Seeing Red (13 page)

The fact that he followed her without comment spoke volumes about his emotional state.

After he’d eaten, he began to look a little less like the walking dead. She’d been quiet, letting him lead the conversation. They hadn’t talked about Laura—or Hollis Alexander.

Ellis was surprised when he asked, “Have you talked to Jodi?” He kept his gaze on his empty plate.

She started to raise a brow, then schooled her features. “Yes.” She waited, gauging his mood.

He pushed a stray chunk of mushroom around on his plate. “How is she?”

Ellis wanted to tell him that he should call her and find out himself. She finally said, “Unhappy.”

Greg’s eyes rose to meet hers. “Why? She has what she wants—a life where Laura never existed.” He sounded more drained than bitter.

Although Ellis had spent most of the past years with that very perception of her aunt, she now wondered if Jodi’s trying to forget had only made the hole in her life that much larger. Her efforts might be no more than turning her back on a leaking dam; sooner or later, the flood would come and sweep her away.

“Maybe you should talk to her.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t respond, negatively or otherwise.

After a moment, Ellis picked up their plates and took them to the sink.

As she rinsed them, he said, “I’d better go.”

He didn’t sound like he wanted to.

She thought of her parents and their after-dinner routine. She grabbed her newspaper off the counter and handed it to him. “Why don’t you read me the horoscopes and funnies while I load the dishwasher? I’ll put on some coffee.”

The grateful look he gave her broke her heart.

As she opened the dishwasher, she heard the pages rustle behind her.

“
Marmaduke
is my favorite,” she said. “Save that one for last.”

He was quiet for so long that she turned around to look at him.

He stared at the paper with his lips pinched and the muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“What?” she asked, moving closer.

When he didn’t respond, she looked over his shoulder. Before she could read anything, he crumpled the paper and tossed it on the table. “That son of a bitch.”

“Okay, now that you’ve killed my paper, you’re going to have to tell me.”

“Wayne Carr.”

Carr had been writing for the paper for twenty years. He tended to think of himself as a big-city reporter who gave up the glamour of high-profile journalism to marry a woman who would not leave Belle Island. He’d managed to piss off almost everyone in town at least once.

Ellis’s personal hatred of the man had been born when Carr had had Laura’s case completely solved within the first twenty-four hours; Nate Vance was guilty. And he’d never completely let that notion die, even after Alexander had been arrested.

“What’d he do this time?” she asked.

“He’s helping Alexander.”

“What!” She snatched the crumpled paper from the table and opened it.

AN INNOCENT MAN CONVICTED?

by Wayne Carr

[email protected]

It’s the stuff of nightmares. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time and having your life forever altered. Being young and poor, and having no defense against a system set against you. According to Hollis Alexander, this is exactly the nightmare he found himself living fifteen years ago when he was convicted of a crime he says he did not commit.

Sixteen years ago, Laura Reinhardt, a Belle Island High senior and honor student, was kidnapped from her bedroom and assaulted. She never regained consciousness and died four years later.

Nathaniel Vance, the victim’s boyfriend, was initially suspected of the attack. But Mr. Alexander was soon added to the suspects list. There was little evidence, and DNA examination was in its infancy, rarely used and unreliable.

Alexander was convicted on circumstantial evidence alone. Nathaniel Vance disappeared from Belle Island, his longtime home, the day after the verdict and has never returned.

Alexander said, “The person who attacked this girl is still out there—probably claiming new victims. It’s not just for me that I’m doing this. I’ve served the time already. But now that I’m free, I plan to find the true criminal and save countless women from a fate like that poor girl, and maybe keep another guy like me from paying for someone else’s crime.
”

Mr. Alexander is in the process of securing an attorney to petition the court to reexamine the evidence with new technology.

When I asked Mr. Alexander how he managed to come out of his unjust incarceration without bitterness, he said, “I’ve always believed in God’s plan. He has a purpose for me.
”

As a member of this community, I plan to do all I can to support Mr. Alexander in his search for justice. We never want to lose another young woman like we did Laura Reinhardt.

Ellis slammed the paper down. “Hollis Alexander wouldn’t know God if he walked up to him on the street and shook his hand!”

Greg stared at the table, the muscle in his jaw still working.

Ellis’s angry words flowed. “
Nate
was young and poor, and
he
didn’t get railroaded into prison! What in the hell is Carr thinking? Supporting Alexander! My God!”

She threw the paper in the trash. “This is bullshit! No one will listen.”

She hoped. Nate was back in town. A panic she’d thought she’d never have to face again clawed up her windpipe—the same panic she’d felt when they’d come close to arresting Nate sixteen years ago.

Several hours later, Ellis sat in her living room, her feet tucked beneath her on the sofa. She couldn’t seem to make herself do anything other than stare into empty space. Poor Uncle Greg. It was difficult enough, going through the things he had, but now to have this thrown at him. She hoped this wouldn’t be the straw that would end up breaking him.

And what about Carr and his nasty little article? What kind of hornet’s nest would that stir up?

An even more alarming thought struck: What if Carr discovered Nate was back in town?

