Shadowing Ivy

by Janelle Taylor

  And would do well to disguise her, if she kept her head down.

  “Jesus, what are you waiting for?” the man said. “Take a tray and go. We have enough staff at the front. Head to the back area. And I don’t want to see any empty plates lying around. If you see empty plates on the tables, you’re to bus them immediately.”

  Ivy nodded. “Will do.” She headed back down the hallway carrying a heavy tray of what appeared to be chicken satay. The smell of the peanut sauce in such volume so close to her nose was making her a little sick.

  She weaved her way through the crowd. Several guests stopped her with an “Mmm, that looks delicious,” but eventually Ivy made her way to the back of the room, where there were fewer guests mingling. The bar was toward the front, but a three-piece jazz band was in the back. There was a decent-size dance floor, which Ivy imagined would be filled with shaking hips in about a half hour, when guests finished their first drinks.

  “Ooh, Miss, I’d like to try that,” a man said.

  Ivy stopped and smiled and fixed him a plate.

  “They say the third time’s the charm, right? I hope this one lasts.”

  “I’m an optimist,” Ivy said. “So, I think it will.”

  “Crazy, though. They were just dating for a couple of months, then whammo, they get engaged. Georgie was pressing him for a commitment, to give up the other women who were undoubtedly in his life, and finally, he popped the question. I’ve never seen her so happy. Well, except at her first wedding, of course.”

  And just where is this question-popping groom? Ivy wondered.

  She smiled. “Did you like the chicken satay?” she asked, using the opportunity to stand slightly behind the man, who was on the large side, and look around.

  “Delicious,” he said, then looked Ivy up and down. “Just like you. I wouldn’t mind seeing what’s under that apron. After the party, we could—”

  “I’d better serve the rest of the chicken before it gets cold,” Ivy said. She leaned closer. “If my boss catches me chatting with the guests, I could get fired.”

  He smiled and patted her on the butt. “Off with you then.”

  What a jerk!

  Her head down, Ivy walked around with her tray, stopping to place the appetizers on little plates and picking up empty plates with half-eaten chicken flesh.

  And just as she was about to ask the couple in front of her if they would like to sample the chicken satay, she stopped dead in her tracks.

  Not fifty feet away, laughing loudly at something an older man had said, was Declan McLean. He wore a tuxedo, a rosebud pinned in the buttonhole. His hair was white blond and he seemed to be wearing light blue–colored contact lenses. He wore silver, square-shaped eyeglasses and had a bit of a goatee. He looked erudite. And very handsome. And totally different.

  “Congratulations, David!” a middle-aged woman said to Declan. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. Georgia was just telling me all about you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he drawled in a reasonable Texas accent.

  Ivy noted the way he looked into the woman’s eyes, a hint of seduction, of masculine appreciation of her charms. She watched as he slid his gaze to her ample cleavage, then back up to her face. So that’s how he does it, Ivy thought.

  And the woman seemed delighted, as though she were in on a little secret. That the groom found her hot.

  Ivy turned around and began loading her tray with empty plates. She needed to slip outside and call Griffin right away.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice called from the front of the restaurant. “My treasured guests.”

  Ivy stayed behind a group while straining to see. A very thin, forty-something woman in a very ornate white dress stood next to Declan; they each had a glass of champagne in their hands. Based on what her mother told her about Georgia, who was too thin, blond, and tanned for her mother’s liking, Ivy was looking at the bride-to-be.

  “I have a very special announcement,” Georgia said. “You have been invited here this evening to celebrate our engagement, but also to witness our wedding.” The guests began buzzing. “Yes, David and I are to be married this evening. Surprise!”

  “This is how we Texans like to do things,” Declan–David said to a big laugh and applause. He then gave Georgia one hell of a kiss, including a dip.

  Unbelievable, Ivy thought as she weaved her way around the far side of the crowd, her tray held up to block her face. She hurried to the kitchen and set down the empty tray on a stack of others, then hurried back out.

