Every Move She Makes

Books by Beverly Barton

AFTER DARK

EVERY MOVE SHE MAKES

WHAT SHE DOESN’T KNOW

THE FIFTH VICTIM

THE LAST TO DIE

AS GOOD AS DEAD

KILLING HER SOFTLY

CLOSE ENOUGH TO KILL

Published by Zebra Books

To my daughter, Badiema Beaver Waldrep,
and my son, Brant Beaver, who have filled
my life with joy and given me countless
reasons to be a very proud mother

He had been waiting fifteen years for this day and nothing—absolutely nothing—was going to ruin it for him. Not the guard’s smart-ass farewell comment. Not the drizzling rain. And not the fear that clutched his stomach like a giant fist. If he made a mistake and broke their rules, they’d send him back here to Donaldson. He had to play it smart, be careful, and make sure he didn’t get caught doing anything illegal. But come hell or high water, when he got home he was going to prove a few things to some people, starting with Webb Porter, the man he held responsible for ruining his life.

As a prisoner, he had proven to
them
that he could be a model inmate, a reformed character who was remorseful for his past sins. If he hadn’t messed up so badly those first couple of years, he’d have been out of this place long before now. But at eighteen, he’d been a stupid punk, filled with hatred and rage. The hatred and rage were still inside him, but he had learned to keep them under control. Channeled properly, strong emotions could work to his benefit.

When he’d finally wised up, he would have done anything for a chance at being paroled. The only thing that had kept him sane and made him fight to survive under intolerable conditions was the dream of freedom.

Once he returned home, he would take things one day at a time. Wouldn’t make any waves. Wouldn’t ruffle any feathers. At least not right away. He had been waiting fifteen years; he could wait a little longer. But no matter what he had to do or who he had to hurt in the process, he intended to reclaim the life that had been taken from him. He had come to this prison as an eighteen-year-old convicted murderer, who, only months before his arrest, had been a star athlete with the world by the tail and a bright future. He had paid his debt to society, had served his time for being convicted of slitting his bastard of a stepfather’s throat. Now he was free. Free to go home. Free to unearth the truth. Free to make sure the guilty paid as dearly for their crimes as they had made him pay.

But first things first. Reed Conway grinned as he marched out of Donaldson Correctional Facility, head held high, shoulders squared, backbone ramrod straight. When he got back to Spring Creek, he wanted to eat his fill of his mama’s fried chicken and peach cobbler. He wanted to guzzle down a six-pack of ice-cold beer with his cousin Briley Joe and have some fun, the way they had when they’d been teenagers. And he wanted to get laid. Just about any willing woman would do just fine.

“I wish it weren’t raining.” Judy Conway wiped the foggy window, her circular motions creating a small clearing in the car’s hazy windshield. “I wanted today to be perfect for Reed’s homecoming. The sun should be shining.”

“Don’t worry about the weather, Mama,” Regina said as she reached out and clasped her mother’s hand. “Reed won’t care. And a little rain couldn’t possibly spoil this day. We’ve been waiting an awfully long time for him to come home to us.”

Judy squeezed Regina’s hand. “It’s going to be so hard for him. He was just a boy when he went in that awful place. He grew from a boy to a man inside the walls of that prison. I can’t help wondering if it’ll be possible for him to adjust to living in the outside world.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

“I’m trying to be realistic.” Judy caught a glimpse of two men walking in the rain straight toward the car. Her heartbeat accelerated. The shorter man, with his black umbrella held high, barely kept step with the taller one, who was all but running. “It’s them. Look, honey. Mark has Reed with him.”

Mark Leamon’s father, Milton Leamon, had been Reed’s attorney, and when the elder Mr. Leamon had passed away five years ago, his son, fresh out of law school, had taken over his father’s practice in Spring Creek. And Regina had gone to work for him three years ago, when he’d decided to add a legal assistant to the small firm.

Judy grabbed the handle and swung open the car door. Sitting in the backseat, Regina mimicked her mother’s moves. They jumped out of the Lincoln and stood side by side. Regina held a floral umbrella over her mother’s head, but the closer her son came toward her, the harder it was for Judy to stay put. She left the umbrella’s protection and raced toward Reed, disregarding the drenching rain. He increased his pace and they met at the edge of the roadway, mother and son, soaked to the skin. A broad smile spread across Judy’s face. Tears trickled from her eyes and mixed with the raindrops on her cheeks.

