Every Move She Makes (15 page)

“Judy, just leave the tray outside and I’ll get it later,” Cybil called to the housekeeper.

“It isn’t Judy,” Jeff Henry said.

Cybil went deadly still. Her husband seldom bothered coming to her room anymore. If he came to her more often, she might not be inclined to seek out lovers elsewhere. And if Jeff Henry truly loved her, she’d swear off booze and other men altogether. But his loving her was about as sure to happen as Webb ever loving Carolyn again.

On her way out of the bathroom, she jerked a sheer black robe off the door rack and slipped into it, but didn’t belt it. She opened her bedroom door to her husband, the front of her body boldly displayed for his view. He stood there with a breakfast tray in his hands. His gaze traveled the length of her, from head to toe. The expression on his face didn’t alter, showing no sign of either disgust or arousal. But she detected a gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t as immune to her charms as he’d like for her to believe.

“We need to talk,” Jeff Henry said as he pushed past her to enter her private domain.

When was the last time he’d been in here? Hmm…Almost a year. She’d lured him in here on their wedding anniversary. After plying him with champagne to loosen him up a little, she had seduced him. He had been tenderly passionate. Jeff Henry was always a considerate lover.

“What could we possibly have to discuss?” she asked flippantly as she closed the bedroom door and turned to face him.

He set the tray on the writing desk by the windows overlooking the backyard. “I’ve been patient and understanding. I’ve excused your drinking binges and I’ve looked the other way when you’ve had affairs.”

“How very noble of you, the poor cuckolded husband.” She noticed how red his face was and thought it odd. Only when he was very hot or very angry or sexually aroused did a scarlet flush stain his face. “My goodness, something has your boxer shorts in a wad.”

“I will not allow you to publicly shame yourself or me or our families.” His broad, thick hands curled into fists. “We have an unspoken agreement, or at least I thought we did, that you’re to keep your misconduct discreet.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Cybil sauntered across the room, lifted the silver dome from the plate, and inspected the pancakes dripping with butter and maple syrup.

Jeff Henry slapped the dome out of her hand. It hit the floor with a thud. “You’re nothing but a slut.”

“And just how is this news to you?”

Jeff Henry’s eyes glimmered with pure rage. “I saw you yesterday. In the park, in the garden. You and that white trash grease monkey, Briley Joe Conway.”

Cybil’s mouth opened to a shocked oval. He’d seen her? With Briley Joe? No, no, no! They’d chosen a secluded spot, hidden behind shrubbery and a grove of trees. She’d been so sure no one could see them. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry, all right. A sorry piece of nothing. But you know what makes it even worse? I wasn’t alone when I came upon you and your lover. Ella was with me. Do you hear me? The child who means more to you than anyone in this world was with me, and she saw you screwing that low-life scum. He had you backed up against a tree, pumping into you like a jackhammer.”

“Ella saw me?”

“She saw you and felt the same disgust that I did. How do you think she’s going to feel about you now that she knows you’ll spread your legs for any man?”

Pain washed over Cybil, drowning her with self-pity and self-loathing. The only person whose opinion still mattered to her was Ella’s. She had loved her darling girl since the first moment she saw her, since the very instant she had held her in her arms.

“You, of course, told her what a slut I was, didn’t you?” Cybil glowered at her husband. “You enjoyed filling her in on my legion of lovers. Did you tell her that I’d even screwed Junior Blalock?” She saw the truth in his eyes. “My God, you did, didn’t you? You bastard!”

She slapped his face, anger and frustration riding her hard.

Jeff Henry grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm, painfully tugging her up against him. His nostrils flared. His eyes flashed. The red stain on his cheeks darkened even more. For the first time in a long time—not since the night Junior was killed—Cybil was afraid of her husband.

He dragged her to the bed and tossed her down atop the wrinkled satin coverlet. She watched anxiously, shocked by his actions. He unzipped his pristine khaki slacks. She shook her head in disbelief. He eased his hand inside the open zipper slit and into his boxer shorts. She scooted away from him. He jumped her, almost knocking the breath out of her. She glared up into his face, into his hard, cold eyes, and wondered who this man was. It wasn’t Jeff Henry Carlisle, her well-bred Southern gentleman husband. He forced his knee between her legs and parted her thighs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“I’m going to fuck my wife,” he told her.

Before a rational reply came to mind, he grabbed her hips, lifted her swiftly, and thrust into her, hard and deep. She moaned with unexpected pleasure. He pumped into her relentlessly, like a madman bent on breaking the spirit of the animal he rode. He lifted one hand to her breast and kneaded it roughly; then he lowered his mouth to hers and consumed her with a raging hunger.