This could be the excuse she’d been looking for to head out to the stables and see Nate again. It had taken all her willpower not to go out there today. She longed to see him again, to fill in the blanks of the years they’d been apart, to ask him why he left in the first place. But he’d been so remote, so distant. He probably wouldn’t want to see her.

Now, however, she had a good reason.

It would have to wait until tomorrow. It was already dark.

As she sat there, exhaustion jumbled her thoughts and tinged her memories. After Nate had left town, she’d missed him so much her bones ached. Now the images of Nate the boy bled into the reality of the man he’d become. When he’d lifted her off her feet and swung her around, her heart had felt lighter than it had in years. The elation of reunion eclipsed all thought. In that instant, she’d been a fourteen-year-old girl, thrilled by the sensations he set off inside.

But she wasn’t fourteen. And she and Nate had lived lives completely separate from each other—lives that numbered more years than those they’d spent sharing friendship and a love for horses.

Who knew, he might have a wife and family.

She frowned.

Why did the idea of him being happy and fulfilled in a life away from here sit like a spider on her shoulder? If she was the good friend she imagined herself to be, she’d want nothing more than to hear his life had been filled with love and joy and fulfillment from the day he’d left Belle Island.

Maybe she wasn’t the person she’d always considered herself to be.

For a long time, she sat there contemplating that thought. She knew she possessed an emotional void, that she was incapable of commitment, unable to bare her soul. She was an incomplete person. Her relationship with Rory had confirmed that. But she’d always thought of herself as a steadfast friend.

About three a.m., she decided to go to bed. She shut off the lights and headed toward her bedroom.

As she passed the sliding glass door, a shadow of movement caught her eye. Under that same oak.

Her heart rate kicked up as she strained to see in the dark. The more she concentrated, it seemed the less she could trust her eyesight.

Nothing. No movement. No cigarette glow.

But something had been there; something had moved.

With Alexander out of prison, there was a chance it was him. And if it was, catching him outside her condo would violate his parole. If she called security, their approach would only scare him off again.

She stood there looking out into the night. She shivered at the thought of going out there. Open darkness slid across her skin like a cold dead hand. But she couldn’t ignore this.

Concentrate on the light, not the darkness,
she told herself.

There were plenty of low-voltage lights dotting the landscaping near the buildings. It wasn’t completely dark.

The landscaped area across the street led to the marsh. That’s where the huge old oak stood sentinel. Its twisting, Spanish moss-draped branches reached low to the ground, providing cover without completely obstructing the view of the person beneath it.

Her condo was on the deepest loop in the complex. The main entrance to her unit, her front door, was on a third-story porch on the side of the building. Her bedroom window and living room balcony faced the street. Anyone standing under that oak wouldn’t be able to see her leave her condo.

She could skirt around back and get a better look, unseen.

Ellis picked up the phone and called security at the front gate. Then she pulled the gun out of her purse and hurried to the door.

As she undid the lock, her fingers started to shake.

This is no different than opening the sliding door at night. He won’t know I’m outside. I can do this.

She had to know if someone was out there . . . and if that someone was Hollis Alexander. It might save an innocent girl, and if he was here in Belle Island, it could be one of
her
girls.

He’d threatened her. But she wasn’t weak and unprepared. If she could catch him, he’d go back to prison.

That thought made her push on.

Pulling her door quietly closed behind her, she paused and forced herself to draw a deep breath. Her chest felt like it housed a dozen hamsters running frantically in wheels.

With soft steps, she descended three stories. Just as she’d taught her girls in self-defense, she kept all her senses trained on her surroundings. Her ears alert for a soft footfall or movement in the shrubbery. Her gaze moving, searching all angles as she descended.

And she concentrated on the faint light.

Once on the ground, she slipped behind the building instead of following the walk to the front. The security guard and his Gator would be here soon. She needed to hurry, before the headlights scared the person off.

Could it have been her imagination?

No. Hundreds of nights she’d walked past that sliding door in the dark. Before this week, she’d never seen so much as a raccoon moving out there.

Someone was under that tree.

Holding the gun against the side of her thigh to keep it from shaking, she tiptoed through the pine straw along the back of her building. She would ease around the side of the building opposite her door and stairs, concealing herself in the tall shrubs that lined the garage. From her vantage point at the front corner, she could get a clear view beneath the oak across the street.

And whoever was there wouldn’t be able to see her.

As she moved, she prayed it
was
Alexander. She could hold him at gunpoint until the real police arrived.

And if he ran?

She paused and shifted the gun in her grip.

If he ran . . . she’d shoot him. She’d shoot him and not feel a moment of remorse.

She moved ahead, a mix of fear, dread, and anticipation pounding through her body.

Pressing her shoulder against the building, she slipped around the corner.

Suddenly, the dark bulk of a man in black was directly in front of her.

She whipped her gun up, supporting it with both hands, and pointed it at the center of his chest.

Her heart bucked.

His hand shot out and grabbed her gun hand, bending the fingers backward. With his other hand, he wrenched the gun from her grasp.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Training kicked in. She leaned away and twisted to deliver a sidekick to his knee.

He was a half beat ahead of her. He rushed forward, using her lack of balance and her captured wrist to send her backward onto the ground. The impact was soft, rolling.