Every Move She Makes

by Beverly Barton

  “Not much chance of that.” Reed shrugged. “Women like Miss Ella are too high class for the likes of you and me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Briley Joe snickered.

  Reed glanced at his cousin and noted the self-satisfied grin on his face. “Don’t compare Ella with her aunt.”

  “Some high-class dames like to get their hands dirty—real dirty.” Briley Joe hooked his lean fingers over Reed’s shoulder. “Even if you don’t think she’s anything like her aunt, who knows? Judge Porter might get real turned on just thinking about jumping in the sack with an ex-con.”

  Ever the dutiful daughter, Ella called and left a message with Bessie to let her mother know she’d be home a little later than usual. She’d been driving around for the past half hour asking herself what the hell had happened between her and Reed Conway. She had stopped by the garage to confront him about the letter she’d received and came away badly shaken and halfway convinced that the man hadn’t sent her the letter.

  You’re an idiot, she scolded herself as she turned left on Tallulah Street. She needed someone to talk to about what had happened and about her confused emotions. She certainly couldn’t run home and confess to her mother that she’d gotten all hot and bothered over Reed Conway. Carolyn was apt to have heart failure just at the thought that Ella might have spoken to the man. And if she even mentioned Reed’s name to her father, he was liable to take gun in hand and go after him. No, this situation called for the sympathetic ear of a friend.

  She parked her Jag in the driveway beside the restored Victorian house at 508 Tallulah Street. Ella’s best friend since childhood, Heather Marshall, had recently returned to Spring Creek after an absence of five years, and the two had picked up right where they’d left off. Of course, during that five years when Heather had lived in Mobile, they’d phoned each other on a regular basis and had visited twice a year. Ella had been Heather’s maid of honor when she married Lance Singleton. She’d sat by Heather’s hospital bed when she suffered a miscarriage. And she’d offered support during Heather’s ugly divorce ten months ago.

  Ella stood on the flower-lined brick walkway in front of the house that had belonged to Heather’s grandmother and had gradually fallen into disrepair after the old lady’s death ten years ago. Heather had spent a small fortune restoring the place, and now the facade boasted its original Victorian colors: pink, cream, and green.

  Working on the house had, according to Heather, saved her sanity after her divorce. Luckily, Heather had inherited enough money that she didn’t have to work unless she wanted to, and Heather definitely preferred a life of leisure.

  Thinking about how different she and Heather were, how different they had always been, Ella rang the doorbell. Even as children, they’d been exact opposites in appearance and temperament. Ella waited. No one came to the door. She rang the bell again. No response. Heather was home. Her black Corvette was parked in the driveway. Ella tried the bell one final time, then gave up and walked off the porch. She’d try the back door. When she made her way around the side of the house and opened the gate that led into the enclosed backyard, she heard water splashing. Of course. Why hadn’t she realized that Heather would be in the pool?

  Ella marched across the patio and reached the side of the pool just as Heather emerged, water dripping from her tall, slender body, which was clad in a thong and nothing else. Now, as always, Ella envied her friend’s almost boyish physique. No matter how much Heather ate—and she had a ravenous appetite—she remained pencil-skinny. But whenever Ella had mentioned this fact to her best buddy, Heather had informed Ella that with boobs like hers, she didn’t need to envy anyone.

  “Hey, girlfriend, what are you doing here?” Heather reached for a large white towel resting on the wicker chaise longue a couple of feet away, then picked up the towel and ran the terry cloth over her freckled arms and legs. Four sets of gold hoops in Heather’s ears and two gold toe rings glistened in the sunlight. A quarter-sized tattoo of a red heart stood out plainly on Heather’s tanning-bed-tawny buttock.

  “I need an understanding friend to tell me that I haven’t completely lost my mind.” Ella rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers, trying unsuccessfully to ease the headache that had hit her moments after leaving Conway’s Garage.

