as confused as ever.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“I wouldn’t . . .” Nate’s words trailed away as he abruptly swerved the truck to the side of the road. “What the hell?”
“What’s wrong?”
He unhooked his seat belt and shoved open his door. “I recognize that car.”
Baffled by his twitchy reaction, Ellie glanced toward the yellow Camaro parked near the drainage ditch. She hadn’t seen it around town. Nate, however, was climbing out of the truck and heading toward the vehicle.
Quickly scrambling to follow him, she reached his side just as he was leaning forward to peer through the front windshield.
“This belongs to the Harper brothers,” he told her.
Ellie suddenly understood his tension. With Larry dead, and his brother missing, this car was a last tangible link to them.
“You’re sure?” she demanded.
“Positive.” He gave an impatient wave of his hand. “It’s impossible that there’s another car exactly like this one in the area. Look at those stupid dice.”
Ellie wrinkled her nose. He had a point. The car had faded to a weird shade of jaundice and rust. Plus, the back window had been replaced with duct tape. And, of course, there was a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror.
It did seem like it was one-of-a-kind.
She glanced around. They were just a few feet from Nate’s back pasture. To the east she could see the silhouette of his house, and if she turned toward the north, she could make out the roofline of her own home. But there was nothing else in sight.
She turned back to Nate. “How did it get here?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. It wasn’t here when we left for the funeral.”
Ellie thought back. They’d both been on the back porch to share a light lunch before they’d headed back to town. They would have easily seen the car from there.
“Which means that Larry wasn’t driving it,” she said, pointing out the obvious. “Do you think the killer left it here?”
“It was either the killer or Bert.” Nate’s face was tight with tension. He reached out as if he intended to open the door.
“No,” she rasped. “Stay back.”
Nate sent her a startled glance. “I just want to make sure there’s no one inside.”
“Don’t touch it,” she insisted. “It might be booby-trapped.”
His brows arched. “Booby-trapped?”
Okay. That did sound stupid when he said it out loud. But that didn’t ease the dread that was twisting her gut into a tight knot. Her feminine intuition was screaming that there was something wrong with the car.
Something terrible.
“You don’t know.” She clenched her hands, considering the best way to convince him to listen to her warning. “Besides, you don’t want your fingerprints on there.”
Nate abruptly pulled his hand back. “True.”
She released a low breath of relief as Nate cautiously moved around the car, peering into the various windows. He was still closer than she wanted him to be, but at least he wasn’t touching it.
“Is there anything inside?” she asked as he finished his circuit.
He straightened, giving a sharp shake of his head. “There’s too much junk to know for certain. There could be a dozen bodies hidden beneath the trash.”
Ellie flinched. “Don’t even tease about it.”
“Sorry.”
She moved back to the truck to grab her handbag, pulling out her cell phone.
“We need to call the sheriff.”
Nate started to reach into his pocket. “I’ll do it.”
“No. I will,” she insisted. With crisp efficiency, she dialed the number to the office, leaving a message when she was told that the sheriff was in a meeting. Then, shoving the phone back in her purse, she moved until she was standing directly in front of Nate. “Look at me,” she commanded.
He met her stern gaze with a hint of amusement. “What?”
“When the sheriff arrives, I’m not the woman who shares your bed, I’m your lawyer,” she informed him. “Got it?”
He looked more curious than alarmed. “You think I need a lawyer?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was used to dealing with people who were accustomed to run-ins with law enforcement. Which meant they understood the danger of saying anything that might aggravate the situation.
Nate, on the other hand, assumed his previous connection to the FBI ensured that he didn’t have to play by the same rules as others.
It was an assumption that was going to get his ass thrown in jail if he wasn’t careful.
“Yeah. I think you need a lawyer,” she said, pointing a finger in his face. “Which means you keep your mouth shut and let me speak.”
“I’m not very good at that,” he drawled.
“Nate. I’m serious.”
“Fine. Once the sheriff gets here, I’ll keep my mouth shut,” he promised, turning back to the car. He slowly shook his head. “I don’t like this. It feels like a warning.”
Ellie agreed. She stepped to stand at his side, that odd forewarning crawling over her skin.
“Or a setup,” she said. She’d had one client framed for theft by his ex-girlfriend. It had been easy to do. She had a key to his house, so all she had to do was dump her jewelry in his underwear drawer late one night and then call the cops, claiming that he’d broken into her apartment and stolen her things. “The killer already left a body in your building and now the victim’s car is left a hundred yards from your house.”
