In His Shadow (Tangled Ivy Book 1)

by Tiffany Snow

  “Miss Mason, I want to help you,” he said, his voice gentling. “I think you need my help. You’re a beautiful, innocent young woman who somehow became involved with a man who may get you killed . . . if he doesn’t kill you himself.”

  I stared at him, eyes wide, and hesitated, indecision and fear now creeping into my mind. Lane was a good guy, trying to do the right thing and help someone who he saw as a damsel in distress. Was that me? Would I be the body Lane identified in a few days or weeks, his words a prophecy of what was to come if I stayed involved with Devon?

  “Please,” he said, laying a hand atop mine. His palm was warm and calloused. A hardworking man’s hand. Lane sensed the conflict within me. “Let me help you.”

  I remembered all the people Devon had killed, the men who’d held me captive and made me scream. I shuddered to think of that happening again, but what choice did I have? And Lane didn’t even know the half of what I couldn’t tell.

  “I’m scared,” I whispered, the words falling out of my mouth. It was almost a relief to say it, to admit my fear. “But I can’t get out. I just . . . I can’t. You don’t understand.” Tears stung my eyes and I grabbed my purse, jumping to my feet.

  “Wait! Miss Mason!” Lane called, but I was already rushing through the maze of desks and out the door. I didn’t stop until I was back in the Porsche.

  I started the car but didn’t leave. I just sat, hands on the wheel as I tried to think what to do. Tears trickled down my cheeks but I barely noticed.

  Not only was I in this too deep to get out, I felt too much for Devon to have the willpower to leave. It was a demoralizing realization. Would I really gamble my life for a man I was obsessed with, maybe in love with, whose only tie to me was his desire to have sex with me?

  A knocking on the window startled me. I looked up to see Agent Lane standing there. Cautiously, I rolled down the window.

  “Take this,” he said, his gaze pained as he took in my tear-stained face. “In case you change your mind. My cell is on the back.” He held a white business card between two fingers. I took it.

  “Thank you,” I managed to say, before rolling up the window and backing out the car.

  Glancing in my rearview mirror, I saw Lane standing there watching me until I was out of sight.

  Logan called me late that night.

  “Hey, Ives, how’re you feeling?” he asked.

  “Good. I’m feeling good,” I said. “How was your trip?”

  “Fantastic!” he enthused. “Met a couple of snow bunnies that kept us warm, didn’t break anything, so all in all, a successful trip.”

  I smiled, shaking my head at him. That was typical Logan.

  “I should be home within an hour or so,” he said, “but don’t wait up.”

  Shit. “Um, yeah, I’m not at home,” I said. “I’m, um, staying with a friend for a few days.” I winced at the white lie.

  Except I never could get a lie past Logan, and his silence was telling.

  “Why would you do that?” he asked. Gone was the lightness in his voice.

  “I, um, well, I think I might’ve seen . . . Jace.”

  “What? Are you kidding me? Are you all right?” His frantic questions came one after the other.

  “I’m fine,” I hurried to reassure him. “It might not have been him at all, but I thought it might be wise to stay somewhere else for a few days.”

  “Well, I’m back now so you can come home tomorrow,” he said. “No one’s going to hurt you while I’m around.”

  His sweet protectiveness made my chest hurt, which made it even harder to say what I had to say. “Actually, I think I’m going to stay here for a few days longer.”

  A long pause. “You’re with Devon, aren’t you.”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. It hadn’t been a question.

  Logan let loose a string of curses and I flinched.

  “Logan, please—” I began.

  “He put you in the hospital, Ivy,” he said, cutting me off. “And don’t give me that story about being mugged—I know that’s bullshit.”

  “Logan,” I tried again, “it’s just for a few days—”

  “Until what?” he broke in. “Until I get another call that you’re in the hospital again? Or the morgue?” He let loose a heavy sigh. “God, Ives, please just listen to me. I’m begging you. Come home. Forget about that guy. He’s such bad news for you. Please, Ives.”

  Logan was the second person that day to tell me I was in over my head with Devon. The second man who thought he knew what was best for me, who would take my choice away without even attempting to understand what I was feeling and without knowing the circumstances that tied me to Devon. And my temper snapped.

  “Last I checked, Logan, I wasn’t still twelve years old. And while I appreciate your concern, I think it’s really crappy of you to have so little faith in my ability to make decisions for myself. I already know you think I’m ‘damaged.’ Must you add insult to injury?”

  “Ives, I didn’t mean—”

  “Save it. I know all too well what you meant. I’ll talk to you later, Logan.” I ended the call.

  I was angry and upset, combined with worried and afraid, which made it really hard to get to sleep.

  Work the next morning seemed surreal. After all that had happened in the past couple of weeks, the normal pace and tasks of my job were strange to settle back into. Marcia wanted to know about the mugging, and I got away with not saying a whole lot by telling her I didn’t really remember. My boss, Mr. Malloy, was kind and solicitous—I think he realized that between Mr. Galler’s death, the attempted robbery, then a mugging, I’d had a rough time of it lately. It was midafternoon when he approached me.