Cybil wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting herself up to take all of him, to accept every pounding thrust. She caressed his buttocks, then slipped her hand between them and sought his scrotum. They mated wildly, passionately, Jeff Henry using her as if she’d been a whore he’d picked up for the night.

He climaxed first, jetting into her as he groaned and buried his face against her shoulder. The feel of his fluid bursting within her sent Cybil over the edge. A powerful orgasm shook her to her bones.

Without saying a word, Jeff Henry disengaged his body from hers. He lifted the edge of the satin sheet and cleaned himself with it. Then he stood, put his penis back in place, straightened his clothes, and walked toward the door.

“I’ll bet that was one time you weren’t thinking of my sister when you were screwing me,” Cybil called after him.

He halted but didn’t bother to glance back at her or respond in any way. He opened the door, went into the hall, and closed the door behind him.

Cybil lay on her back, not moving, her body still tingling as aftershocks of release rippled through her. Only one other time had she ever seen Jeff Henry so upset. Only one other time had he taken her with the same fury as he had this morning. And God help her, she’d loved it—then and now. This morning he had been angry enough to kill, just as he had been that other day. The day he’d caught her with Junior Blalock, less than eight hours before Junior had been found with his throat slit.

Ella walked down Main Street, smiling and speaking to people on her short trek from the courthouse to Callahan’s, three blocks away. She was meeting Dan for a farewell lunch. They had agreed that they wanted to part as friends. After all, they moved in the same social circles and were bound to run into each other on numerous occasions. And if Ella didn’t miss her guess, it was only a matter of time before Heather zeroed in on Dan. Why the guy had never noticed her gorgeous redheaded friend, she didn’t know. Back in high school, Heather had had a major crush on Dan. Of course, he’d been older and considered quite a catch. Dan was conservative to a fault. And Heather was liberal in the extreme. They’d probably mix like oil and water, but then again, opposites do attract. Case in point—Reed Conway and Ella Porter. Not in a million years would she ever have thought she’d be in a perpetual state of heat over a man like Reed. No, not a man
like
Reed. Just Reed.

No matter how much her body yearned for Reed, her mind warned her that he was dangerous, not to be trusted. Okay, so her instincts told her that he wasn’t the person harassing her. But what if her instincts were wrong? Reed could very easily be coming on to her as part of some elaborate scheme of revenge against her father. After all, why would he want her? She couldn’t possibly be his type. Even in high school, he’d gone for the flashy sexpots. She had to stay away from Reed. No good could come of getting involved with him.

She crossed the street at the red light. The restaurant was in the middle of the three-hundred block of Main Street. Checking her watch, she realized she was running five minutes late. Dan was a stickler for punctuality. She could see him now, waiting at Callahan’s, his arms crossed over his chest, his right foot tapping impatiently against the floor.

As she approached the restaurant entrance, something up the street caught her attention. Reed Conway. Her stomach tightened.
He doesn’t see you
, she told herself.
And if he looks this way, act as if you don’t see him
. But for the life of her, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. What was he doing? He reached inside the pocket of his T-shirt, pulled out a folded envelope, and spread it apart. Ella’s heart caught in her throat. He went straight to the mailbox on the corner, lifted the metal flap, and dropped in the envelope.

He’s mailing a letter. A letter in a white envelope
. Another threatening love letter to her?
No, please, no
. Even if she couldn’t surrender to the temptation and become lovers with Reed, she didn’t want him to be her stalker.
Please, let him be innocent
.

Do not let your imagination run away with you. Just because Reed mailed a white envelope does not mean the content is a letter to you. It could be a kill he’s paying. A letter he dropped off for his mother. A business letter of some sort for Conway’s Garage
.

But if she got another letter—tomorrow—she would know there was a very good chance that it had came from Reed. But why would he mail this one? The others had been hand delivered, hadn’t they?

Her mind swirled with concern as she reached for the handle of Callahan’s front entrance. But the door swung open, almost knocking her over.

“I was concerned that something had happened,” Dan Gilmore said. “You’re late.”

Ella sighed deeply. So predictable. So typical of Dan. “Yes, I know and I apologize. But I’m here now.”

“So you are.”

When Dan slipped his arm around her waist, she started to pull away, but instead she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze traveled down the street to where Reed Conway stood by the mailbox. Reed nodded, acknowledging that he knew she’d seen him. And then he smiled. Damn him! He actually smiled. As if he were saying, “You saw me mailing a white envelope and I don’t care what you think.”

