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.
Cybil wiped herself with her bikini panties, tossed them into the wastebasket, then hurriedly pulled on her pants and straightened her halter top. “I’ve got to run.”
“When will I see you again?” Briley Joe asked.
“I’ll be in touch, sweetie.”
She blew him a kiss, then opened the door and headed straight for her parked car. Reed Conway was staring at her. She could feel him watching her every move. She wondered how Briley Joe would feel about sharing her with his cousin? Reed was a bit young for her, but by doing some swift calculations in her head, she figured out he was nearly thirty-three. Fifteen years her junior. So who cared? But Reed was Judy’s son, and she didn’t want to do anything to upset Judy. The poor woman had experienced more than her share of misery over the years. Reed was a sweet temptation, but she’d leave him alone. For Judy’s sake. Besides, she already had as much he-man as she could handle with Briley Joe.
Once inside her T-bird, Cybil opened her purse and removed a small hand mirror. She cringed when she looked at herself. Briley Joe’s marauding mouth had pretty well erased most of her makeup, and his roaming fingers had mussed her hair. She looked like she’d just had sex.
Cybil grinned. A sad little giggle erupted from her throat. Would Jeff Henry even notice her when she went home? And if he did, would he give a damn that she’d been with another man…again?
Reed slammed the hood on the Grand Prix, pulled a rag from his back pocket, and wiped his hands. He glanced at the closed office door, then pivoted his head to watch Cybil Carlisle whip her T-bird onto the street. Was she actually going home to her husband looking like that? The man would have to be either blind or a fool not to realize what she’d been up to.
Suddenly Reed tensed. A police car turned off from the main road and pulled to a stop in the parking area to the side of the garage. Don’t imagine the worst, he cautioned himself. After all, Briley Joe had a contract with the city to work on all local government vehicles. The man who stepped out of the car was a tall, skinny guy with auburn hair who sported a neatly trimmed reddish-brown beard and mustache. Spit-and-polished, as if he’d just stepped out of a bandbox. The man’s shoes, uniform, and hat were immaculate. Even in the summertime Southern heat, he was barely perspiring. He looked to be about Reed’s age, maybe a few years older. Their gazes met and held. The policeman threw up a hand and motioned to Reed with his index finger. Reed sighed. He’d been summoned.
As he approached the officer and got a better look at the guy’s face, Reed recognized him. Frank Nelson. They had been friendly rivals back in high school. Frank had been captain of the basketball team and his daddy had been the county sheriff. Reed had heard that Frank was now the local police chief. That meant Frank probably wasn’t stopping by to welcome him home. No, he’d bet his last dime that somebody had sicced the chief of police on him. But who? And why?
Give yourself three guesses and the first two don’t count. Who, other than Webb Porter, could snap his fingers and make the local law jump?
“How are you doing, Reed?” Frank asked as he stopped a couple of feet away.
Reed stuffed the dirty orange rag into the back pocket of his jeans. He noticed that tiny perspiration beads dotted Frank’s forehead. So, the guy did sweat after all. “I was doing just fine.”
Frank removed a neatly folded white handkerchief from his pants pocket, snapped it open, and wiped his moist forehead. “Have you been writing any letters lately?”
“Nope. Can’t say that I have.” So that was what this little visit was all about. Miss Ella had called in the law. He had misjudged her. He’d figured she might give him a break. Of course, this wasn’t the first time he’d been wrong about somebody, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
“Judge Porter has received two rather nasty letters since you were released from Donaldson. Letters a lot like the ones you wrote her when you were in prison. Odd coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. A really odd coincidence. But that’s all it is.” Don’t lose your temper, Reed warned himself. Do not say or do anything that will antagonize the law. You don’t want to screw up your parole.
“So, you’re saying you didn’t write those letters and you haven’t made any phone calls to the judge?” Frank dabbed at his neck with the handkerchief.
“When she received the first letter and came here waving it under my nose, I told Judge Porter t
hat I didn’t write it. And now I’m telling you that I didn’t.”
“Well, I’d sure like to believe you, Reed, but…”
“Do you have any evidence that I wrote the letters or that I made any phone calls?”
“Huh? Well, no, but Senator Porter—”
Reed snorted. “So, Senator Porter sent you here to put the fear of God into me, did he? You go back to the senator and tell him that I don’t scare so easy.”
“You’d be smart not to cross Webb Porter. You mess with his daughter and he’ll cut out your heart and feed it to the buzzards.”
“If I wanted to mess with his daughter, I wouldn’t waste my time writing letters to her.”
“Dammit, Reed, that smart mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.” Frank heaved his thin shoulders as he let out a long, low, disgusted sigh. “You stay the hell away from Ella Porter if you know what’s good for you.”
“I’ll keep your advice in mind.”
“Consider yourself warned.”
Reed grinned. He had a way of intimidating other men and he knew it. Maybe it was his size. At six-three and two-thirty, he wasn’t the biggest guy around, so maybe his give-a-shit attitude had more to do with it than his size. He’d stared down tougher sons of bitches than Frank Nelson every day he’d been in the pen.
Frank broke eye contact first, snapped around, and marched off, back to the police car. Just as Frank drove off, Briley Joe came outside and walked over to Reed.
“What’d he want here?”
“He wanted to give me some advice?”
Every Move She Makes Page 9
