Every Move She Makes (9 page)

“If you hurt me, my father—”

He pressed his index finger over her mouth. She gasped. He explored her upper lip, then circled to pay equal homage to her lower lip. His touch was gentle and seductive. With sudden, amazing clarity, Ella realized that Reed Conway wasn’t going to attack her, that he had no intention of physically harming her. He was playing a game with her. A frightening sexual game.

“If you didn’t write the letters or make the phone calls, then you have nothing to worry about,” she said breathlessly. “You can’t get in trouble for something you didn’t do.”

He lifted his head and looked her squarely in the eye. “Are you really that naive? Lady, I just spent fifteen years in Donaldson for a murder I didn’t commit. So don’t tell me that I can’t get in trouble for something I didn’t do.”

“I’m sorry.” The moment the words came out of her mouth, she wished them back. Now he’d think she believed him, believed that he was innocent. But she didn’t believe it. Or did she?

He released his hold on the nape of her neck. His hand at her shoulder eased downward, along her arm to her hand. He entwined his fingers with hers and placed his thumb against her palm. She barely silenced the gasp that sprang to her lips when his thumb repeatedly circled the center of her palm in a maddeningly slow and titillating motion.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said. Then he moved away from her, took a long, hard look, and walked away, back into the night from which he’d come.

Ella stood alone in the gazebo for quite some time. Confused and unnerved. And aroused to the point of aching. She had to avoid any future confrontations with Reed Conway. No matter what, she had to make sure he didn’t come near her again.

Carolyn sat by the window and watched Reed Conway walk away from Ella. If he hadn’t left when he did, she would have been forced to call the police. What was he doing here? What had he said to her daughter? And why hadn’t Ella run from him? Surely she hadn’t invited him here. To anyone seeing the two of them together, they appeared to be lovers meeting for a late-night tryst. But Carolyn knew better. Reed Conway was scum. Ella would never lower herself to become involved with a man like that.

Some women were fascinated by that type, by the bad boys of the world. God knew the chest-beating, white trash type appealed to her sister. But Ella was a better person than Cybil. Carolyn had raised her daughter to be a lady. Surely Ella would never shame the family the way Cybil had. But better to be safe than sorry.

Should she mention to Ella that she’d seen her with Reed? Should she call Webb and inform him? Of course, if she phoned Webb at his Birmingham hotel, God only knew who might answer. Some woman he’d picked up at the country club or some girl he had met in the hotel bar? If she knew her husband—and she did—he wasn’t spending the night alone. The first time she’d found out that Webb had been unfaithful, it had broken her heart, but over the years her heart had hardened. Webb couldn’t hurt her anymore.

Carolyn decided to wait and see if Ella would mentioned Reed Conway’s late-night visit. If her daughter had nothing to hide, then surely she would tell her. As for informing Webb, there would be time enough for that later, if necessary.

“Are you ready for bed now, Miss Carolyn?” Viola asked.

Carolyn glanced up at her devoted companion and smiled. “Yes, I’m quite tired.”

Viola looked out the window and then at Carolyn. “I see your daughter is back from her date.”

“Yes, she’s been back for a while.”

“Do you think she’ll marry Mr. Gilmore?”

“If I have anything to say about it, she will. Dan’s a good catch. He’d make a suitable husband. I don’t understand why Ella isn’t more grateful to have him interested in her. It’s not as if my daughter could have any man she wanted. Dan appreciates all her good qualities. He married a beautiful young girl for love the first time. My guess is that this time he wants compatibility and companionship with a sensible, intelligent woman.”

“You’d think with her receiving those awful letters and getting those phone calls, she’d be turning to Mr. Gilmore for comfort and understanding.”

“She has her father to protect her and comfort her,” Carolyn said. “No other man could live up to Webb in Ella’s estimation.”

Viola clasped Carolyn’s wheelchair, turned it around, and pushed it toward the bed. As Viola reached out to assist her patient, Carolyn grabbed her hand. “Don’t forget that as far as Webb and Ella are concerned, I don’t know about the letters and phone calls. They haven’t told me because they want to spare me the worry. Aren’t I fortunate to have a husband and a child who care so much about my peace of mind?”

