Every Move She Makes

by Beverly Barton

  Ella felt as if the world were spinning out of control. She heard every word of what her father was saying, and on some level, she understood. However, the reality that Webb was truly her father and that Cybil was her mother seemed impossible to believe.

  “I don’t think any man could have screwed up his personal life more than I did,” Webb admitted. “I’ve lived most of the past thirty years lying about everything that was important to me. Ella, honey, can you ever forgive me?”

  “Can you ever forgive us?” Cybil asked.

  What could she say? “I don’t believe this.” But she did believe them. It made perfect sense, didn’t it? This was the reason she’d always felt so close to her aunt Cybil, why she’d always felt as if her aunt and uncle were like a second set of parents. And this was the reason that she was so much like Webb, why they thought a great deal alike. And why she’d often thought she actually resembled her adoptive parents.

  Ella glanced at her uncle. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Cybil told me once, years ago, when she was drinking and crying and calling for her baby,” Jeff Henry said. “You were about three years old at the time.” Jeff Henry came forward, moving directly toward his wife. He hovered at the edge of the desk. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that you loved me? All these years, I’ve thought you loved Webb.”

  “You silly, stupid jackass.” Tears streamed down Cybil’s face.

  Jeff Henry turned to Ella. “She loves you more than anything. You must know that. And you must understand why she did what she did. It was for you, so that you could grow up as part of our family without the shame of illegitimacy hovering over you like a dark cloud.”

  Cybil rose from the chair. “Ella? Darling girl?”

  Ella jerked her hand out of Reed’s and met Cybil as she rounded the edge of the desk and held out her arms. Ella went into her mother’s arms—her real mother. By the time mother and daughter had hugged and cried and hugged some more, they both noticed they were alone in the den. Everyone had disappeared.

  “I know I’ll never win an award for Mother of the Year,” Cybil said. “I’m no prize. But I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I tried to be as big a part of your life as I could.”

  “I know.”

  Cybil clutched Ella’s chin in the curve between her thumb and index finger. “You mustn’t let Reed get away. If you love him, then tell him. Don’t waste one more day of your life without making a commitment to each other.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Cybil turned Ella around and headed her toward the door. “All this past history can be sorted out in the weeks, months, and years ahead. What’s important right this minute is your happiness.”

  Ella found Reed in the gazebo, standing alone with his back to her. “Reed?”

  He turned slowly and faced her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. A weak smile hovered on her lips. “I will be.”

  “So, what now? Things won’t ever be the same for you once the whole town knows all the family secrets.”

  “I don’t care about the family secrets being revealed,” Ella said as she stepped up and into the gazebo. “Don’t you think it’s apparent that what people think of me isn’t that important. After all, I’ve already ruined my reputation by having a love affair with you.”

  Reed grinned. “So you have.”

  Ella draped her arms around Reed’s neck and pressed her body to his. “What about you? What are you planning on doing with the rest of your life?”

  Reed cupped her buttocks and pressed her against his erection. “I’m not sure what I want to do with the rest of my life, but I thought that after our honeymoon, you could help me decide.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said that after our honeymoon—”

  “You haven’t asked me to marry you.”

  “Oh, you’re right,” Reed said. “Just an oversight, I can assure you.” He kissed her quite thoroughly, then ended the kiss when they both were breathless. “Ella Porter, will you marry me?”

  “No candlelight and soft music? No diamond engagement ring?”

  “Nope. Sorry. All I have to offer is myself.”

  “Well, it just so happens that that’s all I want.”

  Epilogue

  Two years later…

  Reed Conway walked his mother down the aisle. Waiting for her at the altar was her groom, Webb Porter. At Webb’s side stood his son-in-law, Mark Leamon, the best man. The wedding was a small affair and the guest list kept to only family and close friends, like the newlyweds Heather and Dan Gilmore. An intimate ceremony suited the recently retired senator and his bride, who wanted a more private lifestyle in the future.

  Ella thought her father looked handsome as always in his black suit. And Judy, whom Ella had grown to love dearly in the eighteen months she’d been married to Reed, looked beautiful in her pale ivory suit. But no one could outshine her husband. Reed was utterly, devastatingly gorgeous. She knew that as soon as the reception was over, he’d divest himself of his tie immediately. Even in his job as a teacher at the local community college, Reed never wore a tie.

  Ella watched as Judy handed her bridal bouquet to Regina, then leaned over and kissed her daughter. The huge arrangement of cream roses and baby’s breath almost covered all of Regina’s protruding belly. She was due to deliver her first child in approximately six weeks—a daughter.

  Judy then walked past Regina and went to Ella, who was acting as her second matron of honor. Ella accepted her mother-in-law’s kiss and gave her a hug, her own rather large belly getting in the way. She and Reed were expecting their first child any day now—a son.

  While the minister spoke the words uniting Webb Porter and Judy Conway, Ella glanced to the front pew. There sat Cybil and Jeff Henry, their hands clasped together. Her mother had been sober for almost two years now, ever since she underwent treatment at a rehabilitation center. Not only had Cybil given up liquor, but she’d given up other men, too. Jeff Henry had become besotted with his wife, and it was rather sweet to watch the two lovebirds together.