  “The estate attorney for Mr. Galler requested the contents of his safe deposit box,” he said. “Would you mind boxing up the contents? They’re sending a security guard to pick it up here shortly.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, taking the dual set of keys he handed me.

  I headed down to the safe deposit box area and unlocked the cage. The keys he’d given me were the set I’d had the day of the robbery along with an additional set—customer override keys. They were only to be used in situations like this, and I was glad I hadn’t known where they were kept. If they’d kept using me as a punching bag that day, I was sure I’d have given in to their demands.

  My curiosity about what was in the box was raging as I scanned the numbers, finally settling on box 928. The two keys went in and the box slid out of its chamber.

  I’d brought a cardboard bank box with me to place the items into and I’d set it on the table in the privacy room adjacent to the cage. Moving aside the heavy curtain that separated the room from any prying eyes—electronic or human—I rested the safe deposit box next to it. I raised the lid with anticipation.

  To my disappointment, only a stack of papers and an envelope of photographs were in the box. I glanced through the photographs as I transferred them. They were old photos, mainly black and white, of various people who seemed to have no bearing on one another. No one face was recurring the way you’d see in a box of family photos.

  “The security guard is here,” Mr. Malloy called out, poking his head down the stairwell.

  “Nearly finished,” I called back.

  I was hurrying to put the papers into the box when a small, leather-bound notebook slipped from the stack and landed at my feet. Finishing the transfer of the papers, I leaned down to pick it up, and froze.

  The emblem on the cover was the exact match for what had been on the pendant Mr. Galler had given me.

  I hesitated, my pulse skyrocketing. Grabbing the notebook, I quickly stuffed it down the back of my slacks. The jacket I wore covered it up and I stood, replacing the safe deposit box, and adding the lid to the bank box before carrying it upstairs.

  “Here you g
o,” I said with a fake smile, handing it to the serious-looking security guard waiting in the lobby. Mr. Malloy was there and had me sign a form that he signed as well. My palms were sweating and the pen was slippery in my grip. I was terrified they’d both realize what I’d done.

  I gave Mr. Malloy the keys and then hurried back to my booth. I slid the notebook into my purse and tried not to think about how many laws I was breaking. I justified it by telling myself that Mr. Galler had gotten me into this mess and he was dead. I had to do what I could to make sure I didn’t end up the same.

  The rest of the day passed as a blur, my only thought was on getting home and taking a look inside the notebook. Though the definition of my “home” was nebulous since I was staying at Devon’s and I hadn’t talked to Logan since our argument.

  I clocked out and waved goodbye to Marcia, then went out the back way to where I’d parked the Porsche. My phone chirped and I dug it out of my purse. Logan had texted me.

  I can’t stand not talking to you. Give me a chance to grovel over dinner?

  I smiled a little, my irritation at him melting away. I texted back, walking slowly across the parking lot.

  No need for groveling. We had a fight. It happens.

  It only took a few seconds for his reply to come through.

  You know it’s just b/c I love you.

  My heart ached. I was glad Logan had texted. Though an unapologetic player, he was a softie on the inside.

  I know. Love you too. Dinner tomorrow?

  It’s a date.

  I was texting back a reply when someone stepped in front of me. Stumbling back, I jerked my head up to say Excuse me but the words died on my tongue.

  “Miss me, brat?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  My phone clattered to the ground as I dug inside my purse for my gun, but then Jace had me by the throat.

  “I’ve been thinking about you for ten long years,” he hissed. “I reckon that tight little pussy of yours is just begging for old Jace.”

  Prison had changed him, his hair now cut so short you could see his scalp through it and a long jagged scar marked his cheek. But his eyes . . . his eyes were exactly the same. Cold and without a shred of humanity in them.

  “Let me go,” I gritted out, trying fruitlessly to pry his hand from my neck.

  “You and me are going to get reacquainted,” he said, his grip tightening.

  I couldn’t breathe and spots started to crowd my vision, my fingers scrabbling uselessly at his arm.

  “I’ve had a long time to think about how I’m going to make you pay,” Jace continued, his face so close to mine I could feel the fetid heat of his breath. “I’m going to make you bleed, brat. You’ll be sorry you ever turned your back on me.”

  Dragging me by the throat, he pushed me up against an SUV in the lot.

  “Feel that?” he hissed, pressing his hips against me. “My dick’s aching for your sweet cunt, just like we used to, brat.”

  My arms hung limply at my sides, Jace’s hand around my neck the only thing keeping me on my feet. Everything started to go black.

  “Freeze! FBI! Let the girl go!”

  I vaguely saw Jace turn around, then suddenly I was free. A shot rang out and I heard the sound of breaking glass as I collapsed to the asphalt, sucking in clean, wonderful air. I didn’t have the strength to move, even though I could tell I’d landed in a puddle of slush, the icy cold water seeping through my clothes.

  “Ivy! Are you all right? Ivy!”

  A man skidded to a halt next to me, dropping down to his knees. I pried open my eyes, shocked to see it was Agent Lane.

  He helped me onto my back, one arm supporting my shoulders while his hand pushed back the hair from my face. “Talk to me,” he said anxiously. “Are you okay?”