Nate snorted, not looking nearly worried enough. “If he’s trying to pin the murder on me, he’s being a little too obvious.”
She shook her head. “Not when you have a sheriff who has the investigative skills of a slug,” she reminded him. “Besides, the killer’s goal might not be to get you locked up for murder. He might be trying to keep both of us distracted.”
Nate’s breath hissed between his clenched teeth. “True. Which means we must be getting too close for comfort.”
“Too close to what?”
“The Hopewell Clinic,” he suggested. “The fire. The mystery child.”
“Or none of those.”
They shared a glance of smoldering annoyance. It was impossible to know why the car had been left
in this particular spot. Or even for sure if it’d been the work of the killer.
Another question with no answer.
Ten minutes later the sheriff arrived in a cloud of dust. He pulled his SUV behind Nate’s truck and climbed out with a sour expression on his square face. Behind him, Deputy Clay followed like an eager puppy.
“Remember,” Ellie muttered as she felt Nate stiffen at her side.
Gary Clark was still a hundred feet away and already the air was bristling with male aggression.
Nate folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah, yeah. Keep my mouth closed.”
The sheriff halted in the middle of the road, his gaze flicking over Nate before moving to study Ellie with blatant impatience.
“This had better be good, Ms. Guthrie. I don’t have time to waste on wild-goose chases.”
She ignored his chiding tone and pasted on her most professional expression.
“My client and I were driving to his ranch when we spotted this abandoned car,” she said, nodding toward the Camaro.
Gary’s face flushed and Deputy Clay took a hurried step backward. Was he afraid his boss might become violent?
“You called me out here because someone parked their car on the side of a public road?” he snapped. “Do you think this is some sort of joke?”
Ellie maintained her composure. “My client suspects that it might belong to Larry Harper or his brother.”
Gary’s bluster faltered. “Larry Harper,” he repeated. “The dead man?”
“Yes.”
The sheriff shot Nate a suspicious frown. “How did it get here?”
Ellie answered before Nate could be badgered into breaking his promise. “Obviously, we don’t know.”
“There’s nothing obvious about it.” The sheriff nervously hitched up his pants, his original impatience being replaced with anger. They all knew he was in over his head. Now he was once again being forced to display his lack of competence. And worse, it was in front of Nate, whom he clearly envied. “First a dead body is found in his building and now the man’s car is at his house.”
Ellie shrugged. “You just said it was parked on a public road.”
Gary stabbed a finger toward Nate’s house. “Might as well be in his driveway.”
Ellie smiled. “But it’s not.”
Her refusal to react to his accusations only provoked the man’s anger. Lifting his hand, he gave a snap of his fingers.
“Clay, start taking some pictures,” he commanded. “I want the whole area photographed, including the road, in case these two didn’t destroy all the tire tracks. Then, get the kit out of the trunk and start dusting the car for prints.” Hitching up his pants, he headed toward the Camaro. “Did you touch it?” he demanded of Nate.
“He did not,” Ellie quickly answered.
Gary glanced over his shoulder at Nate. “So if we find your prints, you don’t have an easy explanation.”
Nate reached his breaking point. He stepped forward, his jaw jutted to an aggressive angle.
“You won’t find my prints.”
The sheriff sniffed as he pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket and snapped them on.
“We’ll see.”
Ellie elbowed Nate in the ribs. She understood his irritation. Gary Clark could test the patience of a saint. But the sheriff did have a reason to be suspicious. As he said, the body of Larry Harper had been found in Nate’s building. With the key to the back door in his pocket. And now Larry’s car was parked just behind his property.
Nate grimaced, clearly realizing that he’d allowed his temper to override his common sense. With a shrug, he snapped his lips shut as the sheriff pulled open the car door and started to rummage through the trash. The lawman looked under the seats and in the back, shuffling through piles of fast food wrappers and beer cans.
Finally satisfied there was nothing to be found in the junk, he opened the glove compartment. He pulled out the wad of papers, sorting through them with a frown before he tossed them onto the floor with the rest of the mess. Then he popped the trunk.
Circling the car, Gary kicked up tiny puffs of dust, impatiently waving away Clay, who had a camera and was enthusiastically snapping pictures of everything in sight. Then, grabbing the trunk lid, he shoved it up.
Instantly a gagging stench filled the air, sending the sheriff reeling backward to land on his ass in the middle of the road.
Ellie slapped a hand over her nose and mouth, frantically telling herself not to look. There was only one thing that could cause that particular smell.