  As the minister pronounced Webb and Judy husband and wife, they turned to each other and shared a tender kiss. And then, as if on cue, Reed, who stood at Mark’s side, came to Ella, took her in his arms, and kissed her. Mark followed suit and kissed his wife. Then, together the three couples marched down the aisle and out to the waiting limousine that would take them to the country club, to the gala reception hosted by Cybil and Jeff Henry Carlisle.

  CLOSE ENOUGH TO TOUCH…

  He’s their secret admirer, wooing them with phone calls, love letters, and special gifts. From a distance, he admires them. Desires them. Despises them. And when he gets close enough, he kills them all.

  CLOSE ENOUGH TO KISS…

  Adams County, Alabama, is a small, friendly place where everyone knows each other—but not well enough, it seems, because Sheriff Bernie Granger has a serial killer on her hands, a total psycho who first romances, then stalks, kidnaps, and kills his victims. It’s Bernie’s first big case, a chance for her to prove herself to her new partner, Memphis police detective Jim Norton, but it won’t be easy. This killer is uncannily smart. It’s as if he knows what Bernie is thinking. And his next move is more than shocking—it’s chillingly personal.

  …CLOSE ENOUGH TO KILL.

  A terrifying game is underway. A desperate hunt has begun. Bernie is determined to stop a twisted serial killer at all costs. But is she getting nearer to catching him—or being drawn ever deeper into his deadly web?

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of

  Beverly Barton’s

  CLOSE ENOUGH TO KILL

  coming in July 2006!

  Chapter 1

  Please, dear God, let him kill me.

  Stephanie Preston lay on the narrow cot, listening to the rapid beat of her heart. Staring up at the ceiling in the small, dark room, she tried to pretend she was somewhere else. At home, with Kyle. Or at work, su
rrounded by people she knew and trusted. Perhaps at church, where she sang in the choir. Anywhere but here. With anyone but him.

  As hard as she tried to mentally remove herself from the reality of this moment, from where she was and what was happening to her, she could not fully escape into her mind.

  Try harder. Think about last Christmas. About how surprised you were when Kyle proposed, on bended knee, right there in front of your parents and your sisters.

  Just as the image of her smiling parents flashed through her mind, the man on top of her rammed into her again, harder this time. With more fury. And his fingers dug into her hips as he forced her body upward to meet his savage thrust. As he accelerated the harshness and speed of his deep lunges, he voiced his need, as he did every time he raped her.

  “Tell me.” He growled the words. “Say it. You know what I want to hear.”

  No, I won’t. Not this time. I can’t. I can’t.

  She lay beneath him, silent and unmoving, longing for death, knowing what was going to happen next.

  He slowed, then stopped and lifted himself enough to gaze down into her face. She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him. Not wanting to see the face of terror.

  He grabbed her, clutching her chin between his index finger and thumb, pressing painfully into her cheeks. “Open your eyes, bitch. Open your eyes and look at me.”

  Her eyelids flickered. Don’t obey him. Not this time. Be strong.

  “Why are you being so stubborn?” he asked, a tone of genuine puzzlement in his voice. “You know that I can force you to do whatever I want. Why make it so hard on yourself? You know that, in the end, you’ll obey me.”

  “Please…” She opened her eyes and looked at him through a mist of tears.

  “Please, what?”

  Tears pooled in her eyes despite her determination not to cry. He liked it when she cried. “Just finish it.”

  “If you want me to finish with you, then tell me what I want to hear. Otherwise, I’ll punish you. I’ll make it last a long time.” Lowering his head to her breast, he opened his mouth and bared his teeth. Before she could respond, he clamped down on her nipple and bit.

  She cried out in pain. He thrust into her several times. Harder each time.

  When he moved his mouth to the other breast, she gasped, then cried out hurriedly, “I love you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. Please, darling, make love to me.”

  He smiled. God, how she hated his smile.

  “That’s a good girl. Since you asked so nicely, I’ll give you what you want.”

  She lay there beneath him and endured the rape, hating every moment, despising him and loathing herself for having given in to him yet again.

  This can’t go on forever. Sooner or later, he’ll kill me.

  I hope it’s soon. I hope it’s very soon.

  He stood across the street, on the corner, and watched her get out of her car and walk up the sidewalk to her front porch. She was lovely. He would enjoy sketching her, but before he could begin, he would need to see her up close. When he created the pictures of her, he wanted to get every detail correct. The slant of her eyes. The curve of her nose. The fullness of her lips. Her neck was long and slender; her body nicely rounded, neither skinny nor fat. Just right.

  The first thing he would do was call her. Just to say hello. To make contact. He would be able to tell by the sound of her voice if she would be receptive to his overtures. He wouldn’t listen to what she said. Women so often lied—unless you forced them to tell the truth. But he could always tell when a woman was interested just by the way she spoke to him.

  “Thomasina, Thomasina. Such a lovely name for a lovely lady.”

  The thought of their courtship excited him. He reveled in the days leading up to the moment before a woman became his completely. It was the prelude to the mating dance that intensified the pleasure, those incredibly delicious events that prepared them for the inevitable.