  Heather tossed the damp towel onto the tiled patio floor, picked up a short, see-through robe, and slipped into the hot pink fishnet garment. “The ever sane and sensible Judge Eleanor Porter thinks she might have lost her mind. I’m shocked. Sit down”—Heather pointed to the wicker chair to her left—“and tell Auntie Heather all about it.”

  Ella sat, sighed, and closed her eyes. “You cannot repeat what I’m about to say to another living soul.”

  Heather plopped down on the chaise longue. “Oh, boy, this must be good. Tell me it has something to do with a man.”

  Ella’s eyes popped open and she gazed at her friend with a startled expression. Maybe this was a bad idea. Heather was bound to get a great deal of pleasure from Ella’s admission. After all, Heather had always been the wild one, dating bad boys and even marrying one. On the other hand, Ella had always been the sensible one, dating only upstanding men who had received the stamp of approval from her mother.

  “My God, it is about a man.” Heather twisted around on the chaise and faced Ella. “Surely not Dan Gilmore. The guy is as dull as dishwater.”

  “No, it’s not about Dan.” Ella hesitated. Her heartbeat accelerated. “It’s about Reed Conway.”

  “Reed Conway?” Heather’s mouth dropped open. “Reed Conway who was sent to prison for murdering his stepfather?”

  Ella nodded.

  Heather scooted to the edge of the chaise and leaned forward toward Ella. “I take it that you’ve seen him since he was released from prison yesterday. Come on”—Heather motioned a hurry-up wave with her fingers—“confess. How did you happen to run into Reed and—”

  “I didn’t run into him,” Ella said. “I—I stopped by Conway’s Garage to see him.” She opened her purse, jerked out the letter, removed it from the envelope, and handed it to Heather. “I found this lying on my desk this afternoon.”

  Heather took the letter, scanned it quickly, and let out a long, low whistle. “Hmm…This must have reminded you of those two letters Reed wrote to you way back when. So, you think he wrote this letter?”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “You went to see Reed about this letter?” Heather stuffed the letter back into the envelope and returned it to Ella. “Why on earth didn’t you just call Frank Nelson? Checking into something like this is a job for our police chief. I cannot believe you actually confronted Reed. I’d have been scared spitless to accuse him to his face.”

  “I didn’t want Daddy to find out and go ballistic or for Mother to get all upset, so I thought that if I handled the problem myself—”

  “What did Reed say? Mercy, Ella, what did he do?”

  “He denied writing the letter.”

  “Of course he did. You didn’t think he’d admit to doing it, did you?”

  Ella sighed. “After speaking to Reed, I’m not so sure he wrote the letter.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “What does that mean?” Ella asked.

  “It means something else went on between you and Reed, didn’t it? Something besides a confrontation over that letter.”

  Ella nodded. She twined her fingers together and nervously rubbed her thumb over the palm of the opposite hand. “I can’t explain what happened. It was like heat lightning. For just a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Heather reached out and grabbed Ella by the shoulders. “Now, you listen to me, girlfriend—stay away from Reed Conway. The guy is trouble with a capital T. Whatever game he’s playing with you is a dangerous one. He’s got to know that the best form of revenge against your father is by using you.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? But it doesn’t change the fact that
I…responded to him. I wanted him to kiss me. I actually hoped he would kiss me.”

  “Shit!”

  Reed rang the doorbell, then banged on the door. Ever since sweet Miss Ella Porter had left the garage, he’d been walking around with a hard-on. What kind of fool did that make him? He had wanted to lift her onto the desk in Briley Joe’s office, strip off her panties, part her legs, and ram himself into her. When she’d stared at him with those big brown eyes, it had taken all his will power not to grab her and kiss her. And if he hadn’t read her wrong, he figured that she would have let him. Kiss her, that is. Not screw her.

  Reed knocked again. The door swung open and Ivy Sims’s mouth spread into a wide grin.

  “Well, hello there, sugar. You’re early. I just got out of the shower.”