  I swallowed, an action I immediately regretted as a flash of pain went through me. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice hoarse. I coughed, which burned my abused throat.

  “Who was that guy?” Lane asked. “Did you know him?”

  I nodded, struggling to sit up. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and my hands shook as I tried to gather my purse and phone. Dropping it had shattered the glass screen.

  “He’s my stepbrother,” I said. “He’s out on parole. Where’d he go?”

  “I fired a warning shot, but he ran off and I stopped to help you. What’s his name? I can get an APB put out on him.”

  “Jace Croughton,” I answered.

  “Take it easy,” Lane said, helping me struggle to my feet. My knees felt as though they were made of rubber, wanting to immediately fold and dump me back on the ground.

  Shoving my phone into my purse, I dug out Devon’s keys. “Thank you,” I said to Lane. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”

  He smiled a little. “Yeah, let’s focus on that and not how I was following you, ’kay?”

  My smile was wan. I didn’t care why he’d been there, just that he’d stopped Jace.

  “You sure you’re okay to drive?” he asked as I got into Devon’s Porsche.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, anxious now to get to Devon’s. A clawing need to feel safe was churning in my gut. “Thanks again.”

  Lane stood in the space of the open car door, peering down concernedly at me. After a moment, he crouched down to my level.

  “Be careful, Ivy,” he said, reaching out to brush my cheek. “I have this feeling, like this may be one of the last times I see you alive.”

  On that ominous note, he stepped back, closing the car door. I managed to get the keys into the ignition, then tore out of the lot in the direction of Devon’s apartment.

  Jace was back. And not only that, he’d found me. So quickly and so easily, it was laughable how I’d thought I’d be able to hide from him.

  The things he’d said replayed in my mind, terror taking hold of me until all I could think about was finding a place to hide.

  I let myself into Devon’s apartment almost mechanically. I dropped everything I was carrying to the floor before getting on my knees and dumping out my purse. Grabbing my gun, I hurried into the bedroom, frantically looking for a place to hide. If I hid well enough, maybe Jace wouldn’t find me.

  My eyes fell on the closet and, in three steps, I was in front of it. The space was dark, full of clothes, and had little nooks and crannies in the back. Dropping to my knees, I pulled the door shut behind me and crawled into the farthest corner. It was pitch-black, but that was okay. Maybe Jace wouldn’t look in here. Maybe I’d be safe.

  Don’t make a sound. Don’t even breathe too loud. Just sit and watch the door.

  My old mantra repeated inside my head as I sat, knees drawn to my chest and gun cradled in both hands. If he came, I’d be ready for him.

  I sat there for hours, time ceasing to have meaning after a while. My eyes grew heavy and my head bobbed from exhaustion, but I jerked upright each time, determined to stay awake.

  I had no idea what time it was when I heard the sounds of someone in the apartment.

  Gripping the gun tight in my suddenly sweaty palms, I focused intently on the door, just barely able to see the faint edges of the cracks. I thought about praying and my lips moved silently, even as I knew praying had never helped me before. I’d prayed and prayed that some miracle would stop Jace from coming into my room. That miracle had never come.

  I made myself as small as possible in the corner, the footsteps coming closer now as he walked into the room. I heard him pause. My pulse was racing and I was light-headed with fear and panic. I would not let him do to me what he’d done before.

  The door to the closet suddenly flew open and the light came on, blinding me after hours in the dark. I screamed, terror spiking in my mind, and pulled the trigger.

  The gunshot was loud in the confined space, making my ears ring, but with i
t brought a semblance of sanity. I wasn’t in my adolescent bedroom closet hiding from Jace—I was in Devon’s closet, and he’d said he was coming home tonight, which meant I’d just shot—

  “Oh my God!” I cried out, dropping the gun. Now I could see a man lying on the floor outside the closet. I scrambled forward on my hands and knees, terrified that I’d killed Devon. “Devon! Oh my God.” I was crying, near hysterics by the time I got to him. I reached out a shaking hand—

  His hand shot out and wrapped tightly around my wrist. I gasped in surprise and relief as he sat up, apparently unharmed.

  “Oh thank God,” I said on a sob. “You’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”

  Devon was staring at me, a frown creasing his brow. “Yes, a good thing for quick reflexes or else I certainly would not be ‘okay.’ Do you want to tell me why you’re hiding in my wardrobe with a gun?”

  I was crying too hard to explain, so I said the only word I could. “Jace.”

  The change in Devon was immediate. Gone was the irritated confusion, replaced by stark worry.

  “Jace? What did he do? What happened?” he asked. His hands cupped my face, making me look at him, but I was still crying. Relief that he was here and unhurt overwhelmed me.

  Realizing that I couldn’t speak yet, Devon drew me onto his lap and held me. I rested my head against his chest, the cotton of his shirt soft against my cheek. His hand held the back of my head, slowly petting my hair as he murmured soothingly to me.

  “Shh, it’s all right now. I’ve got you.”

  Gradually, my sobs eased and I realized how out of my mind my fear of Jace had made me. I could have shot Devon, killed him.

  “I’m so sorry,” I managed to whisper.

  “Shh, no harm done,” Devon said gently. “Can you tell me what happened?”