Free Every Move She Makes by Beverly Barton

undeniable aura of danger.
    “You’ve got me all wrong,” he said, grinning. “Besides, it seems to me, if anybody’s doing any harassing, it’s you.”
    “ Me? ” She wanted to knock that cocky smile off his face. Her hands balled into fists, crushing the white envelope in the process. She prided herself on her even-tempered disposition. But this man had enraged her so easily that she felt shocked at her irrational reaction to him.
    “Yeah, you. I was here at work, minding my own business, being a law-abiding citizen, when you showed up and started tossing out accusations, accusing me of something I didn’t do. I figure that could be called harassment.”
    “Are you denying that you sent this to me?” She held up the letter she still clutched in her fist and waved it around, all but slapping him in the face with it.
    He peered at her over the edge of the envelope, which rested just below the bridge of his nose. “The vulgar, harassing letter? Nope. I don’t know anything about it, except what you’ve told me.”
    He continued staring at her. Those incredible blue eyes hypnotized her. She couldn’t help wondering how many other women had been caught and held by the mesmerizing coldness in Reed Conway’s eyes. She swallowed. Get hold of yourself, Eleanor Porter. He’s just a man, like any other man. He puts his pants on one leg at a time, right? Yeah, sure. She couldn’t kid herself. Reed might put his pants on in the same way other men did, but he wasn’t like other men. He never had been. Not at eighteen. Not now. He had been a star athlete headed for the University of Alabama on a football scholarship when he’d killed his stepfather. He’d had a bad boy reputation with girls and women alike when he’d been Bryant County’s teenage heartthrob and the bane of concerned parents’ lives. She remembered accidentally overhearing her uncle Jeff Henry make an off-color comment about Reed all those years ago.
    “That boy’s got a man-sized ego because he’s bigger and better on the football field than anybody else. And the ladies seem to think what he’s got between his legs is bigger and better, too.”
    She could still hear her uncle’s and her father’s macho chuckles, each in his own way both condeming and envying the boy from the wrong side of the tracks who had been destined for football superstardom.
    And now Reed was different because he was a convicted murderer who had served fifteen years in prison. What had those years done to him? Losing everything—his freedom and the promise of a rich and famous future—must have embittered him. He had sworn revenge, hadn’t he? Against her father. But he had also sworn something else.
    He had sworn he was innocent.
    But that wasn’t possible. He’d been given a fair trial and was found guilty by a jury of his peers. Not only her father, but everyone in town knew he was guilty. He had to be guilty. All the evidence pointed directly to him. He had admitted beating his stepfather until he was unconscious. The knife used to slit Junior Blalock’s throat had belonged to Reed, and only his fingerprints had been found on it.
    “If you didn’t send me this letter, then who did?” Ella asked. “Who else would have a reason to send me something like this? The content is very similar to those two letters you wrote to me….”
    “I shouldn’t have written those letters to you.”
    Ella lowered the hand that held the scrunched envelope. She didn’t know if she moved closer or if Reed did, but suddenly they were nose to nose. A wave of dizziness forced her to blink and then refocus her vision so that she looked away, over his shoulder toward the dingy white wall behind him.
    “I was wild with anger when I first got to Donaldson,” he said, his voice low, even, and unbelievably calm. “I lashed out at everyone and everything. I hated your father and I wrote those letters to you to get a rise out of him. It was a stupid mistake. One I’ve regretted for