  Reed visually raked her body from neck to knees. The short floral robe hung open just enough to reveal her thighs and parted above the belt to give him a glimpse of the inner curve of her breasts. Reed pushed her backward, came into the apartment, and shoved the door closed with his foot. Then without saying a word, he grabbed Ivy, thrust his tongue into her mouth, and lifted her up by her butt. She quickly wrapped her legs around his hips as he carried her through the living room and straight to her bedroom. She giggled when he tossed her onto the bed. He unzipped his jeans; then pulled a small square packet from his pocket. She squirmed and held out her arms when he opened her robe. He parted the fly of his briefs and freed his sex, then donned the condom hurriedly. Ivy cried out with pleasure when he impaled her.

  He drove into her like a madman, all the while with his eyes tightly shut. The woman beneath him wasn’t the one he wanted, but he could pretend she was, couldn’t he?

  Chapter 6

  Expecting a call from Heather, Ella answered the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

  Silence. Complete quiet. Eerie nothingness. Ella’s hand tightened on the telephone receiver as she said, “Hello. Is anyone there?”

  Breathing. Deep, heavy breathing. Sensual panting. Just like the two unknown calls she had received yesterday.

  “If you have something to say to me, say it. Otherwise, do not call me again!” Ella slammed down the receiver. When she lifted her hand, she noticed the slight tremble. Stop this! She tightened her hands into fists and plopped them down atop her desk.

  Phone calls cannot hurt you, she reminded herself. Whoever is on the other end of the line is harassing you, trying to upset you. The caller had not done anything to warrant the fear that grew steadily within her. Ever since she’d received the letter three days ago, she had argued with herself over Reed Conway’s involvement. Was he or was he not the guilty party behind the letter and the phone calls? He was, of course, the most obvious suspect, but that alone could not condemn him. But if not Reed, then who? She had read through her files, studying every case over which she had presided since she’d become a circuit court judge. Had a disgruntled felon felt unjustly convicted? Not one of the men or women whom she’d sentenced to prison had threatened her or made any comments about injustice or revenge.

  A light tapping outside her office door brought her back from her thoughts. “Yes?” Ella’s heartbeat roared in her ears. Where was Kelly? Why wasn’t she running interference for her?

  The door cracked open slightly and Roy Moses stuck his head in and smiled at her. “Morning, Miss Ella.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “Good morning, Roy.” Ella checked her watch and realized that it wasn’t quite eight. Kelly wouldn’t arrive until eight-thirty.

  “I was sweeping up along the hall and saw something lying outside your door.” Roy lifted his meaty hand and held out a white envelope. “It’s got your name on it.”

  Ella sucked in a deep breath as anxiety swept through her like a tidal wave. Don’t let it be another letter from him. “Please, bring it on in.” She stood and walked toward the door to meet Roy.

  “You sure do look pretty this morning.” Roy held out the envelope.

  “Thank you.” Ella forced a smile, then grasped the envelope. She noticed that her name was typewritten, as on the first letter. Her stomach did a nervous flip-flop.

  “You have a good day.” Roy plodded toward the door.

  “You, too,” Ella called after him. The moment he closed the door, she picked up the letter opener from her desk and sliced open the envelope. Willing herself to be calm, she eased the single page of unlined paper from its casing. As she spread open the folded missive, she prayed that it wasn’t what she thought it was.

  Have you been thinking of me? I’ve been thinking about you. Bad thoughts. Dirty thoughts. Thoughts that would make you cream your pants.

  Ella stopped reading. It was from him! Another sexually explicit, harassing letter. A crude, threatening love letter just like the one she’d received three days ago. Just like the two Reed had sent her from prison fifteen years ago.

  This had to stop. She couldn’t continue ignoring the matter. Three heavy-breathing phone calls and two menacing letters. She’d thought she could handle the situation without involving anyone else, but she’d been wrong.

  Ella picked up the telephone receiver, dialed the familiar number, and waited.

  “Porter residence,” the housekeeper said.

  “Bessie, this is Ella. Is my father there?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s in the library.”

  “I’d like to speak to him, please.”

