Convictions Read Online Free PDF

"Welcome to Swap Shop. Our first caller on the line this morning has canning jars and lids for sale." She smiled at the small-town radio show she'd often listened to as a child.
    The coffeepot was nearly empty, a testament to her father's caffeine habit. Although it wasn't good for his health, she knew she'd have more success convincing a suspect to confess to murder than convincing her father to cut back. She poured the remainder into a cup and put on another pot, then joined her father in the breakfast nook.
    "Are you looking for anything in particular?" she asked.
    Her father glanced up from the newspaper, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. "What?"
    "You're listening to Swap Shop."
    It took another moment before his expression registered that he understood her reference. His lips curled in amusement. "Oh, no. I listened to the local news and forgot to turn it off."
    He reached over, and the caller trying to find a rear bumper for his 1971 Ford truck was cut off in midsentence. "How did you sleep?" he asked.
    Olivia smiled. "Actually, better than I have in weeks. I only woke up twice and didn't have any trouble falling back to sleep."
    He nodded, obviously pleased by her progress. "Getting outside every day helps." He folded the newspaper and set it aside. "I know it's been difficult for you since the prisoners got here, and I'm proud of your progress."
    Olivia's cheeks heated, but she held his gaze. "I still don't like having them here. They're dangerous men, Dad."
    He leaned forward, his forearm resting on the table. "I've always been careful, taking only prisoners I believe are nonviolent and who deserve the chance to prove themselves. The rewards substantially outweigh the minor risks."
    Olivia shuddered. "That's your opinion."
    Her father sighed and dragged a hand across his face, but his gaze was determined and his voice resolute when he spoke. "I helped establish this program, and I'm not about to abandon it."
    She took a deep breath, struggling to contain her impatience with his stubbornness. Although she respected and admired her father, she hated this blind spot he possessed. "Fine. We agree to disagree."
    His disappointment made Olivia cringe inwardly, but she wouldn't—couldn't—agree.
    She carried their empty cups to the sink, rinsed them, and set them by the coffeepot. Leaning against the counter, she watched out the window at the men gathered in the yard, waiting for their day's assignments.
    She'd learned the convicts' names from her father and sought out each one now, to ensure they were all accounted for. Lopez, the Hispanic, and the youngest con, Barton, were standing beside one of the corrals smoking cigarettes. Reger, a husky, nondescript man with brown hair and washed-out features, was hunkered on his haunches a few feet away drawing in the dirt with a twig. Mantle, the furtive, gopher-cheeked man, was talking it up with Rollie, one of the hired men.
    Her gaze automatically sought Hank Elliott's lean figure. With his arms crossed, he leaned his shoulder against a corral post. His cap was tugged low over his eyes, but Olivia suspected he was observing and taking mental notes of every person around him. His face had lost its prison pallor and gained a deep golden tan, enhancing his good looks. His hands and forearms, too, had been darkened by the sun. If anything, her unexplainable reaction to him had grown stronger, which only increased her wariness.
    The appearance of an unfamiliar car wending its way up the long driveway stole her attention from Hank.
    "Are you expecting someone, Dad?"
    "No. Why?"
    "There's a white car coming in."
    He joined her by the sink and swore under his breath.
    "Who is it?" Olivia asked, puzzled by his reaction.
    "Melinda Curry Holcomb." He growled out the name.
    Olivia flashed back to a bouncy brunette in a cheerleader outfit demanding Olivia fork over her homework so she could copy it. The memory wasn't a pleasant one. "I went to high school with her."
    "She reminded me of