Every Move She Makes

by Beverly Barton

  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.

  “Mama didn’t kill Junior,” Regina said as she laid her sandwich back on the napkin spread
out atop Mark’s desk. “She’s not capable of murder. And even if she were, she wouldn’t have let Reed go to prison for a crime she had committed.”

  “I’ve never considered your mother a suspect.” Mark lifted his tuna melt sandwich and took a large bite.

  “What about me? Have you ever considered me a suspect?”

  Mark nearly choked on his food. He swallowed, coughed a couple of times, and stared at Regina. “You were just a kid. Only eleven.”

  “Junior was drunk that night and Reed had beaten him senseless. It wouldn’t have taken much strength to slit his throat, not with him practically unconscious. I could easily have taken Reed’s knife and—”

  Mark shot to his feet, dropped his sandwich on the table and reached out to grab Regina by the shoulders. “You didn’t kill Junior.”

  “No, I don’t think I did. But I could have. I hated him enough. I wanted him dead. When he was touching me, I prayed for God to strike him dead.”

  Mark pulled Regina to her feet and into his arms. She made no protest, accepting his comfort willingly. “If I’d known you then, if I’d been there at the time, I’d have wanted to kill him myself. I can’t bear to think about what you went through at the hands of that monster.”

  Regina tensed in his arms. She pulled away from him and looked at him point-blank. “A man could never be with a woman, knowing…knowing she’d been violated the way I was, without thinking about what had happened. Any decent man would never want me.”

  Mark couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Was this the way she truly felt? No wonder she never dated. Did she think that no man could see beyond the abuse she had endured to appreciate the special woman she was?

  “Regina, do you consider me a decent man?”

  “What?” She stared at him quizzically.

  “Do you consider me—”

  “Yes, of course. You’re one of the most decent men I know. A good and honest man.”

  Even if she rejected him, Mark knew that now was the time to be honest with Regina, to admit to her how he truly felt about her. “Then I know one decent man who wants you. He wants you very much.”

  Her eyes rounded in large blue-centered circles. “You…you want me?”

  Did he dare touch her again? He wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her, keep her safe, and banish all the bad memories. He had to touch her, but only a tender caress with the back of his hand across her cheek. “I’m not quite sure when it happened, but some time in the past few months, I started falling in love with you.”

  “Oh, Mark. I—I…I don’t know if I can ever…I might not be able to give you what a man needs from a woman. Even with all the therapy I went through when I was a teenager, I’m still not a whole person.”

  “All I want is for you to give me a chance. Give us a chance. Do you think you can do that? Do you even want to?” He searched her eyes for any indication of what she was thinking. “You might not feel the same way about me as I do you. If that’s the case, then I understand and—”

  “I do,” she whispered. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her lips lifted into a soft smile. “I feel the same about you.”

  His heart sighed with relief. Excitement and anticipation swirled through him. Regina cared about him. “We’ll take things slow and easy. We’ll start out with a first date. No pressure, no expectations. How does that sound?”

  “A date?” Her smile widened. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “How about tomorrow night? We’ll leave the office in time to go out for dinner and then a late movie. And when I take you home, it’ll be up to you whether I get a good-night kiss or not.”

  Impulsively Regina kissed him on the cheek, then jumped back away from him. He wanted to kiss her properly. He wanted to show her what it could be like between a man and a woman who cared for each other, who truly wanted each other. But he had promised her to take their courtship one step at a time. He would keep that promise, even if it killed him. He had to hold on to the hope that someday Regina would be able to fully give herself to him. She was a prize worth waiting for, and he would wait as long as necessary. Until she came to him. In the meantime, he’d take a lot of cold showers and pray for strength.

  No more letters—at least not for now—and no more breathy phone calls. Those simple tactics weren’t getting the job done. Of course the green snake in the roses had been little more than a practical joke—one staged merely to lay the groundwork for the next step in the harassment of Ella Porter.

  One couldn’t rush these things, despite the fact that the longer Reed Conway remained a free man, the more likely the chances that the truth about Junior Blalock’s murder would come out. Of course, that could not be allowed to happen. However, framing Reed couldn’t be rushed, or someone might get suspicious. This had to be handled delicately, one step at a time. So far, no one had been harmed. No damage had been done. Perhaps it was time to change all that. Unsettle things a bit more. Get Reed into deeper trouble.

  And what better time to escalate the harassment than while Ella’s parents were out of town?