Of course, she couldn’t help herself.
She could no more stop her gaze from moving to the bloody corpse that was stuffed in the trunk than she could stop her heart from beating.
It was a compulsion.
“Oh my God,” she choked out.
Even at a distance she could make out the horrific slashes that had been inflicted on the poor man. In places, they were deep enough to expose white bone. And the blood . . . She shuddered. It was everywhere. Soaked into his hair, his clothing, and the carpet of the trunk.
He looked like someone had taken an axe and tried to chop him into tiny bits.
Beside her Nate leaned forward, his muscles clenched as his breath rasped loudly in the awful silence.
“That’s Dr. Booker,” he at last said in grim tones. “I guess we know why he wasn’t at Barb’s funeral.”
The sheriff managed to shove himself to his feet, his face white. But even as he visibly battled his urge to vomit, he was pulling out his handgun and pointing it at Nate.
“Don’t move a muscle.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Walter woke, dazed and confused.
It wasn’t the first time. Or even the hundredth time.
Over the past twenty-five years, he’d spent the majority of his nights home alone, drinking his way to the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
It was a secret that he’d managed to hide from the world. Not the entire world, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. His wife had tried to curb his nightly habit before she’d finally thrown in the towel and walked away. And in time, Daniel had grown old enough to realize that his father’s slurred words and stumbles over his own feet weren’t because he was tired.
A fact that Daniel had thrown in his face whenever Walter complained about his son’s drug abuse.
“I don’t take advice from a washed-up sheriff who is shitfaced by nine o’clock,” the younger man would taunt.
Walter tried to move, grunting as a sharp pain shot through his head.
This morning was worse than usual. Probably because he’d started earlier than usual. As soon as he’d returned from that idiotic meeting in Neville’s field.
It’d been Colin’s idea to meet there. He said he wanted to remind them all of what they had to lose. As if Barb’s funeral hadn’t been enough of a reminder. And then the arrogant ass had spent the next ten minutes chastising them. As if it was their fault that things were unraveling.
Walter muttered a curse. He’d not only lost his son to some madman, but he’d risked everything to break into Barb’s house and search for the missing file that the drunken bitch had been trying to use to blackmail them.
And now Colin was insisting that he discover who was responsible before the mystery killer could hurt Ellie. How the hell was he supposed to do that? He was just an old man who’d retired a long time ago.
With a groan, he tried to sit up, only to discover he couldn’t move.
What was happening? Fear blasted through him. Was it a stroke? The doctor had been warning him for years that his drinking was going to lead him to an early grave.
Just like Barb.
Then he managed to clench his hands, and he realized that his muscles weren’t paralyzed. Plus, there was the rattle of metal when he tried to move. It wasn’t a medical emergency. He couldn’t move because he was cuffed to the bed.
His fear remained as he tried to process what was going on.
He was in his bed . . .
Wait. He blinked, trying to peer through the gloom. This wasn’t his bed. He was in the basement. He could tell by the small window that was cut in the foundation near the drop ceiling and the faint smell of mold.
This was Daniel’s room.
Or at least it had been before Walter had kicked him out.
How had he gotten here? Had he been pushed down the stairs? It felt like it. Not only did his head throb, but there was a deep ache in his body. He felt bruised from head to toe.
But how had he gotten in the bed? And who had stripped him naked before cuffing his wrists and ankles to the bedposts so he was spread-eagled on the mattress?
His mouth went dry. His brain might be rattled and still fogged with alcohol, but he knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.
Summoning the strength to try and struggle against the cuffs, Walter froze when he heard a rustle coming from the shadows on the far side of the room.
“Hello?” he called out, trying to tell himself that it must be one of Daniel’s druggie friends. He’d always worried that one of them would come to the house to rob him. But why would they tie him up? That didn’t make any sense. “Hello?” he called again. “I know someone’s there.”
“I began to wonder if you would ever wake up.”
The voice was low and muffled, making it impossible for him to recognize. Hell, he didn’t even know if they were male or female.
Walter frowned. The person had been hanging around, waiting for him to regain consciousness. Which meant this wasn’t a simple robbery. It also made him suspect that it wasn’t just his usual hangover that was making it difficult to think.
“You drugged me,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Just a few pills in your whiskey,” the intruder drawled. “I didn’t know you intended to drink the whole bottle.”
Walter muttered an angry curse. No wonder he’d slept through his trip down the stairs. Not to mention being handcuffed to the bed.
“Who the hell are you?” he ground out. “Show yourself.”
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