Every Move She Makes (7 page)

“I get out rarely,” Carolyn had said. “Especially not in this hot weather. It’s such a delight to have a visitor. Come, sit and chat with me awhile.”

The woman was Webb Porter’s wife, and that very fact made Judy uncomfortable in her presence. But she had stayed twenty minutes. As usual, Carolyn was charming. A true Southern lady. But as usual, Judy felt an underlying tension in Webb’s wife.

The moment Judy started down the back staircase, she met Webb. Her heart leaped to her throat. She had prayed she wouldn’t run into him. What would she say? How should she act?

“Judy?”

“Hello, Webb.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Jeff Henry sent me over with some homemade bread for Carolyn. He’s aware that it’s a favorite of hers.”

Webb stopped his ascent. Judy continued down the stairs. When she passed him, he reached out for her, but dropped his hand to his side before actually touching her.

“I’d like to talk to you,” he said.

“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

“Please, give me a few minutes of your time.”

She forced herself to look him squarely in the eye, but regretted the action when he stared at her pleadingly.
Don’t let him get to you, she cautioned herself. Webb Porter knows how to charm a lady. But this man is your son’s enemy and don’t you forget it
.

“What do you want to talk to me about?” she asked.

“Would you come downstairs with me? We can talk in my study.”

“We can talk in the kitchen, on my way out,” she told him.

“If that’s what you prefer.”

“It is.”

He followed her down the back stairs and into the kitchen. She paused by the door. “What is it?”

“Ella has received three disturbing phone calls and two obscene, threatening letters since Reed was paroled.”

Judy gasped. “Are you saying that you think Reed made those phone calls and sent those letters?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I think.”

“You’re wrong. Dead wrong. Just like you were wrong about him slitting Junior’s throat fifteen years ago.”

“You’re Reed’s mother. I’d expect you to defend him.”

“And you’re the man who prosecuted him for murder. I’d expect you to suspect him. But I’m telling you that all Reed wants is a second chance. He’s not going to do anything to mess up his parole.”

“I hope you’re right. But I think you should caution Reed to stay away from Ella.”

“Stay away from…Are you saying that Reed’s been bothering Ella?”

“They made contact and it upset Ella.”

“What do you mean they made contact?”

“After she received the first letter, Ella confronted Reed.”

“Ah, I see.” Judy tilted her chin and glared at Webb. “If you’re so worried about Reed contaminating Ella, then perhaps you should tell your daughter to stay away from my son.”

Judy left hurriedly while Webb Porter stood there, mouth agape. She closed the door quietly behind her and ran from the back porch and down the brick sidewalk. Her head throbbed. Her heart raced. Damn Webb Porter. Damn him to hell and back.

Webb didn’t move for several minutes after Judy Conway’s hasty departure. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but he should have known that it would be useless to ask her to warn Reed to stay away from Ella. Judy had been Reed’s staunchest defender during his trial, and whatever goodwill there had been between Webb and her before then had come to an end when Reed had been convicted of Junior’s murder.

He would never forget the night she came to him, pleading for him to have the police search elsewhere for her dead husband’s killer.

“Someone else killed Junior,” she had said. “I swear to you that Reed didn’t slit his throat. He beat him to within an inch of his life, yes, but he didn’t come back later while Junior was unconscious and murder him.”

Webb had wanted to help her. More than she would ever know. But how could he, when all the evidence pointed clearly to Reed? Webb had despised Junior Blalock almost as much as Reed had. He’d never understood what Judy had seen in that white trash drunkard. He realized how hard it had been for her trying to raise two children on her own, but marrying Junior had only added to her troubles, not relieved them. Of course, Junior had been a good-looking devil and had possessed a certain amount of crude charm. But he’d been a sleaze—a wife beater and a child molester. Webb cringed at the thought of that slimy bastard touching sweet little Regina. If back then Webb had ever suspected that Junior had tried to rape Regina, he wasn’t sure what he would have done to the man.
You would have killed him
, a nagging inner voice said.

“Yes, I would have killed him,” Webb said aloud.

The intercom buzzer sounded. “Webb? If you’re there, dear, would you please come upstairs. I haven’t seen you since breakfast this morning.”

