STALKING ELLIE
“Did they tell you anything that could help?” she demanded.
Nate grimaced. “Just that Daniel assured them that he was going to make some money that night so he could pay them.”
“Doing what?”
“He was supposedly hired to cause chaos.”
“What does that mean?”
“That was all Daniel said, but if I had to make a guess, I’d say he was responsible for your slashed tires and Mandy’s broken window.”
“Someone paid him to harass me?”
He shrugged. “It’s one theory.”
It was bad enough to believe that anyone would want to deliberately vandalize her property. Now he was implying there was some mystery person paying the citizens of Curry to pester her, along with Mandy and maybe even Tia.
“But why? What would be the point?” she asked.
“I don’t know . . .”
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YOU WILL SUFFER
ALEXANDRA IVY
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
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Table of Contents
STALKING ELLIE
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
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Copyright © 2019 by Debbie Raleigh
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Prologue
Once there was a time when the solid brick building on the corner of Main Street and First Street had been the proud headquarters of the local Masonic Lodge. The men of means and stature in the community would gather behind locked doors and discuss their secret business. In other words, they shared the latest gossip while they ate dinner and enjoyed the barrels of moonshine they kept hidden in the cellar.
As the years had passed, however, the small town of Curry, Oklahoma, dwindled in population. The younger folks moved fifty miles west to Oklahoma City in the hopes of better jobs, and there was nothing in the area to attract new blood. As they’d aged, the Masons died off, while the younger men had no interest in the traditions of the past. The Lodge had threatened to become yet another empty shell.
Thankfully, the building had been purchased by Harry Massie, a local rancher who’d had the brilliant idea to turn it into a tavern. Gutting the main floor, he’d spent the bare minimum on ensuring the ceiling didn’t cave in on his customers, and that it was relatively clean. He was also smart enough not to bother to name his new establishment. It would always be “the Lodge” in the minds of the locals.
Now it was a dark, dingy place that had worn brick walls with the obligatory neon beer signs. Along one side of the cavernous room was a line of booths and in the middle was a handful of tables. At the very back was a dance floor with a small stage.
Harry insisted that the warped wooden floors and bare light bulbs that hung from electrical wires gave the place atmosphere, but the truth was that the building should have been condemned years ago. The locals didn’t care. They just wanted someplace they could occasionally get together and have a drink.
Of course, there were some locals who did more than come in occasionally for a drink. There were a dozen or so customers who could be found in the dark interior on a nightly basis.
One of those customers was Daniel Perry.
Seated in the corner booth, he was nursing his beer and ruefully glancing toward the woman that Harry had hired to manage the place. Paula Raye was a hard-ass who claimed to have come from Oklahoma City, but Daniel suspected she was fresh out of jail. He knew enough men who rotated in and out of the penitentiary system to recognize an ex-con.
She was a squat woman with brown hair that was chopped short and ugly tats that covered her arms and crawled up her thick neck. She’d arrived in town a year ago and had promptly taken firm control of the Lodge. Including putting an end to Daniel’s habit of charging his drinks to his tab.
Bitch.
Daniel returned his gaze to his beer, wishing he was anyplace but here.
Although he was still in his mid-twenties, he looked at least a decade older. His narrow face was sallow and already lined with wrinkles. And his once broad frame was now to the poin
t of being gaunt.
Years of substance abuse had taken their toll.
Taking another sip, he ran his fingers through the long, tangled strands of his dark hair. His father had bitched for an hour this morning that it needed to be cut, but Daniel had ignored the old man. Walter Perry had once been the sheriff of this godforsaken county. The illusion of power had gone to his head, making him think he could bully everyone into obeying his commands.
Including his own son.
Lost in daydreams of the moment he could afford to walk away from Curry and never look back, Daniel didn’t notice the two men who strolled into the tavern and headed directly toward his booth. It wasn’t until the floorboards squeaked that he belatedly glanced up to watch as the men slid into the bench seat across the table from him.
Bert and Larry Harper.