  However, he couldn’t begin pursuing Thomasina in earnest until he ended his current relationship. He’d been keeping tabs on her, learning everything he could about her—but from afar. He wasn’t the kind of man who would betray one woman with another. It wasn’t his style. It wouldn’t be easy ending things with his current lover. She was very much in love with him. He had been wild about her in the beginning, when she had posed a challenge to him, when she had led him on a merry chase. And the first time they’d made love had been good, although not all he had hoped it would be. He was certain that she knew their relationship was coming to an end, that they both needed to be free. And soon.

  Perhaps tonight he’d tell her.

  She would cry, of course. She cried a great deal. And she would beg him, plead with him, offer to do anything he wanted her to do.

  Poor darling. It was simply going to kill her when he told her that their love affair was over.

  Sheriff Bernie Granger removed her jacket, hung it on the hall tree in the mudroom, then took off her holstered gun and hung the strap over her coat. Every muscle in her body ached. She hadn’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours, hadn’t eaten in twelve, and needed more than the whore’s baths she’d taken in the restroom sink yesterday and today. This had been the third search she’d headed up during the past two weeks, each time following a lead that ended nowhere. Trying to stay optimistic and give hope to a family who had all but given up wasn’t easy. But damn it all, she wasn’t willing to throw in the towel and admit defeat. During the two and a half years she had been the sheriff of Adams County, Alabama, she’d been lucky. Only one murder had occurred in her county while she was in office, and the killer was now serving a life sentence in Donaldson. She’d had to handle four missing persons’ cases. The first had ended within twenty-four hours, when they’d found the elderly Alzheimer’s patient who’d walked away from home and gotten lost in the woods. The second case had been rough on everyone involved. A missing three-year-old. When they’d found the little boy two days later in a deep ravine, his tiny body bloody and bruised from the fall, she had walked away, found a solitary spot, and cried. In private. Where none of her deputies could see her. She was one of only a handful of women in local law enforcement, so she had to be tough as nails in order to survive. Thankfully, the third missing person’s case had turned out to be nothing more than a woman leaving her husband for another man.

  And now Bernie was dealing with the fourth missing person’s case. Stephanie Preston, a young bride of five months, had been missing for two weeks after last being seen leaving Adams County Junior College, where she attended night classes two evenings a week. Technically, this was an Adams County case, since the woman was last seen in this county and the college campus was not within the city limits of Adams Landing. But the Jackson County Sheriff’s Department was also involved since Stephanie lived in Scottsboro, and Sheriff Mays over there was Stephanie’s uncle.

  “You look like hell,” Robyn said when Bernie entered the kitchen.

  She glanced at her younger sister and grinned. “I feel like hell.”

  She and Robyn were as different as night and day. Robyn was tall, model-thin, and possessed a mane of curly black hair. At twenty-eight, she was still single and liked it that way. She had left college without graduating and had flitted from one job to another, one boyfriend to another, for the past eight years. She had finally come home to Adams Landing a year ago and, with some financial help from their parents, opened up a small fitness center that was, surprisingly, doing quite well.

  Bernie, on the other hand, was tall, large boned, and sturdily built. She wore her plain brown hair in an easy-to-care-for ponytail most of the time, or she occasionally pulled it into a neat bun. She’d gotten married straight out of high school to her childhood sweetheart and they’d gone off to college together. After four years of marriage, two miscarriages for Bernie, and at least three affairs for Ryan, they had parted ways. Bernie had come home to Adams Landing, gotten a job as a deputy, and then almost three years ago was elec
ted sheriff when her dad retired from the job, which he’d held for nearly thirty years.

  Robyn lived at home with their mom and dad, but occasionally she’d spend a few days at Bernie’s. This time, when she’d shown up on the doorstep, suitcase in hand, she’d told Bernie that she had to find a place of her own and soon. Being an old-fashioned, church-going Southern lady, Brenda Granger didn’t approve of Robyn sleeping around, and when she’d caught Robyn’s latest lover sneaking out of the house at five in the morning, Brenda had exploded in motherly outrage.

  “Mom has called me every couple of hours to check on you,” Robyn said. “She’s worried about you.”

  “That’s old news. Mom’s always worried about me and about you. We’re both single and childless.”

  Robyn grinned. “Yeah, you’d think the only reason she had us was so we could give her grandchildren.”

  Bernie trekked across the kitchen, opened a cupboard, and removed a bag of preground coffee. “Have you and Mom talked about things? Have you settled your differences?” Bernie removed the glass pot from the coffeemaker, walked over to the sink, and filled it with cool water.

  “You know how it is with Mom—she doesn’t talk with you, just to you. And no, we have not settled our differences and we probably never will. Good God, she was living in the fifties when she was a kid, not in the twenty-first century. Do you know what she said to me about having sex outside marriage?”

  Bernie clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Hmm…let me guess. Could it have been the old tried-and-true adage about a man not buying a cow if the milk is free?”

  Robyn chuckled. “You’d think she’d at least come up with some new material, wouldn’t you?”