Webb froze to the spot. There had been a time, long ago, when he had loved the sound of Carolyn’s voice: soft, sultry, and honey-coated Southern. But that had been a lifetime ago. Now, the sound irritated the hell out of him. There were times when he couldn’t bear even being in the same room with her. She was clinging and whiny and needy, so very needy. He had loved her once, but that, too, had been a lifetime ago. He pitied her. He had stayed married to her out of duty and obligation. Carolyn knew why he stayed, but she didn’t seem to mind why he remained her husband, just as long as she could be, now and forever, Mrs. Webb Porter. She claimed to love him, and in her own way, perhaps she did.

They both loved Ella, the one good thing in their lives. But how many times had the truth about Ella’s bloodlines haunted him? How often had he wondered exactly how Carolyn would feel about Ella if she knew the truth about their adopted child? If his wife knew about Ella’s true parentage, would she hate their daughter? But there was no reason for Carolyn to ever know the truth. And no reason for Ella ever to learn about her biological mother and father. Her adoption had been private—handled by the Porters’ family lawyer, Milton Leamon, Webb’s cousin. And thankfully, Ella had never asked any questions about her natural parents.

“Webb? Webb?” Carolyn called again and again.

With slumped shoulders, he left the kitchen and headed up the back stairs. When he reached Carolyn’s closed door, he hesitated, then knocked. Viola opened the door. The woman glared at him. She had the look of an army sergeant. Hard as nails, tough through and through. Viola could be unpleasant and aggravating, but she was devoted to Carolyn. He didn’t know what they would have done without the woman these past thirty-one years.

“Please come in, Mr. Porter.” Viola moved out of his way. “Miss Carolyn is quite eager to see you.”

Viola walked past him, leaving him alone with his wife. Carolyn sat propped up in the bed, pillows surrounding her. She was still a lovely woman. He tried his best to be devoted and caring. Occasionally he even shared her bed. But Carolyn’s paralysis kept her from fully enjoying sex, so their intimate moments together lacked any real satisfaction for either of them. If he loved her, it would have been different. But he didn’t love her. He hadn’t loved his wife in over thirty years. If he ever confessed that to anyone, they would assume it was because of her condition. But they would be wrong.

“Darling, there you are. What kept you so long? Viola heard you speaking to Judy Conway on the stairs. Has Judy gone?”

“Yes, she’s gone.”

“Such a sweet woman.”

“Yes.”

Carolyn patted the bed. “Come sit with me.”

Webb crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed. “Have you had a good day?”

“As good as most. What about you? Did you enjoy your lunch with Ella?”

How did he answer that question truthfully without divulging the truth about the harassing letters Ella had received? Telling Carolyn would only upset her. “I always enjoy time with our daughter.”

“We have every reason to be proud of her, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do. We’ve done a fine job with her. You’ve been a good mother.”

“Thank you, Webb. It’s nice to know that I’m not a failure at everything.”

“Carolyn, please…”

“Yes, of course, no need to ruin a perfectly pleasant visit with an unpleasant subject.”

“Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?” Webb asked.

“Yes, certainly…if you’re going to be home. You haven’t made other plans, have you?”

“No.”

“Webb?”

“Hmm?”

“What were you and Judy talking about?”

Webb noted the hint of jealousy in Carolyn’s voice. She had been insanely jealous when they’d first married—a trait that had driven him crazy. Back then, she’d had no reason to be jealous. He’d been a faithful husband. She was still a jealous wife, but she controlled the emotion and hid her feelings quite well. He knew she suspected him of infidelity, but it was a taboo subject between them.

“I asked her about Reed,” Webb said.

“Ah, yes, of course. What else would the two of you have to discuss except her son? I assume he still hates you as much as he did when he first went to prison.”

“Yes, I assume he does.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t make good on the threats he made back then.” Carolyn reached for Webb’s hand. Reluctantly, he accepted her gentle touch. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. Or to Ella. You and our daughter are my life. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Carolyn, I know.” He leaned over and kissed her soft cheek. “You mustn’t worry, dear. I’ll make sure that Reed Conway isn’t a threat to me or to Ella.”

“What will you do if he…?”