  And ran smack into a very angry-looking Declan McLean.

  “You just can’t stay out of my business, can you?” he whispered. He grabbed her and pushed her out a door. It was the garbage area. He threw her on the ground on the far side of the Dumpster, her head banging into it.

  “Declan—”

  He reached inside the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small silver handgun. It glinted in the gathering darkness. “I told you when I last saw you that if you butted into my business again, I’d kill you. See the silencer, Ivy?” he asked, standing directly over her. “You’re dead, baby. But first, I’m going to have a little fun. If I have to screw that old hag tonight, I might as well get a tight piece of ass right here.”

  “If you lay one hand—”

  He laughed. “You’ll what? Scream? Yell for your boyfriend? Well, he can’t help you, Ivy. I got rid of him today. That’s right. I bashed his fucking head in.”

  Ignore him, Ivy told herself. He’s lying.

  “Don’t believe me?” he asked, unzipping his pants and leaning down to press the gun at her temple. “Call him. He won’t be coming to the phone for days, Ivy. And if he does, you won’t be able to understand a word he says. Not with his brains all over his face.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said, her blood freezing in her veins.

  “Let’s just say that your boyfriend won’t be coming to your rescue.” He laughed. “Tsk-tsk, Ivy. I don’t think Dead Daddy Dearest would have approved of Griffin, either.”

  Griffin is fine, Ivy told herself. He is fine and on his way to the secret apartment right now. Don’t let Declan distract you.

  “What did my father have against you?” she asked.

  “Not much,” he said. “He caught me fucking Gretchen on his desk one night. For a major corporation, you’d think your father would have had better security. I had more sex in his office than he did.”

  “I’m surprised my father didn’t give you a raise and a promotion instead,” Ivy said.

  Declan laughed. “He might have, but I told him if he said one word to you—if you ever found out from him or any of his lackeys—I’d kill you and your sisters.”

  Ivy gasped. So that was why her father wouldn’t state his reasons.

  “So go ahead, sweetheart,” Declan said. “Call your boyfriend. I’ll bet he doesn’t answer his phone.” Declan handed her his cell phone with a smile.

  Ivy’s heart hammered in her chest. She pressed in Griffin’s number. No answer. After five rings it went to voice mail.

  Declan laughed, then used the gun to lift up her skirt. “Thanks for wearing a skirt. You made this so much easier for me, hon.” He lay down on top of her, the gun at her temple.

  Ivy squeezed her eyes shut. She felt Declan’s erection pressing against her thigh. His hands went under her apron, under her shirt, and he grabbed her breasts hard. He rubbed against her, groaning, the gun never wavering from her head.

  He was moaning now, his hands reaching up her skirt and roughly pulling aside her underwear. And when he reached inside his pants to pull himself out, Ivy took the one chance she had.

  She kneed him as hard as she could between his legs. She nailed him. He shouted in pain and fell off her, the gun clanking to the ground.

  She scrambled to get up, but he grabbed her around the ankles and she went down, her head hitting the rough pavement hard. For a second she saw white spots. Then black. And then her vision cleared. An
d this time she was in a more vulnerable position. Declan lunged at her from behind, pressing her down on her stomach with his body.

  “Let’s try this again,” he said, hitting her hard on the temple with the butt of the gun. She felt dizzy. So, so dizzy. “You know I prefer it doggie-style anyway, baby.”

  Griffin came to, his head pounding. He pressed his hand to his temple and it came away sticky with blood.

  Ivy. He had to get to Ivy.

  His cell phone was ringing. Griffin managed to get it out of his pocket, but didn’t recognize the number and it stopped ringing by the time he flipped it open. He tried to sit up, but got such a stab of wincing pain that he lay back down, squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing in his head.

  He called Ivy’s cell, but it rang and went to voice mail. He tried the phone at the secret apartment but there was no answer.