“Reed!” She grabbed him, wrapping her arms securely around her firstborn, the son of her first husband, who had died in a bloody war halfway around the world only weeks before Reed was born nearly thirty-three years ago.

His strong arms encompassed her in a celebratory bear hug and they clung to each other. Finally Reed grabbed his mother’s shoulders and stared into her face. She gazed back at him, at the handsome features so like Jimmy Conway’s. Reed had always been his father’s son—in looks, talent, and temperament. But his smile was hers. Same straight, white teeth. Same wide, full mouth.
Thank you God
, she prayed silently.
Thank you for letting me see my son smile again
.

“I’m coming home with you, Mama.” Reed spoke with emotion in his voice, but she knew he wouldn’t cry. Neither tears of happiness nor tears of sorrow. She hadn’t seen her son cry since he’d been a small boy. So strong and brave and in control.

Since early childhood, he’d been her little man. And when she’d made the horrific mistake of marrying Junior Blalock, Reed had become her protector. Her former husband’s brutal ways had forced Reed to grow up too fast, to take on adult burdens when he’d been just a boy. She blamed herself for what had happened. She always would.

“Reed?” Regina laid her open palm on her brother’s shoulder.

Grabbing his mother’s hand, Reed turned to face Regina. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”

“Y’all can talk on the way home,” Mark Leamon said, as he tried to hold his large black umbrella over mother and son. “In case y’all haven’t noticed, it’s raining.”

Reed laughed. The sound wrapped around Judy’s heart and filled her with a mother’s joy.

“Mark’s right,” Regina said. “Even with the umbrellas, we’re getting drenched out here.”

“You sit up front with Mark,” Judy said. “I want Reed all to myself on the way home.”

Within seconds, they were inside Mark’s black Lincoln Town Car, leaving the Donaldson Correctional Facility in Bessemer, Alabama, and heading toward home. Home to Spring Creek in the northern part of the state. Regina turned sideways in her seat so that she could carry on a conversation with the backseat occupants.

“You wouldn’t believe what-all Mama’s done this week getting ready for your homecoming.” Regina settled her gaze on her brother. “Ever since Mark told us that you’d been granted a parole, we’ve been getting a room ready for you and Mama’s bought you some new clothes and—”

“Leave a little something for a surprise,” Judy said teasingly.

“Mama, I told you not to go to any trouble.” Reed held Judy’s hand in his firm grip. “I kind of want to get a place of my own eventually, and Briley Joe has already offered to let me move into the room over the garage. I know you have only two bedrooms at your place.”

“We’ve fixed up the room off the back porch for you,” Judy said. “It was just storage, and I kept my sewing machine in there. Even if you decide to move later on, I want you to have your own room while you’re with me.”

“I offered to take the storage room,” Regina said. “But Mama wouldn’t hear of it. She said the last thing you’d want would be to put me out of my bedroom.”

“Mama’s right,” Reed told her. “I don’t want my coming home to cause any problems for you or Mama.”

But my homecoming is going to stir up a hornet’s nest and that’s for sure
. Judy heard Reed’s unspoken comment inside her head, as surely as if he had spoken aloud. No matter what her son had professed to the parole board, she knew in her heart that Reed had neither forgotten the past nor forgiven the people he held responsible for convicting him of Junior’s murder. It was only a matter of time before Reed locked horns with Webb Porter, and when he did, all hell would break loose. She couldn’t bear to think about what might happen to Reed—and to Webb.

Webb Porter rose from the bed, picked up his clothes off the chair, and headed toward the bathroom.

“Sugar, are you leaving already?” Sierra asked him.

He paused, glanced over his shoulder, and smiled at the redhead lying naked on black satin sheets in the middle of the black wrought-iron bed.

“Sorry, but we’re having a little family dinner party tonight and it’s a good hour and a half drive back to Spring Creek.”

Whimpering, Sierra pouted playfully. Webb chuckled, then went into the bathroom, hung his clothes on a hook attached to the back of the door, and turned on the sink faucets, letting the warm water flow. As he lathered his genital area, he recalled the enjoyment he’d just shared with his Huntsville mistress. At fifty-eight, he wasn’t quite the stud he’d once been, but he still wanted sex on a regular basis. Over the years, he’d had several mistresses, some lasting for years. Currently he had two. One was here in Huntsville, less than two hours from home, but still far enough away that his comings and goings went unnoticed. He’d met Sierra Camp at a campaign rally when he’d run for senator the first time. She was a childless divorcee in her early forties who wasn’t looking for a husband. Sierra was an independent woman who required nothing in the way of financial support from him. They got together occasionally, whenever he came home to Alabama.