Webb laid his index finger over her parted lips. “Hush now. Don’t fret. Just know that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Reed from disrupting our lives.”

When he heard a car screech to a halt outside the garage, Reed looked up from under the hood of the Pontiac Grand Prix a customer had dropped off to have the air filter changed. A 1957 Thunderbird convertible was a beautiful machine, a classic. And the lady who emerged from behind the wheel was herself a classic beauty. He would have known her anywhere. Remarkably, she’d changed very little in fifteen years. How old was she now? In her late forties, but she didn’t look a day over thirty-five. At least not at a distance. Petite but with curves in all the right places. Her shapely body filled out a pair of red capri pants, and her full breasts strained against the red-and-white cotton halter top. Her thick, black hair had been cut in the latest short fashion. A pair of large fourteen-karat gold hoops dangled from her ears. As she approached the garage entrance, she lowered her sunglasses and peered over the rims at Reed. When she recognized him, she threw up her hand and waved.

“Hi, there, Reed.” Cybil Carlisle bestowed one of her thousand-watt smiles on him. “Welcome home.”

“Hello, Mrs. Carlisle.”

Before Cybil could advance their conversation, Briley Joe opened the door to the office and came outside to greet their customer.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Carlisle.” Briley Joe appraised her obvious physical assets, skimming her from top to bottom. A smug, I’ve-had-some-of-that-and-it-was-good grin spread across his face.

Her smile broadened when she turned her attention to Briley Joe. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you about tuning up my engine.”

“Come on into my office and let’s discuss your problem.”

Briley Joe held open the door for Cybil, who slunk past him and into the cool air-conditioned interior. Before he followed her inside, he paused, glanced over his shoulder, and winked at Reed.

Reed laughed, then shook his head. Hell, that Briley Joe was a hound dog. Screwing around with Jeff Henry Carlisle’s wife wasn’t the smartest thing his cousin had ever done. He could understand the fascination, but no piece of ass was worth risking your life. Enraged husbands shot their wives’ lovers every day of the week. And a guy as rich as Jeff Henry was the type to hire somebody else to do the dirty work while keeping his own hands clean.

Personally, Reed had never liked Jeff Henry. Too much of a snob, and a fancy-pants to boot. Reed hated that his mother still worked as the Carlisles’ housekeeper. She’d been with the family since he was a little boy. He could well remember the times he’d stood sulking in the kitchen, warned by his mother to stay out of sight and be quiet, that Mr. Jeff Henry didn’t like being bothered by children. But he’d soon learned that one child in particular had free rein in the Carlisle household. The little princess, Ella Porter. Not only had she been allowed to play in any room of the house, she’d often sat in Jeff Henry’s lap and drunk lemonade while Reed peered around the corner. In the beginning he had envied Ella, and later on, after his sister, Regina, was born, he had disliked Ella intensely. He had somehow gotten the notion in his head that Jeff Henry was Regina’s father, and that being the fact, he wondered why Jeff Henry didn’t hold Regina in his lap, read stories to her, and let her have the run of his home. Of course, by the time he was twelve, he realized that his mother’s employer probably wasn’t his sister’s father after all. When he was twelve, just a few days before she married Junior Blalock, his mother had kissed Webb Porter. Reed had seen them there in the Carlisles’ garden. He might have been just a kid, but he knew the difference between a passionate embrace and a friendly hug. In a rather loud voice, Webb had asked Judy not to marry Junior. But before Reed had gotten close enough to hear his mother’s soft response, Ella had come running from the Porters’ backyard, calling for her father.

As a teenager, Reed had asked his mother who Regina’s father was, and she’d told him it was none of his business. She’d denied that either Jeff Henry or Webb Porter was the man who’d gotten her pregnant. Giving birth to an illegitimate child had to have been torment for his mother, who was by anyone’s standards a good, decent woman. Having an abortion would have been out of the question for her. She was the religious type who believed that life began at conception.

Sweat dripped off Reed’s chin, trickled down his back, and dampened his stained cotton T-shirt. Being a mechanic was dirty work, especially on a hot summer day in a local garage in a one-horse town like Spring Creek. But hot, dirty, and tired, Reed felt great. He was free and that was all that mattered. For now. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in this job, or even in this town. But he couldn’t make plans for the future until he’d come to terms with the past. And that meant finding out who really killed Junior, so he could clear his name.