  He tried her mother’s apartment and after simply saying who he was, he got a nonstop earful about lunch and Bloomingdale’s and then a woman named Georgia Davenport, who was engaged to an oil magnate named David McSomething and who had the nerve to not invite Dana to some party at Fritz’s tonight, despite it being so close to her apartment.

  David McSomething.

  Declan.

  “Dana, did you tell Ivy about this?”

  “Why, yes, of course,” Dana said. “I tried to get her to come with me to Tiffany’s to buy a gift, but she said she had some police business to take care of.”

  Shit. No. No!

  Griffin tried to stand, but his legs buckled, and he went down. Get up, he told himself. But when he tried again, almost making it to a kneeling position, he fell back down again, and this time, everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Yum, I can’t wait to have this delicious ass,” Declan said into her ear. “I really did love you, Ivy. I was going to marry you even though you had nothing. No money. Nothing coming in ever. That’s how much I loved you. But then that stupid bitch Jennifer gave me a hard time about seeing me with Laura. And I thought she was talking about you at first. She kept saying she was going to tell you. So I bashed her head into the wall. And then I find out she was talking about that skank Laura.”

  Oh, my God, Ivy thought. He is most definitely a murderer. And he has a gun. Be careful.

  “I killed her for nothing,” he continued, “and ended up losing you anyway. I would have left you alone. Even though you were fucking my brother. But then you wouldn’t leave me alone, would you?”

  Ivy kept quiet. Anything she said would antagonize him. She’d have to think. Think her way out of this alive.

  “You just can’t keep away from me, can you?” he murmured into her ear, his tongue following, to Ivy’s disgust. He pulled her underwear down, and she took the opportunity to kick her leg back. He grunted and fell back, and she scrambled to the far side of the Dumpster.

  “You stupid bitch,” he said. “After I rape you, I’m going to blow your brains out, just like I knocked the brains out of your boyfriend.”

  Ivy frantically looked around in the dusk for something, anything to use as a weapon. And then she found it. A broken piece of pipe. There were several of them, she saw, under the Dumpster. She grabbed one and waited.

  When he came around to her side, she whaled the length of pipe as though it were a baseball bat and his head were the ball. And down he went.

  Ivy fell to her knees. She was in the first throes of shock. She had to get out of there.

  But as she bolted up, his hands reached out and tripped her, and she fell. This time he stood over her, blood dripping from the gaping wound in his head, the gun pointed at her chest.

  “Bye-bye, bitch,” he said, and leaned down to put the gun between her eyes.

  I love you, Griffin, she said silently. Then said a prayer.

  She heard the shot but didn’t feel any pain. That’s loud for a silencer, she thought numbly, wondering if she were dead.

  And then Declan, a bullet hole to his chest, fell down next to her.

  Ivy whirled around.

  Griffin stood there, a bloody mess, his gun dangling at his side.

  A crowd had begun to form. Ivy heard someone say, “Oh my God, someone call the police!” And then there was screaming.

  Griffin’s legs seemed to give out and he dropped down to his knees. Ivy raced over to him.

  “Griffin, stay with me. Stay with me. Please. You got him. It’s over. Stay with me!” she said over and over, her pleas drowned out by the sound of the wailing sirens.

  Now it was Ivy’s turn to sit by Griffin’s hospital bedside. She held on to his hand and sat and sat until the morning light broke, unable, unwilling to let go.

  “I killed him, didn’t I?” he said.

  Ivy jumped up. “Griffin.”

  “Did I?”

  She didn’t know how he’d take the news. But who else to tell him but her? “Yes. He’s gone.”

  He took a deep breath and winced in pain.

  “You saved my life, Griffin,” she told him, leaning her head gently on his chest.

  “So does that mean you owe me a favor for life?” he asked, those dark eyes on hers.

  “Absolutely. Anything.”

  “Marry me.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He smiled and squeezed her hand.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Three months later ...

  Once again, Ivy sat before the mirror at the dressing table in the back room of the church in Applewood, scowling at the rhinestone-studded barrette holding her veil in place.