Ella slipped off her sunglasses and dropped them in the side pouch of her shoulder bag. She opened the car door, lifted her coffee mug from the holder, and stepped out into the courthouse’s parking area. She had an assigned space right outside the north entrance to the old building that had housed the seat of Bryant County government for over a century. She remembered that during her childhood her family had petitioned to restore the structure, which had been erected in the late 1890s instead of tearing it down and replacing it with something more modern. Wholeheartedly, Ella agreed with the vast majority of local citizens—the courthouse on the town square was what kept Spring Creek alive when so many small towns had died slow, painful deaths as big malls stole customers from downtown businesses.

After walking up the side steps, she entered the long hallway that led to the elevator. Usually she took the stairs, but this morning, she was running late and she’d awakened with a splitting headache. The headache had slowed her down—that and the fact that she hadn’t slept well in several nights. Not since her confrontation with Reed Conway in her garden. She had tried to put the man and their unnerving meeting out of her mind, but the harder she tried not to think about Reed, the more she thought about him.

Ella punched the elevator’s “Up” button. When the doors swung open, she entered and was grateful that she had a few moments of privacy before facing the day. Jury selection in an attempted-murder trial would begin this morning. The case had been postponed once because the defendant had tried to commit suicide. All the components for a media-sensation trial were there: a wife accused of hiring a hit man to murder her husband; the wife a socially prominent woman; and the husband a renowned physician. The case had been moved to her court from another county.

The elevator opened and Ella emerged. When she glanced down the corridor and saw her office door open, she made a beeline in that direction. Her heart beat a fraction faster as her mind cautioned her not to jump to conclusions. There were all sorts of reasons why her locked door might be wide open. It was possible that Kelly had arrived early this morning—possible, but not probable.

The moment she reached the doorway and saw Roy Moses standing in the middle of her office, she sighed with relief. But that relief was short-lived, dying the moment she noticed the white envelope clutched in his hand.

“Good morning, Miss Ella.” Roy smiled warmly.

“Is there a problem in here?” she asked. “Did maintenance send you up here?”

“No, ma’am. But Kelly told me yesterday to bring up a box of computer paper and a new cartridge for your printer first thing this morning.” Roy’s gaze settled on the items he had placed on her desk.

“Thank you.” Ella eyed the envelope Roy held.

“What have you got there in your hand?” she asked as she rounded the side of her desk and placed her thermal mug on top of her felt blotter.

Roy held out the letter. “Oh, yeah, I was about to forget. When I came in I found this on the floor. Just like last time. It’s got your name on it.”

Ella hesitated. She was afraid this innocent-looking four-by-nine-inch envelope concealed another vulgar, threatening love letter. If it did, she would have no choice but to take some action in the matter. And the last thing she wanted was to find a reason to involve Reed Conway in her life. A part of her longed to believe that he hadn’t written the other two letters, that he’d been telling her the truth when he had said he hadn’t made those breathy phone calls.

“Don’t you want it?” Roy asked, waving the missive in front of her. “It’s yours. It’s got your name on it.” He held it down and pointed to the typed letters. “See?” He pointed to the two words. “Ella Porter.”

Ella grabbed the envelope from him, and when she noted the surprised look in his kind eyes, she forced a smile. “Sorry, Roy, I didn’t mean to be so grabby. It’s just that I’m running late this morning. I have a headache, I haven’t had my coffee, and—”

“You want me to go get you some aspirin?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I have some in my purse.”

“If you need anything, Miss Ella, just call downstairs and ask for me. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Ella dropped the envelope beside her coffee mug, then reached out and patted Roy on the shoulder. “I know. Thank you. Now you’d better get back downstairs or Mr. Hibbett will be looking for you.”

Roy headed for the door, then paused before leaving. “Sure hope your headache gets better.”

