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The Daughter
BEVERLY BARTON
With the suspense of Karen Rose, and the sensual thrills of Sylvia Day, this is an addictive story of forbidden love and cold-blooded revenge.‘Not for the faint-hearted’ CLOSERElla, sweet Ella, you were meant to be mine. You can’t begin to imagine all the things I want to do to you. When the time is right, I will come for you . . .A series of hand-delivered letters leaves Ella scared for her life. Someone is watching her. Wanting her. Someone promising revenge.Desperate for the nightmare to end, Ella will do anything to discover the truth. Even join forces with a man who comes with his own danger warning . . .
BEVERLY BARTON
I’ll Be Watching You
Copyright (#ulink_7b9e7366-5a85-5d19-ba5f-4eca95e9c269)
AVON
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2014
Copyright © Beverly Barton 2006
Cover photography: Arcangel
Cover design: www.blacksheep-uk.com (http://www.blacksheep-uk.com)
Beverly Barton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9781847561411
Ebook Edition © October 2014 ISBN: 9780007424894
Version: 2015-07-23
Dedication (#ulink_cc65023d-bb3f-5092-8a05-f3300b359e81)
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
Cover (#ue3840de7-9ea6-5f4d-808c-00c45c3d60b7)
Title Page (#u31e50d27-36cf-50da-8e6e-f0d978c753ea)
Copyright (#u483d6eee-a8b7-5667-a3bd-424c53776b4f)
Dedication (#u49645024-8791-5a46-b397-45289d97286a)
Chapter 1 (#u235fbaa0-1e4e-5085-9edc-05ed01756444)
Chapter 2 (#ubd90f5f3-e0b4-5939-8626-d23076e06029)
Chapter 3 (#uc3e35af9-f5e0-56f2-8863-4085dd4cb330)
Chapter 4 (#u44059fa1-4080-5693-8482-1f8358e1bb41)
Chapter 5 (#u732c37e3-c36c-57d7-a529-6af2aa31a0d2)
Chapter 6 (#uff1c8ca3-380f-535e-af86-fb5a0c5e7e78)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#ulink_7abf73b2-4e87-5810-87c1-96a324b3112a)
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 to be 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. 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 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 only have 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 having him convicted 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 the first time he’d run for senator. She was a childless divorcée 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 DC mistress was another matter altogether. He provided Cheri with a car and an apartment. He visited her regularly, twice 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 for 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.