Ella quickly averted her gaze and focused on Dan. “Having lunch together today was a wonderful idea. I certainly want us to remain friends.”

The moment Ella Porter turned to her lunch date, the smile on Reed’s face vanished. His gaze was riveted to where Dan Gilmore’s arm circled Ella’s waist. He wanted to walk down the street, rip her way from the man, toss her over his shoulder, and carry her off to the nearest private corner. Ever since yesterday afternoon when they’d come so close to making love in the park, he had been unable to think of anything or anyone else. He could have gone to Ivy again and worked off his desire for Ella. He could have, but he hadn’t. And he wasn’t going to. Screwing Ivy might ease some sexual tension, but only temporarily. The frustration would stay with him, and the moment he thought about Ella again, the desire would return. The only woman who could ease his suffering was Ella Porter herself.

Yeah, and hell will freeze over before she ever lets you get near her again!

The moment Ella and Dan disappeared inside Callahan’s, Reed walked up the street and went directly behind them into the restaurant. The hostess was showing them to their table when Reed took a stool at the bar. He could see them from his vantage point, since the bar area was four steps up from the restaurant. He ordered a Coke and popped a few peanuts into his mouth. Striving to act as nonchalant as possible, he eased his sunglasses off, slipped them into his T-shirt pocket, and spied on the couple at the corner table.

He had allowed Ella to become a distraction. That wasn’t good. His purpose in returning to Spring Creek rather than trying to start over in another town was to search for Junior’s real killer. He’d known it wouldn’t be easy, that it might even prove an impossible task. After all, Junior hadn’t been a very likable guy. He’d had a lot of enemies. Just about anybody who knew him was suspect.

But someone—maybe the real killer—was running scared. He wanted Reed back in prison, not free to snoop around into the past. Without realizing it, that person was actually helping Reed. It might be impossible to solve a fifteen-year-old murder, but it should be easier to solve an ongoing harassment case.

He had to stop thinking of Ella as a desirable woman and start thinking of her as a means to an end. If he could find a way to convince her that he wasn’t her stalker, he might be able to persuade her to let him help her unearth the person behind the phone calls and letters. But working together meant spending time together, and he wasn’t sure he could do that and keep his hands off her.

You’re jumping the gun. You don’t know that she would ever agree to cooperate with you. Just look at her over there with her boyfriend. All smiles. And he’s holding her hand!

Reed didn’t like the feelings Ella brought out in him: a hunger that he couldn’t satisfy with another woman, and a raging jealousy unlike anything he’d ever known. What the hell was it about her? She was pretty enough, but not the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. She had a lush, full figure, but not a perfect form. She was the last woman on earth he should even think about messing with.
For pity’s sake, she’s Webb Porter’s daughter
. And what would happen if he wound up proving that her father killed Junior?
She’d really hate you then
.

Of course, he didn’t know for sure Webb had killed Junior, but Webb had always been right up there at the top of his personal list of suspects. Junior had been the one who’d told Reed that he had some information that the Porter family wouldn’t want to get out. He could still hear Junior laughing.

“That family’s got more than one dirty little secret and I know what those secrets are,” Junior had said. “What you want to bet they’d pay through the nose to keep me quiet? With some of Webb Porter’s and Jeff Henry Carlisle’s money, I could move us out of this rat hole.”

Had Junior been blackmailing Webb? If not Webb, then maybe Jeff Henry, or possibly Cybil. All Reed knew was that just about everyone in Ella’s family might have had reason to want Junior dead.

Reed lifted his Coke from the bar and downed half of it in one long, thirsty swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then glanced at the table where Ella sat. Dan was no longer holding her hand. She wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t even smiling. And she certainly wasn’t gazing at Dan Gilmore as if she wanted to rip off his clothes and have her way with him. No, she wasn’t looking at good old Dan the way she had looked at the town bad boy she feared, the man who made her tremble and whimper. Remembering the way Ella had come unglued in his arms yesterday was arousing him all over again.

Get the hell out of here while you can still get up and walk without showing off a prominent woody
. He paid for his drink, then stood and walked over to the edge of the bar area. After a farewell glance, he started to reverse directions and head out the front door, but Ella glanced up at that precise moment and saw him. Her eyes widened. Her mouth rounded. A telltale pink flush tinged her cheeks.