The minute Roy left, Ella slumped down in her swivel chair, lifted her mug to her lips, and sipped on the black coffee. She suspected that if the letter contained what she thought it did, her headache would only get worse.

Using her letter opener, she ripped across the top of the envelope, then pulled out the single page of stationery. After unfolding the paper, she scanned the message.

Ella gasped at the explicit wording. This had to stop! She couldn’t go on reading these filthy messages and allowing her imagination to run wild. Despite how revolting she found the communique, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking of Reed, of him doing the things to her that were printed in the letters. She despised herself for becoming sexually aroused, for allowing Reed to become her fantasy lover.

Ella returned the letter to the envelope and stuffed it in her purse; then she flipped through her Roladex file until she found Mark Leamon’s number. She dialed and waited. Regina Conway answered the phone. Ella hesitated.

“Yes, Regina, this is Judge Porter. I’d like to speak to Mark, please.”

“Just one moment, Judge Porter.”

Ella took another sip of coffee while she waited for Mark to pick up on the other end.

“Ella?” Mark asked.

“Yes.”

“What a pleasant surprise. We haven’t talked in ages. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, you can have lunch with me today.”

“I’d love to, but is there some reason for the invitation?”

“I want to talk to you about Reed Conway.” Ella waited for a response, and when Mark remained silent, she went on. “I’m sure Reed has mentioned to you that since his release from prison, I’ve received a couple of rather harassing love letters as well as some breathy phone calls. I received a third letter this morning.”

“Reed did tell me. And he assured me that he knows nothing about either the phone calls or the letters. I believe him, Ella. If you knew Reed the way I do, you’d believe him, too.”

“Meet me for lunch today at Callahan’s. Twelve noon. And convince me that Reed is innocent.”

Regina stood in the open doorway and stared at Mark Leamon as he hung up the telephone. She’d heard Mark’s end of the conversation. Ella Porter had called about Reed. Had she received another one of those letters or another odd phone call? Was Judge Porter going to bring charges against Reed and try to have him sent back to prison? If Reed violated his parole, their mother would be heartbroken. Regina wanted to believe in her brother’s innocence as deeply and profoundly as their mother did, and she hated the fact that there was even a shred of doubt in her mind.

She had come to terms with Junior Blalock’s murder and truly believed that, despite his rage that horrible night, Reed hadn’t slit Junior’s throat. But if Reed didn’t kill Junior, then who did? Sometimes Regina wondered if perhaps she had done it herself and blocked out the memory. She’d wanted Junior dead. She had hated him enough to kill him.

Don’t think about that night!
Dear God, she didn’t want to remember. Regina turned on unsteady legs and made her way back to her desk as memories of that night washed over her: Junior’s drunken breath as he kissed her, as he rammed his tongue into her mouth; the feel of his rough, dirty hands pinching and prodding; the vile, filthy things he’d said to her and tried to do to her. She’d been lying beneath him, her clothes tattered, her body bruised, his penis seeking entrance, when Reed ripped Junior away from her and beat him within an inch of his life.

Reed had saved her. Afterward she hadn’t cared whether or not her brother had killed Junior. She’d been so glad their stepfather was dead. Guilty or innocent, Reed had paid for that crime with fifteen years of his life. But she and her mother hadn’t gotten off scot-free. The whole town had learned about what happened that night. All the sordid details of their private lives had come out during the trial. To this day she often felt people’s pity as they glanced at her and whispered in hushed tones. She hated being known as the girl whose stepfather had tried to rape her—the girl whose brother had killed that stepfather. Only after years of therapy, paid for by her mother’s employer, Cybil Carlisle, had Regina been able to live a somewhat normal life. She’d gone to college on a scholarship and gotten a job as Mark’s secretary while she worked toward her degree as a paralegal. And in all these years since Junior’s murder, she hadn’t been with a man, hadn’t even dated.

But she wanted to date, wanted to love and be loved, wanted to marry and have children. She had thought those things could never be hers, but that was before she realized, quite recently, that she was very much in love with her boss. Mark Leamon was a good man. Kind, considerate, and highly respected by friends and foes alike. But no matter how much she loved him, Mark was out of her league. She was the daughter of a housekeeper. Mark was the son of a lawyer, the grandson of a lawyer, and cousin to a U.S. senator. And he saw her only as his assistant, as a friend.