His D.C. mistress was another matter altogether. He provided Cheri with a car and an apartment. He visited her regularly, two times a week when he was in Washington, and she gave him whatever his heart desired. She was young—younger than his own daughter—and wild and fun. And sometimes she wore him out, made him feel old. If she didn’t give the best damn blow jobs he’d ever had, he would have already traded her in on an older model. Someone smarter and classier. Someone more like Sierra.

Webb dressed hurriedly but took time to make sure his tie was straight and his hair was neatly combed. He prided himself on his thick mane of salt-and-pepper hair.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Sierra, who had donned a short black silk robe, met him with open arms.

“Give me a good-bye kiss,” she said.

Webb wrapped his arms around her waist, then dropped his hands to cup her buttocks. She laughed. He covered her lips with his, and when she sighed, he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. Then he ended the heated kiss quickly, swatted her behind, and nodded toward the door.

“Walk me out,” he suggested.

She laced her arm through his and went with him down the hall, through her kitchen, and to the back door. He always parked in her garage, came in through the back door and exited the same way.

“Any chance you’ll make it back up this way next week?” Sierra asked as she ran her hand down the front of his shirt, pausing at his belt buckle.

“I don’t know if I’ll still be in Alabama,” he told her. “I’ll give you a call in a few days, when I know my plans.”

“You do that. And if I’m free, we’ll make some plans of our own.”

Webb nodded, then went into the garage, got in his Mercedes, and waited for her to hit the door opener. He took his sunglasses from where he’d stuck them behind the sun visor and slipped them on. He gave himself a quick inspection glance in the inside rearview mirror and smiled at his reflection.

“You should feel guilty, you horny old bastard,” he said aloud. “What if Ella ever found out about your affairs? What would your daughter think of you then?”

Ella had been the joy of his life since the moment he and Carolyn had adopted her. She’d been two weeks old. He’d taken one look at her and immediately fallen in love with her. He had never loved anyone the way he loved his little girl. Ella idolized him, and by God, he wanted it to stay that way. He kept his affairs out of town, not only to protect his wife from ugly rumors, but to hide the truth about his less-than-perfect marriage from his daughter.

When the garage door lifted, Webb waved goodbye to Sierra, put the car in reverse, and backed out of the driveway. Checking his watch, he groaned. He’d be cutting it close to get home in time to shower, shave, and change clothes before Carolyn’s little family dinner party tonight. He’d have to think of some excuse for why he’d been delayed in Huntsville. It didn’t matter how feeble the excuse; Carolyn never questioned his explanations. He figured she suspected the truth but preferred to look the other way and pretend they actually had a good marriage. That was what Ella believed. That her parents adored each other. Perpetuating that lie was as much his fault as Carolyn’s. He should have ended their marriage years ago. But it was too late now. Divorce would ruin his political career, and it would break Ella’s heart. He didn’t dare risk doing either. Other than Ella, his career was all he had.

As usual, Carolyn Porter’s dinner party was a huge success. With Bessie’s delicious meal combined with Carolyn’s sparkling personality, every event in the Porter home seemed to come off without a hitch. Even Webb’s late arrival hadn’t seemed to disturb his wife in the least. It never ceased to amaze Ella how kind and considerate of each other her parents were. She envied them their abiding love. She hoped that one day she would share that kind of commitment with a man. Being a woman, she recognized the look of love in her mother’s eyes whenever her father came into a room. And she couldn’t imagine a man more attentive to his wife than her father.

When Dan reached between them on the Duncan Phyfe sofa and slipped her hand into his, Ella tensed, but when he gazed at her adoringly, she managed to smile at him. She’d been dating Dan Gilmore on and off for nearly a year now. Friends and acquaintances were making bets on just when the two would tie the knot. She liked Dan and enjoyed his company, but she simply couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life with him. Actually, she couldn’t imagine the two of them ever making love. Dan wanted her, and he’d made it perfectly clear that he was more than ready for a sexual relationship. She’d been putting him off for months now, but how much longer could she expect him to wait?