And just what are you willing to risk in order to accomplish that goal?
he asked himself.
One false move on your part and you’ll be back in the slammer. You touch one hair on Princess Ella’s head and Webb Porter will serve your balls up on a silver platter
.

He had compiled a list of suspects—people with reason to want Junior Blalock dead. People other than himself and his mother. Jeff Henry Carlisle and Webb Porter topped that list. They were his main targets, despite the fact that Mark Leamon assured him time and again that neither man was capable of murder or of allowing an innocent teenage boy to spend half his life in prison.

Reed wiped his hands, mixing sweat and grease on the dingy rag. He heard a faint sound coming from inside the office. Giggles? Throaty giggles. His imagination kicked into overdrive. Images of his cousin and Cybil Carlisle flashed through his mind, followed quickly by unwelcome thoughts of Ella. He had to stop thinking about the senator’s daughter. No good would come of having her on his mind. She was forbidden fruit.

A loud thump jarred Reed from his musings. Something had either fallen onto the floor inside the office or had hit the wall. Three days ago he’d had Ella all alone in the same ten-foot-square area where Briley Joe no doubt was, at this very moment, getting from Cybil what Reed wanted from Ella. Suddenly Reed’s sex hardened. He cursed himself for a fool.

“You’ve missed me a lot, haven’t you?” Briley Joe grabbed her hands when she tried to unzip his jeans. “You ought to come around more often. If you did, you wouldn’t be so horny now.”

“I thought you liked me horny.” She tried again to grasp the tab on his zipper, but he clutched her hands, brought them up, and flattened them against his chest.

“I like you any way I can get you. You know that.” His cunning grin created dimples in his cheeks. “But it might be fun to spend more than thirty minutes together some time. What do you think?”

She glared at him. Damn the man! Why did he have to talk? She wasn’t interested in conversation. Surely he knew there was only one reason she came to him. She didn’t want love or romance or even friendship. She wanted the same thing from this Neanderthal grease monkey that she’d wanted from the other, less desirable men she’d used over the years. She wanted a quick tumble to relieve sexual tension. And she wanted her ever-loving husband to know that she was getting laid by a white trash stud.

“I think it’s time for more action and less talk,” Cybil told him. “If we stay in here too long, Reed’s going to wonder what’s going on.” She didn’t like the smug look on Briley Joe’s face, or the way his lips curved into a tentative smile. “Damn you, he knows, doesn’t he? You told him!”

“Reed knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

“He’d better.” Over the years she’d made certain that her numerous indiscretions hadn’t become a public scandal. People might speculate about her morals, but her infidelity was nothing more than unsubstantiated rumors. Only her family knew she was a tramp. Her saccharine, holier-than-thou sister, Carolyn, her not-so-saintly brother-in-law, Webb, and, of course, her beloved husband. Jeff Henry hated her now. But his hatred was preferable to his indifference. At least he felt something for her. There had been a time when she had desperately wanted his love, but she’d finally realized that her husband could love only one woman.
And that woman wasn’t her!
Jeff Henry had worshiped the ground Carolyn walked on since they’d been children. When she married Webb, she’d broken Jeff Henry’s heart. And when he had realized that the marriage was going to last, he had asked Cybil to marry him. And like a young fool, she’d said yes. In less than six months, she’d realized that she was nothing more than a substitute for the real thing. And Jeff Henry quickly learned that his wife was no carbon copy of her older sister.

The feel of Briley Joe’s callused hands skimming across her midriff reminded Cybil of where she was and whom she was with. She pressed herself against him, rubbing her mound over his erection. Her body throbbed with need. It had been nearly a year since she’d had sex with her husband—his choice, not hers. Even if they despised each other, they could still satisfy their basic needs in their marital bed. She was willing; Jeff Henry was not. She couldn’t help wondering if he got his jollies by sitting at Carolyn’s bedside, reading romantic poetry to the poor invalid.

If her husband loved her, if he shared her bed, if he wasn’t in love with her sister, she wouldn’t have to seek solace elsewhere. Years ago she’d been stupid enough to think that if she screwed around, Jeff Henry would care, that he’d take notice of her. He’d taken notice all right, but not because he cared.