The brothers were originally from Curry, but had moved to Tulsa after they’d flunked out of high school. They were both thin and wiry, with dirt-blond hair and sharply defined faces. They looked and dressed like hillbillies, but they tried to act like they were some sort of bad-ass gangsters. Bert had even tattooed a couple teardrops beneath his eye to add to the illusion.
It would have been funny if they weren’t so willing to shoot anyone who pissed them off.
“Shit,” Daniel muttered, scooting toward the edge of the booth.
Bert reached out with his leg and planted his cowboy boot at the end of the seat, effectively blocking Daniel’s escape.
“Going someplace, Danny boy?” the man drawled.
Daniel grimaced. He’d been avoiding this meeting for two weeks. Ever since he’d sobered up long enough to realize that he’d managed to smoke his way through the entire stash of meth that he was supposed to be dealing. The Harper brothers were expecting him to hand over a thousand dollars. Or else.
The knowledge had gnawed at him for days. But then an unexpected stroke of luck had happened. He’d been offered an employment opportunity that might just save his ass. As long as he could survive this unwelcome meeting.
“It’s getting late.” He pointedly glanced toward the clock. Ten minutes until eleven p.m.
Bert flashed an ugly smile. “You run off and you’re going to make me think you don’t want to spend time with me.”
“Yeah,” Larry chimed in. “You’ll hurt our feelings.”
“We’re real sensitive that way,” Bert added.
Daniel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The two were idiots. But that didn’t make them any less dangerous. Just the opposite.
They didn’t have any ability to think through their actions to the inevitable conclusions. Meaning they shot first and asked questions later.
“Maybe next time.”
Daniel placed his palms flat on the table, trying to shove himself upright. He had a brief hope that the two would want to avoid a scene.
A hope that was squashed when Bert moved his foot to sharply kick Daniel in the knee.
“Sit,” he ordered.
Daniel sucked in a pained breath as he flopped back down. “No need to get violent.”
Larry leaned forward, his blue eyes cold and empty. Like he was dead inside. And maybe he was. It was rumored that the Harper brothers’ dad had been a mean drunk who liked to knock around his family whenever he bothered to go home.
“If you think that’s violent, Danny boy, just wait to see what we have planned for you if I don’t get the money you owe us,” Larry warned.
Daniel licked his dry lips. At his very core, he was a coward. Long ago it’d bothered him, but now he simply accepted he’d do anything to save his own skin.
“You’ll get it,” he told them.
“Good boy,” Bert commended, sending his brother a mocking smile. “See, I told you we could depend on him.”
Larry scowled. “I ain’t seen the money.”
Bert kept his gaze locked on Daniel. “He’s about to hand it over, isn’t that right, Danny boy? You’re not going to prove me a liar, are you?”
Daniel’s teeth clenched. Christ. He hated the Harpers. They were crude, disgusting pigs. Sadly, they’d been his drug dealers since he’d started experimenting in the ninth grade. What choice did he have but to kiss their asses?
“My name is Daniel, not Danny boy,” he snapped.
Bert held out his hand. “I don’t care if your name is fucking Santa Claus. Give me the money.”
Daniel hunched his shoulders. “I don’t have it on me.”
There was a tense pause, emphasizing the silence in the tavern. The sparse crowd had thinned out while Paula was sweeping the floor, clearly preparing to close for the night.
“Then we’ll all go together to get it,” Bert at last said. “My car’s outside.”
Daniel swallowed a resigned sigh. He couldn’t tell the brothers that he’d used the product he was supposed to be selling for them. Or what he’d agreed to do to earn the money to pay them back.
“Look, it’s been a little tough to unload what you gave me, but I have a buyer who promised to take the whole stash. We’re meeting tomorrow night,” he smoothly lied.
Bert narrowed his gaze. “Do I look stupid?”
Daniel lifted his hand. There was an edge in Bert’s voice that warned he was starting to consider the pleasure of putting a bullet through Daniel’s heart.
“It’s true,” Daniel insisted.
“I asked you a question.” Bert slammed his hand flat on the table. “Do I look stupid?”