  That was where the similarity to the other wedding she’d planned ended. Well, except for her attendants and some of the guests.

  Her sisters fluffing her train and arranging her veil, her mother out doing the meeting and greeting, Ivy stared at her reflection and laughed. She was never so happy to be sticking a girlie barrette in her scalp. She’d never been so happy before, period.

  There was a knock at the door, and Ivy shouted a “Come in.”

  “Excuse me, Miss Sedgwick.”

  Ivy turned around to find her father’s attorney, George Harris, standing before her. Had she invited him?

  “Please forgive the intrusion,” he said. “However, in the event of your impending marriage to another, your father left instructions for this letter to be delivered to you on your wedding day. The instructions call for you to read the letter aloud with your sisters present.”

  Ivy and her sisters stared at each other. She took the letter from Mr. Harris, slit open the envelope, and pulled out one piece of paper. Handwritten, this time.

  Dear Ivy, Olivia, and Amanda,

  I’ve always wanted to say I’m sorry. For not being the father all of you deserved. In my own way, a way I know wasn’t close to being good enough, I did love each one of you. And I wish you all the best. You will soon learn from my good attorney that I’ve left you three the bulk of my estate, to do with as you please. I know money doesn’t buy happiness. Trust me, I know. But it’s what I have to give at this late point. And it’s yours.

  P.S. Ivy, I knew you’d end up with a good man.

  With love, your father, William Sedgwick

  Ivy, Amanda, and Olivia stared at each other, tears in all of their eyes. They stood and held hands and observed a moment of silence for their father. They had each made their peace with him.

  “Ivy! Yoo-hoo! Showtime!” her mother called, poking her head through the door. She eyed their solemn, yet happy faces. “What I miss?”

  “And now,” the bandleader called. “I present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Fargo!”

  Griffin blushed and Ivy beamed as they entered the ballroom hand in hand. They stood in the center of the beautifully decorated room, tiny twinkling lights above them, and danced to their song, “You’re My Best Friend” by Queen, which just so turned out to be a favorite song of both the bride and the groom.

  And then Ivy danced the night away, in
cluding a slow dance with Joey, who’d brought his new—very appropriate and very sweet—girlfriend as his date.

  Dan, still her partner, unfortunately, jitterbugged up to her, a full glass of wine in his hand, which he sloppily sipped. “Hey, Ivy, good thing I didn’t spill my beer on you. You might need to let someone else borrow this one.”

  Ivy smiled. She hoped so. Because if dresses did hold the promise of the future, this one would surely last a lifetime.

  If you enjoyed Shadowing Ivy,

  don’t miss the other two novels in the trilogy

  that tell the romantic and suspenseful stories

  of Ivy’s half sisters, Amanda and Olivia.

  Read on for special excerpts from

  Janelle Taylor’s

  WATCHING AMANDA

  and

  HAUNTING OLIVIA

  WATCHING AMANDA

  Chapter One

  A beautiful dark-haired woman wearing an ankle-length fur coat and matching earmuffs was throwing a temper tantrum—complete with foot stomps—in the lobby of the Metropolitan Hotel. While her two children played tug-of-war with a silk flower plucked from a previously lovely display, the woman wagged a manicured finger in Amanda Sedgwick’s face.

  Amanda, one of the Metropolitan’s many front desk clerks, sat on her uncomfortable little stool behind the mile-long, granite reception counter and resisted the impulse to jump up and grab the woman’s finger. She forced herself to smile “the Metropolitan way” and checked her computer monitor again. “I’m sorry, Ms. Willington, but your reservation is for only one room and we’re completely booked. I can have a porter send up two cots for your—”

  The woman narrowed her cold blue eyes. “Did you say cots? I don’t think so. You are to find me two suitable rooms—my usual suite and an adjoining double with two full-sized beds for my children. Immediately. And it’s Mrs. Willington. Not Ms.”