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Every Move She Makes. Beverly BartonЧитать онлайн книгу.

Every Move She Makes - Beverly Barton


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      MANIPULATED BY A KILLER

      “I know that I sure as hell didn’t write that letter to you, but circumstantial evidence points to me,” Reed said. “Maybe whoever sent it wants you to think I’m the person who wrote it.”

      “But why?”

      “To get me in trouble.”

      Ella rose to her feet but quickly realized her mistake. Reed didn’t move out of her way, so only inches separated her body from his. She felt his heat, smelled his sweat, heard his in-drawn breath when his leg accidentally brushed against hers. Or had it been accidental?

      “Why—why would someone want to get you in trouble?”

      “If I get in big enough trouble, I go back to the pen.” Did Reed sway slightly toward her or did she lean into him? Only a hairbreadth separated them now. “Whoever really killed Junior Blalock doesn’t want me to stay free, doesn’t want me snooping around trying to find out the truth.”

      For a split second, she thought he was going to kiss her. She froze to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe. You don’t want him to kiss you, do you? The shock of realizing that yes, she did want him to kiss her, motivated her self-preservation instincts. Maybe Reed Conway fascinated her in a way no other man ever had. Maybe the aura of danger and machismo that was such an intrinsic part of him aroused some primitive female need within her. But she was an intelligent, cautious woman who knew better than to succumb to baser instincts….

      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

      Beverly Barton

      EVERY MOVE SHE MAKES

      ZEBRA BOOKS

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.zebrabooks.com

      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

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Epilogue

      Chapter 1

      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.


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