All I Need Is You Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Johanna Lindsey
this morning.
It wasn’t the first time that the events of his father’s death and what followed had kept Damian from sleeping. His rage was always close to the surface, a constant companion these past six months. He relived those powerful emotions so often, the frustration, the disbelief, and finally his resolve to see justice done.
After his experience with the police, he had hired his own detectives, and they had been quick and thorough. The small cafe across the street from Rutledge Imports had been open thatnight, but business had been slow. The one waiter who had been working had noticed two burly men leaving the Rutledge offices, noticed them because they looked so out of place. And he happened to be an amateur artist. For a small fee, he’d drawn sketches of both men from memory.
Obviously the waiter was quite talented artistically, because the sketches he’d made, passed around in the seedier areas of the city, finally led to one of the culprits, who had been persuaded to volunteer a full confession. But even before that had happened, Henry Curruthers had already come under suspicion.
Damian hadn’t wanted to believe Curruthers was involved. He had been his father’s accountant for more than ten years. He was an unassuming little man in his mid-forties who’d never married. He lived with and supported an elderly aunt on the east side of town. He never missed a day of work. He was always either in the office or at one of the Rutledge warehouses taking inventories. And like all the other employees, he’d been at the funeral, had seemed to be genuinely grieving over Damian Senior’s passing.
But one of the detectives had requested permission to examine the company books, and the books had shown serious discrepancies. When Henry was questioned, the detective wasn’t satisfied with the little man’s answers.
It still wasn’t conclusive evidence, even when Henry disappeared from the city with no trace. But then the sketches paid off.
The two men Henry had hired hadn’t known his name, but they described him perfectly, fromhis thick-lensed glasses to his receding brown hair to the single mole on his left cheek and his owlish blue eyes. It was Henry Curruthers, without a doubt. And he’d hired those two men, for a mere fifty dollars, to kill his employer before it was discovered that he’d embezzled money from the company.
For fifty dollars. Damian still couldn’t believe that anyone could hold life so cheaply. It had taken one of the detectives to point out that what was a pittance to one man could be a fortune to another.
It was Henry who had insisted on having the murder look like a suicide. He’d even supplied the forged suicide note. He must have counted on Damian’s grief keeping him from going over the books until enough time had passed that the discrepancies in them would be so well hidden that they would never come to light.
Henry Curruthers was the murderer, those two men merely his puppets. And he would have gotten away with it if Damian hadn’t been so dogged in his search for answers. Yet so far, he had gotten away with it. He had disappeared, gone into hiding. It had taken three months to finally track him down in Fort Worth, only to have him disappear again before he could be apprehended.
Damian had become fed up with the waiting, feeling useless while others did the work. He couldn’t stand it that Curruthers was out there somewhere, still enjoying his freedom. He had been spotted in Fort Worth, Texas. Like many other men wanted by the law, he’d gone West, to take advantage of the vastness out there tolose himself. But Damian would find him. He didn’t know the first thing about tracking a man down, yet he would find him. And he had a badge to make it legal when he killed him.
It paid to have powerful friends, and his father had known quite a few. Damian had been able to pull strings to get an appointment as a U.S. deputy, for the sole purpose of dealing with Curruthers. The
It wasn’t the first time that the events of his father’s death and what followed had kept Damian from sleeping. His rage was always close to the surface, a constant companion these past six months. He relived those powerful emotions so often, the frustration, the disbelief, and finally his resolve to see justice done.
After his experience with the police, he had hired his own detectives, and they had been quick and thorough. The small cafe across the street from Rutledge Imports had been open thatnight, but business had been slow. The one waiter who had been working had noticed two burly men leaving the Rutledge offices, noticed them because they looked so out of place. And he happened to be an amateur artist. For a small fee, he’d drawn sketches of both men from memory.
Obviously the waiter was quite talented artistically, because the sketches he’d made, passed around in the seedier areas of the city, finally led to one of the culprits, who had been persuaded to volunteer a full confession. But even before that had happened, Henry Curruthers had already come under suspicion.
Damian hadn’t wanted to believe Curruthers was involved. He had been his father’s accountant for more than ten years. He was an unassuming little man in his mid-forties who’d never married. He lived with and supported an elderly aunt on the east side of town. He never missed a day of work. He was always either in the office or at one of the Rutledge warehouses taking inventories. And like all the other employees, he’d been at the funeral, had seemed to be genuinely grieving over Damian Senior’s passing.
But one of the detectives had requested permission to examine the company books, and the books had shown serious discrepancies. When Henry was questioned, the detective wasn’t satisfied with the little man’s answers.
It still wasn’t conclusive evidence, even when Henry disappeared from the city with no trace. But then the sketches paid off.
The two men Henry had hired hadn’t known his name, but they described him perfectly, fromhis thick-lensed glasses to his receding brown hair to the single mole on his left cheek and his owlish blue eyes. It was Henry Curruthers, without a doubt. And he’d hired those two men, for a mere fifty dollars, to kill his employer before it was discovered that he’d embezzled money from the company.
For fifty dollars. Damian still couldn’t believe that anyone could hold life so cheaply. It had taken one of the detectives to point out that what was a pittance to one man could be a fortune to another.
It was Henry who had insisted on having the murder look like a suicide. He’d even supplied the forged suicide note. He must have counted on Damian’s grief keeping him from going over the books until enough time had passed that the discrepancies in them would be so well hidden that they would never come to light.
Henry Curruthers was the murderer, those two men merely his puppets. And he would have gotten away with it if Damian hadn’t been so dogged in his search for answers. Yet so far, he had gotten away with it. He had disappeared, gone into hiding. It had taken three months to finally track him down in Fort Worth, only to have him disappear again before he could be apprehended.
Damian had become fed up with the waiting, feeling useless while others did the work. He couldn’t stand it that Curruthers was out there somewhere, still enjoying his freedom. He had been spotted in Fort Worth, Texas. Like many other men wanted by the law, he’d gone West, to take advantage of the vastness out there tolose himself. But Damian would find him. He didn’t know the first thing about tracking a man down, yet he would find him. And he had a badge to make it legal when he killed him.
It paid to have powerful friends, and his father had known quite a few. Damian had been able to pull strings to get an appointment as a U.S. deputy, for the sole purpose of dealing with Curruthers. The