  Chapter 15

  Ella came home that evening as she had every evening since her parents departed for the Gulf almost a week ago, but she would spend the night—again—with her aunt and uncle next door. She’d thought it overcautious on her father’s part, insisting that she not spend the nights alone at home while they were out of town. But to pacify him, she had finally agreed. She had always felt safe in the big house on East First Street, and despite the recent harassment, she still felt safe here. She owned a gun and knew how to use it. Her father had taught her as a teenager about the safe use of firearms. And the hunting dogs her father kept would wake the dead if an intruder came anywhere near the house during the night. But to make her parents happy, every night she trekked down the sidewalk and went next door to sleep at Aunt Cybil and Uncle Jeff Henry’s house. Then, each morning she returned home to shower and dress for the day.

  But today had been an especially tiring day, and she longed to take a long soak in her bathtub and crawl into her own bed. Maybe she’d phone her aunt and tell her that she wasn’t going to stay over tonight. Surely just one night alone at home wouldn’t upset her father. Actually, there was no need for him to know.

  Although she had encouraged her parents to get away for a week, she missed them. Perhaps being lonely for one’s parents at the ripe old age of thirty was a sure sign that you had no real life of your own. Nothing except work.

  Ella hiked her briefcase under her arm, shoved back her shoulder bag, and inserted the key into the lock. After opening the front door, she stepped inside, flipped on the overhead light in the foyer and turned toward the spiral staircase. That was when she noticed the gilt-framed mirror over the eighteenth-century flame veneer commode. Large cracks spread out across the antique mirror from a circular break in the very center, as if a hard object had smashed into the glass. Or perhaps a fist. A big, strong fist.

  A rumble of uneasiness spread through Ella’s body. Who had broken the mirror? And when had it happened? Ordering herself to remain calm, she backed toward the closed front door, her gaze traveling in a crescent, left, front, and right, then back again. The wide expanse of foyer in front of her that spanned the depth of the entire house lay in semidarkness, as did the dining room on the left, with only a soft glow of evening twilight coming through the windows. To her left, illumination from the streetlight directly outside blended with the fading sunlight and seeped through the sheer curtains into the room. Just enough light for Ella to see that no one lay in wait for her, unless they were hiding behind a large piece of furniture.

  As she glanced into the living room, she noticed the fireplace. Above the Italian blue marble mantle, the portraits of her father’s parents had been defaced with hideous black X marks. A shocked cry caught in her throat. Then she noted, in quick succession, the overturned chairs, the broken vases and figurines, and the pillows tossed haphazardly over the floor, every one ripped apart. She stood frozen, un
able to move as the enormity of the ransacking began to sink in. Someone had totally destroyed the living room.

  Damn! Her gun was upstairs in her bedside table. Naturally, she couldn’t take it to work with her. And her father’s rack of hunting rifles was in the den, locked in a display case. What about Daddy’s handgun? The one he kept in his desk in the library? Forget about defending yourself if someone is in the house, she told herself. Your best course of action is to get out of here as quickly as possible.

  Run, dammit, Ella, run! He could still be in the house. Her heartbeat thundered inside her head as her pulse raced at breakneck speed. Fear clutched her stomach, knotting it painfully. Bitter bile rose in her throat. The fright encasing her limbs melted suddenly. She ran toward the front door. Just as her hand touched the doorknob, the loud, ferocious yapping of her father’s hunting dogs in the kennel on the far side of the backyard startled her. Her briefcase dropped from under her arm and landed on the heart-of-pine foyer floor with a dull thud.

  She struggled with the brass doorknob, her palms damp with sweat. It was as if her hands were covered with grease, preventing her from gripping the knob. Whoever had wreaked such havoc inside her home was undoubtedly still on the premises—in the yard. The dogs had either heard him, seen him, or sensed him. Was he running away? Or simply lying in wait?

  Finally the doorknob turned. Ella flung open the door and rushed out into the humid summer night. Streaks of heat lighting flashed through the twilight sky. Ella ran down the herringbone brick sidewalk and out onto the street, glancing over her shoulder as she went. Expecting what? A demon to be chasing her? But there was no one.

  She arrived on her aunt and uncle’s doorstep, out of breath, her chest aching, her nerves screaming. The moment Cybil opened the front door, Ella flung herself into her aunt’s arms.

  “My God, Ella, what’s wrong?”