he’d left behind. In the years since Roy had been working at the courthouse, Ella had found him to be a remarkably good judge of character. It was as if he had some strange sixth sense that allowed him a special insight into human nature. How was it that he could be so wrong about Reed Conway? The man was a murderer. He’d been tried and convicted. Her father had been the prosecuting district attorney, and there hadn’t been a doubt in Webb Porter’s mind that Reed Conway had viciously slit his stepfather’s throat. Even his own mother had been forced to testify that she’d witnessed a brutal fight between a drunken Junior and a furious Reed. Junior Blalock had tried to rape Regina Conway, who’d been only eleven at the time. If Reed had killed Junior while defending his sister, he wouldn’t have been prosecuted for murder, but Reed had caught the man later, after the fact, while Junior had been unconscious. Reed had cut his throat from ear to ear.
I want to wrap my hands around your soft white neck and then move them down your bare shoulders and over your sweet breasts.
Ella shook her head to dislodge the memory, to erase the words that were forever etched in her mind. Words Reed had written to her from prison. Two love letters that had been both frightening and titillating to the sixteen-year-old Ella. Harassing letters that had infuriated her father and prompted him to take legal action to end Reed’s letter writing.
She hoped she could avoid seeing Reed Conway. But what if her father was right and the man sought her out? Heaven help him if he did threaten or harass her in any way. Webb Porter would have the man’s head on a platter.
Reed woke slowly, languidly, lying facedown, the smell of cheap perfume on his pillow. He opened his eyes and glanced at the other side of the bed. Empty. He listened. Silence. Where was Ivy? When he lifted his head to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table, he saw the note propped up against the lamp.
Gone to work. Last night was great. Let’s do it again soon. She’d underlined soon three times.
Reed grinned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good. Ivy was an all-right kind of woman. She’d been understanding about his lack of patience and expertise. Hell, he was rusty at sex. In the pen, he’d warned off potential rapists. It had helped that he’d been big and surly even as a teenager. And those first few years, he hadn’t given a damn about how much trouble he got into or whether he killed somebody protecting himself. For the past fifteen years, he’d found his sexual pleasure in the palm of his own hand. Fucking a woman beat the hell out of just dreaming about fucking one.
Reed climbed out of bed and stalked off to the bathroom. He peered at himself in the mirror over the sink. His eyes were bloodshot and he badly needed a shave. And he had a silly grin on his face. The grin of a man who’d spent the night screwing a most obliging woman. Ivy wasn’t the girl of his dreams, but she’d been mighty accommodating.
He pawed his chin, testing the scratchiness of his beard stubble. Ivy hadn’t complained about the stubble. She hadn’t complained about anything. Any other woman would have kicked his butt out of her bed and demanded that he shave. He’d just bet that Ella Porter didn’t let a man even kiss her unless he was clean-shaven. Ella Porter, Webb’s darling daughter. He’d barely known the girl. Other than seeing her a few times over the years at the Carlisle house, their paths had never crossed. So why was it that she’d been the girl he had thought about while he was in prison? Why was it that she’d been the fantasy of more than one wet dream? Was it because he’d written her those damn crude love letters? The only reason he’d written them was because he’d known they’d piss off Webb. Fifteen years ago, he’d have done just about anything to hurt Webb. And he’d found out right quick that the best way to get to the high-and-mighty Mr. Porter was through his beloved little girl.
Reed took a quick shower, then reluctantly put on the clothes he’d worn the night before. He bundled his briefs into a wad and stuffed them in his jeans back pocket. Before leaving Ivy’s apartment, he checked for her phone number and memorized it. He just might ask her for a repeat of last night’s highly satisfactory performance.
He showed up at Conway’s Garage two hours late for his first morning on the job. But Briley Joe just grinned at him and patted him on the back.
“Ain’t nothing like good pussy, is there? I’ll bet Ivy taught you a trick or two, didn’t she? As I recall, the lady knows how to please.”
“She sure as hell pleased me.”
“She’s not first-class, but you had to start somewhere. You can work off some of your frustration with her and then move on to something better.”
“Is that your subtle way of trying to tell me that you’ve got something better?” Reed knew Briley Joe was the sort who liked to brag about his sexual conquests. In that sense, his cousin was as immature as he’d been at eighteen.
“Yeah, I’m getting some from one of the classiest broads in town. If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“So, tell me and let me be duly impressed.”
“Talking kind of fancy, aren’t you? You haven’t let that college degree you earned in the pen go to your head, have you?”
“That college degree didn’t do me a damn bit of good getting a job on the outside, did it?” It stuck in his craw that the only job he could get was as a grease monkey in his cousin’s garage. Reed clamped his hand down on Briley Joe’s shoulder and grinned. “So who’s this classy broad you’re screwing?”
“Cybil Carlisle.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Yep. I’m getting all I want from Jeff Henry Carlisle’s wife. Can you believe it? And I’m here to tell you that she’s one wild woman.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, cuz,” Reed said. “If Jeff Henry ever finds out, you’re as good as dead.”
“That Pillsbury Doughboy wouldn’t dirty his lily white hands on me.”
“You’re right about that, but he wouldn’t think twice about hiring somebody to beat the shit out of you, and if that didn’t stop you fooling around with his wife—”
“Nobody knows. You’re the only person I’ve told. She warned me that if I opened my big mouth about her to anybody, she’d cut me off.”
“Damn it, man, she’s Webb Porter’s sister-in-law. She was a Walker before she got married. Her family’s been one of the ruling clans in this state for the past two hundred years. Why would she risk her reputation and your life to have an affair with you?”
“Because Cybil Carlisle likes to walk on the wild side. And I can tell you that there’s nothing better than a lady who wants to get down and dirty with a bad boy. You ought to try it sometime. Maybe with that niece of hers. I’ll bet Miss Ella Porter has never forgotten those hot letters you wrote her.”
“I’d like to forget those letters, and I’m sure she has forgotten them. From what my mother tells me, Judge Porter is good woman—a real lady. If I even said hello to her, she’d run scared.”
“You won’t know until you give it a try. Who knows, she might not run.”
“Ella was never my type. And God knows I wasn’t her type back then, and I’m sure as hell not her type now.”
“Okay, so the judge doesn’t crank your motor. She’s not the only class act in town. Look around. I’m sure