She might be dating Mr. Suit-and-tie, but Reed would lay odds that he wasn’t the man she’d dreamed about last night. Oh, no. Reed would bet his last dime that she’d never creamed her pants when Dan Gilmore kissed her. But she’d been dripping after he’d kissed her yesterday.

Mark paid the delivery boy and gave him a generous tip. He took the bag filled with their supper into his office, where Regina was busy clearing away the files stacked on his desk. He’d had to ask her to work overtime tonight to help him prepare for a big case that went to trial next week. She had dutifully volunteered to help him over the upcoming weekend, to assist him in any way he needed her. They had sent his secretary, Cara, home four hours ago, at five-thirty, and the two of them had been hard at it ever since. But twenty minutes ago, Regina had taken time out to order them a meal from the Spring Creek Cafe, a local fast food place that stayed open and delivered until midnight on Friday and Saturday nights.

“Just leave those books,” Mark said. “I’ll put them back in the case later.” He laid the paper sack on his desk and nodded to the computer on Regina’s desk in the adjoining room. “Did you save everything to disk?”

“I always save everything to disk. And you always ask me if I did.” She opened the sack, pulled out the paper napkins and spread two of them to create place settings, then removed the wrapped food.

When Regina smiled at him, his stomach flip-flopped. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Tiny and delicate, with an air of fragility about her that made him want to wrap her in soft cotton and protect her from anything and anyone that might harm her. Lately Regina made him feel like a tongue-tied teenage boy with raging hormones. He’d been wanting to ask her for a date for months now, but hadn’t worked up the courage. He knew she didn’t date, so what made him think she’d make an exception for him?

“I was wondering if you think you’re actually going to be able to help Reed,” Regina said as she placed the sandwiches, chips and cookies on the napkins.

Slightly taken aback by her question, Mark gaped at her without responding immediately. Where had that come from? he wondered. Didn’t she and Reed talk? Hadn’t they discussed the situation since Reed’s release from prison?

“I hope you realize that I’ve done everything in my power to help him,” Mark told her. “My father tried his best for years. He used every legal means at his disposal to have Reed’s case appealed. And he tried to persuade the powers-that-be to reopen the case.”

“My mother is concerned about Reed,” Regina said. “She…we know about the letters and the phone calls to Ella Porter. And we know that Webb Porter is convinced that Reed is the person harassing his daughter. The Porter and Carlisle families are the most powerful in this county. They can make things hard for Reed. Mama is afraid Reed will do something out of anger and wind up getting his parole revoked.”

“We all know Reed isn’t the person harassing Ella,” Mark said. “And I think I’ve convinced Ella that he isn’t the one.”

“Are you saying that Ella Porter believes Reed is innocent?”

Mark sat down in the chair behind his desk. “I’m saying Ella has an open mind in the matter. She’s willing to give Reed the benefit of the doubt.”

Regina pulled up a chair to the side of Mark’s desk and reached for a sandwich. “Do you really think there’s any way to prove Reed didn’t kill Junior?”

“The only way to prove Reed innocent is to find the real killer.” Mark ripped open his bag of potato chips.

“If the police didn’t find any other suspects fifteen years ago, then how are you and Reed going to come up with any now?”

“The police didn’t look for other suspects. They arrested Reed almost immediately after Junior was murdered and pretty much closed the case then and there.”

“A lot of people hated Junior,” Regina said, then bit into her chicken salad sandwich.

“Yeah, from my research, I’d say the list is endless.”

Mark studied the expression on Regina’s face. Serene. Unemotional. Totally calm. One would think that discussing Junior Blalock had no effect on her whatsoever, that he hadn’t tried to rape her when she was just a child.

“I suppose Mama and I would head that list.” Regina’s gaze met Mark’s, a soulful look in her eyes. “We had more reason to hate him than anyone. He mistreated her, you know. He’d come home drunk and hit her. He and Reed fought all the time. And Reed stayed angry with Mama because she wouldn’t leave him.” Regina shook her head. “For better or worse—that’s what Mama would say. She believed marriage vows were sacred.”

“Those must have been terrible times for you and your family.”

Mark couldn’t begin to imagine such horrors. He’d grown up in a fairly normal family: a father, a mother, an older sister. He supposed he’d never truly appreciated how good he’d had it growing up, or how lucky he’d been to have had a father he not only loved but respected. He missed his dad a great deal.

What would it have been like living in a household with a drunken, abusive stepfather? Mark’s own father had been a gentle, soft-spoken man who would have sooner cut off his right hand than strike his wife.