“Regina?”

She jumped and gasped simultaneously when Mark spoke to her. He stood in front of her desk, a concerned look on his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m all right,” she assured him. “My mind was a million miles away. Did you need something?”

“Since Cara is still home sick, I’ve been depending on you far too much for secretarial duties, haven’t I?”

Mark smiled at her and her stomach flip-flopped. She loved the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he talked. If she were totally honest, she supposed she’d have to admit that she loved everything about Mark. “You know I don’t mind.”

“You’re a trooper. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Mark glanced at his wristwatch. “I’m due in court in fifteen minutes; otherwise, I’d take care of this myself, but—”

“Just name it and I’ll be glad to take care of it for you.”

“Give Heather a call and tell her that I need to change our lunch date from today until tomorrow.”

“Certainly.”

“I’m meeting Ella for lunch,” Mark said.

“I overheard your part of the conversation,” Regina admitted. “She wants to talk to you about Reed, doesn’t she?”

“She’s received another letter.”

“You don’t believe that Reed is sending those letters to her, do you?”

“No, I don’t think he is.” Mark shrugged. “But it looks bad for him, even without any concrete evidence against him. What I’m hoping is that I can convince Ella somebody is trying to frame Reed, the same way they did fifteen years ago.”

“The real murderer?”

“That would be my guess. Somebody doesn’t want Reed walking around a free man. Somebody is afraid he’ll unearth the truth and reveal the identity of the person who killed Junior.”

“Then Reed is in danger, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. And so is Ella, if someone is harassing her to get Reed in trouble.”

“If anyone can convince Judge Porter that Reed is innocent, you can. You’re the best lawyer in the whole state.”

Mark grinned. “You wouldn’t be prejudiced, now, would you? After all, I am your boss.”

“Boss or no boss, my opinion would be the same.”

He checked his watch again. “I have to leave now if I’m going to make it on time.” With briefcase in hand, Mark headed toward the door, then stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Call the florist and order some flowers for Heather, with a note of apology.”

Regina nodded and faked a smile. Mark returned her smile, then left hurriedly. Heather Marshall! The redheaded divorcée had stirred up all the bachelors in Spring Creek since her return, but Regina had never imagined that Heather was Mark’s type. He was studious and serious-minded and rather dull by most women’s standards, whereas Heather was flighty and frivolous and just a bit wild. Maybe opposites did attract. This was their third lunch date in two weeks.

Regina sighed. Why couldn’t Mark look at her and see a desirable woman? She knew she was pretty. And people said she was a sweet, likable girl. Did Mark look at her and see, as everyone else in town did, that poor, pathetic little creature who’d been attacked by Junior Blalock? Did he think of her only as the daughter of the Carlisles’ housekeeper and the sister of a convicted murderer?

“I’m so pleased that you felt up to having lunch out here on the patio.” Jeff Henry gazed at Carolyn, uncaring that she or Viola could see the love in his eyes. His feelings for his wife’s sister were no secret to anyone, least of all to Carolyn herself. Thirty-four years ago he had begged her to marry him, only a few weeks before Webb had proposed. Then later on, he had pleaded with her not to marry Webb. But she had loved that handsome rogue and had stayed with him all these years, despite his numerous infidelities.

“It is such a lovely day, isn’t it?” Carolyn sighed contentedly as she glanced around the garden area. “You know how I look forward to your lunching with me every Monday and every Thursday. Webb is seldom home and Ella is always so busy now that she’s a judge.” Carolyn held out her hand across the table. “Whatever would I do without you, brother?”

He reached out and clasped her hand in his. Small, slender, and soft. A lady’s hand. He caressed her, his thumb running across the tips of her neatly manicured nails. Webb’s large diamond and matching wedding band on the third finger of her left hand glistened in the afternoon sunlight.