  “Certainly.”

  The moment she entered Callahan’s, Ella saw her father at the bar. She lifted her hand and waved. Smiling, he returned the gesture, then motioned for her to join him. Making her way through the crowd of waiting customers in the entrance foyer, she moved steadily toward the bar. The moment she approached him, Webb grabbed her and hugged her.

  “I can’t think of anything nicer than your inviting me to lunch,” Webb said, then winked. “Unless it would be inviting me to your wedding.”

  “Now, Daddy.”

  “You know how much your mother likes Dan. She’s been after me to remind you that he’d make a great husband and father.” Webb ran his hands down her arms and then grasped her wrist. “Sit. Our table should be ready soon. What can I order for you?”

  “Perrier with lemon.” She took the bar stool next to her father. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. I hope Mother didn’t mind my taking you away from the house. I know how much she treasures your days at home with her.”

  Webb’s smile faltered. “I realize your mother thinks I neglect her, but—”

  “She understands how busy you are and how important your career is to you.”

  “Your mother’s life hasn’t been easy. We’ve both done the best we could with the hand fate dealt us.” Webb lifted his bourbon to his lips and downed the last drops, then ordered another when he asked the bartender to bring Ella’s bottled water. “You mustn’t worry. I told Carolyn that you’d invited me to lunch and she was delighted. You do know that your mother adores you.”

  Ella sighed. “Yes, of course, I know.” There were times when Carolyn’s actions proved without a doubt that she did indeed adore her only child. But sometimes Ella sensed just a little envy coming from her mother. She understood that Carolyn often felt left out of the numerous activities Ella enjoyed with Webb. Things like tennis and golf and swimming. And being so acutely aware of her mother’s discontent broke Ella’s heart and made her all the more determined to be a good and loving daughter. There was nothing she wanted more than for her mother to be able to walk again. It had been her fondest dream since childhood.

  “So, to what do I owe this honor?” Webb asked. “I know that you often eat lunch in your office, so why take the time today to have lunch with your old man?”

  The bartender set Ella’s Perrier in front of her and then placed Webb’s second glass of bourbon on the bar. Ella lifted her drink and took a sip.

  “Before I tell you anything, I want you to promise me that you aren’t going to lose your temper and rush out of here half-coc
ked.”

  Webb eyed her curiously. “Well, you’ve intrigued me, princess. I can’t imagine what you could say that would have that effect on me.”

  Callahan’s hostess approached them. “Your table is ready, Senator Porter.”

  Within minutes they were seated at the best table in the restaurant. Webb ordered for both of them, the way he’d done since Ella was a child. Even though she wanted to remind him that she was thirty now and not six, she didn’t protest. One of the things she loved about her father was the fact that he never changed. He was her rock, her support, her friend, and her hero. She had always worshiped the ground Webb Porter walked on.

  “I promise not to lose my temper, so feel free to share this upsetting news with me. It isn’t something about Cybil, is it? If it is, I hope we can keep it from your mother. You know how she gets upset over her sister’s antics.”

  “No, Daddy, it isn’t about Aunt Cybil.” Ella laid her purse on the table, opened it, and withdrew two white envelopes, both wrinkled from having been crushed in her hand. “I received one of these three days ago and the other this morning. And I’ve had three phone calls when the person on the other end didn’t do anything except breathe heavy.” She handed the letters to her father.

  Webb removed the first letter from the envelope and read it slowly and thoroughly. His face darkened with rage, but he didn’t say a word. Then he read the second letter. His breathing quickened.

  “If you received one of these letters three days ago, why didn’t you tell me then?” Webb slipped the letters inside his coat pocket.

  “I thought…well, I hoped that it would just be the one letter.”

  “You realize who sent these, don’t you?” He tapped his jacket, where the letters rested inside his pocket. “But if he thinks he can get away with harassing my daughter, he’d better think again.” Webb’s voice grew louder with each word he spoke. “I’ll put his ass back in prison where he belongs.”