Daniel gave a cautious shake of his head. “No.”
“Then I shouldn’t have to tell you that I can smell bullshit a mile away.”
“It isn’t bullshit.” Daniel pressed a hand over his heart. He didn’t have many talents, but he was a master at lying. He’d managed to cover his drug addiction for years. “Not this time. I swear.”
Bert paused. Then, no doubt realizing that killing Daniel wasn’t going to get his money, he settled back in his seat.
“Tell me about this score,” he commanded.
Daniel released a slow breath and weaved a story that he silently prayed would convince the brothers not to kill him.
Chapter One
Ellie Guthrie was savoring her second cup of coffee when her cell phone rang.
Grabbing it off the linoleum countertop, she glanced at the screen out of habit rather than necessity. She already knew who was calling. Less than a handful of people had her private number, and of those, only her secretary, Doris Harvey, would be phoning before breakfast.
“What’s the disaster?” she demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.
After a year of working together, Doris had learned that Ellie was single-minded when it came to work.
“No disaster,” the older woman assured her. Doris was a tiny wisp of a woman with steel-gray hair she kept cut short and dark eyes that sparkled with good humor. Beneath her sweet-old-lady façade, however, was the tenacity of a bulldog. Over the past year she’d proven to be more than just an employee. She was a loyal friend who protected Ellie with a ferocious diligence. “I was sorting through your emails and there was one from the district attorney’s office that your meeting has been delayed.”
Ellie frowned. She’d recently taken over the defense of a man who’d been accused of a series of thefts in the area. Today she was supposed to pick up the discovery packet so she could prepare for the pretrial hearing.
“Delayed? Did they give a reason why?” she demanded.
“A scheduling conflict is the official reason, but I would guess that the prosecutor discovered you had taken over the defense and realized that he’d better have his ducks in a row,” Doris said.
Ellie’s lips twitched. She couldn’t see her secretary’s face, but she could hear the hint of smug satisfaction in her voice.
“Ducks in a row?”
“Greg Stone is used to being the smartest man in the room,” Doris said, referring to the local prosecutor. “The fact that there is a woman who can challenge him in the courtroom has him scr
ambling to bring his A game.”
Ellie felt a stab of pride. It was one thing to graduate from a fancy law school with a 4.0; it was another to put everything she’d learned to the test by opening her own law firm.
The knowledge that she’d succeeded despite her father’s stern disapproval at her walking away from a prestigious position he’d arranged for her in Oklahoma City added an extra dash of satisfaction.
She’d accomplished her success on her own.
That was important.
“Then I’d better make sure I bring my A game as well,” Ellie said.
“Your game is A-plus, baby.”
Ellie chuckled. “You’re very colorful this morning,” she told her secretary. “Did you spend the weekend binge watching The Sopranos again?”
“Nope. It was Dragnet this time.”
“Ah.” Ellie’s smile widened. She’d watched reruns of the show when she was just a child. “Just the facts, ma’am.”
“Exactly.”
She wrinkled her nose. She hated having her tightly controlled schedule disrupted. Still, she understood the game. Greg Stone had a legal obligation to hand over the files he had on her client, but if she became a pain, then he’d drag his feet as long as possible.
It was better just to allow him to enjoy his power play. It was one skirmish in a war she was fully confident she would win.
“I’ll head straight to the office.”
“No hurry,” Doris told her. “It’s pretty quiet here this morning.”
“Then I’ll catch up on my paperwork.”
Doris heaved a deep sigh. “It’s supposed to be a beautiful spring morning. Don’t you have something better to do than sit in your office?”
Ellie glanced around her kitchen and grimaced. She had lots and lots of better things to do.
Thousands of things.
Since buying the old ranch house five miles south of Curry, she’d done nothing more than unpack the necessities. At the beginning, she’d had grand plans of remodeling. She intended to gut the place and create an open floor plan as well as enclosing the wraparound porch for a place to sit and enjoy the peace on warm nights.
You Will Suffer Page 1