“You’re going to wind up in big trouble if you keep messing around with trash,” Jeff Henry had told her. “If you don’t catch some vile disease, sooner or later one of your redneck lovers will beat the hell out of you.”

He’d been right on one count. And the beating had come sooner, not later. Fifteen years ago, she’d had an ugly little affair with Junior Blalock and wound up bloody and bruised. That sorry bastard had loved inflicting pain. How Judy had stayed married to him, Cybil would never know. He’d been pretty good in the sack, but a little too rough even for Cybil’s crude tastes. When Jeff Henry had arrived at the emergency room that long-ago night, he’d been livid. To this day she didn’t know with whom he’d been the most angry, Junior or her. But it hadn’t been her own husband who’d gone to see Junior and issued him a warning. It had been her sister’s husband, good old Webb. He’d always been dear and kind to her. They understood each other. In an odd sort of way, Webb and she were two of a kind. Both were trapped in loveless marriages, and both hid a life-altering secret.

Briley Joe raised her halter top, then lifted her breasts as if he were weighing them and lowered his mouth to one tight nipple. Excitement spiraled through her, sending waves of awareness from her breasts to the depths of her femininity. Tingling sensation clutched her pelvic muscles and released a preliminary shot of moisture.

He rammed his hand between her thighs and clutched her mound, fondling her through the thin cotton of her capri pants and bikini panties. “I want to hear you tell me how much you want it.”

She grabbed him by the buttocks. “Are you going to fuck me or are you going to talk all day?”

That shut him up. He dragged her pants and panties down and off with a quick jerk, then swiped the side of the desk clean with a backward lash of his hand. Stacks of papers and an array of magazines landed haphazardly over the concrete floor. With his gaze focused on her face, Briley Joe lifted her up on the table, spread her legs apart, and unzipped his jeans. His sex sprang free. Big. Hard. Ready. Cybil licked her lips.

“You’re a real bitch, lady. But then you know that, don’t you?” Briley Joe thrust into her.

Cybil bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out with pleasure from the feel of him inside her. She had needed this so much. To be with a man.

“God, baby, you’re hot and dripping wet.” Briley Joe pumped into her several times. Sweat dampened his flushed face. His nostrils flared.

They went at each other like a couple of animals. Wild. Coarse. Snarling. Cybil climaxed first. Every nerve in her body experienced the intense orgasm. She kissed him, drowning her cry inside his ravaging mouth. But when he came only seconds later, he tossed back his head and groaned, the sound reverberating inside the small room. When she tried to pull away from him, he restrained her, remaining inside her as the aftershocks rippled through them. He spread kisses across the side of her face, then up and down her neck.

“That was so good,” he whispered in her ear. “So good.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

Let me go
, she thought.
Don’t be sweet and romantic. It’s not what I want. You know that, dammit. Haven’t I told you repeatedly that sex is all I want from you?

She pulled away from him, dislodging him from inside her. He didn’t protest, just stepped back to give her room to maneuver. Although she tried not to look at him while she slid off the desk and gathered up her clothes, she couldn’t help catching a glimpse of him in her peripheral vision. His penis hung limp and damp, but still large enough to be impressive. Sometime during their mating, she had partly ripped open his shirt. Perspiration glistened on his hairy chest. He was muscular and tan, almost as hairy as an ape. And no matter how much he scrubbed his hands, there was always a hint of grease under his nails. He was the antithesis of her purebred, pale-skinned, gentlemanly husband.

Damn, she had to get out of here before she asked for more. She didn’t dare stay longer. People might question why Cybil Carlisle was at Conway’s Garage for more than thirty minutes. After all, whatever problems she had with her car wouldn’t require her to converse with the garage’s owner for an hour or more. She probably shouldn’t have come here. She’d had sex with him in this office only once before today. Another time when she’d been pissed at Jeff Henry and needed a little TLC. Usually, she met her lovers in out-of-the-way places where they were unlikely to be detected. But sometimes she dared risking discovery. Times like today, when a part of her wished the whole damn town knew what she’d been doing with Briley Joe Conway on the dingy desk in his grimy little office.