by Rita Herron
“Go back inside, Ivy.”
His husky voice made her pause, but she needed to understand what had happened. If he blamed her or hated her, she could live with it. Or she’d try to make it up to him. Whatever.
But she couldn’t stand the chasm between them.
“Matt…” She walked toward him, reaching out her hand as she neared him, but drew back when he barked her name again.
“I said go back inside.”
“No.” Grateful that her voice remained steady, she continued. “Not until you explain why you pulled away from me.”
He made a growling sound deep in his throat. Did he think he was going to scare her off?
“I…did I do something wrong, Matt?” Sadness laced her voice, but she couldn’t help it. Finally, she’d felt safe with someone, had opened herself up to have a relationship, at least physically, and he had deserted her.
Matt dropped his head forward, a heavy sigh escaping. “God, no, Ivy. Don’t think that.”
She laid her hand on his shoulder, stroked the knotted muscle at his neck. So much tension. He stiffened, then swung around. The anguish in his eyes trapped the air in her lungs.
“What’s wrong, Matt?” she whispered. “Please tell me. Let me help you.”
“I won’t talk about it,” he said.
“I hurt you somehow. Just tell me what I did and I’ll fix it.”
“It’s not you, Ivy. Jesus, you’re perfect.”
Confusion blurred her head. “Perfect?” Her bitter laugh filled the air. “I’m hardly perfect, Matt. I blanked out half my childhood. I haven’t been able to let a man near me until you touched me. One guy…even called me a cold fish.”
“Bastard.” Matt couldn’t hide his anger. “You’re no cold fish, Ivy. I…you know that now or you wouldn’t have responded to me the way you did a few moments ago.”
“You’re right. I did respond. I wanted you, Matt, and I thought you wanted me. The moment, in there—it was so wonderful.”
He closed his eyes, speaking between clenched teeth. “That’s just it. It was perfect. You’re so good, so beautiful. And…” He opened his eyes then, a resigned, lost expression darkening them. “And I’m not, Ivy. I didn’t kill your parents, but I’m no saint, either.” He lifted his hand and pointed to his cheek. “That scar is only the beginning.”
Her heart cracked open and bled. “If you think a scar makes a difference, makes you less handsome, then you don’t see the man I see, Matt.”
“It’s worse, Ivy. There are things you don’t know….”
She cradled his hand in hers, felt it trembling, then rested it against her cheek. “I want to know. I’ll listen, Matt. I’ll understand whatever is it….”
“No,” he growled. “You deserve something better. Someone not tainted by jail.”
“But I want you, Matt, don’t you get it?” She poured her feelings into her voice. “The good, the bad, the ugly.”
“You can’t mean that, Ivy.” His voice rippled with harshness. “You wouldn’t, not if you knew…”
“You asked me if I trusted you, Matt.” She squeezed his hand, lowered it to her heart. “Now I want you to trust me.”
He stared at her for a heartbeat of silence. Emotions warred in his eyes. He was wavering. But in the end, he lost the battle. Or she lost it, because a shutter closed over his face.
“Please just go to bed, Ivy.”
Tears filled her eyes, but she did as he said. But just before she shut the door, she whispered, “I’ll be waiting, Matt, whenever you’re ready.”
WHENEVER YOU’RE READY.
Hell, he’d never be ready to talk about prison. Or reveal to her how terrified he was of loving her and losing her.
He had grown accustomed to pain. To darkness. But he had no idea how to deal with this sudden sweet tenderness in his life. With Ivy. Any second, he might snap and do something to break the trust she’d given him so freely. Any second he’d disappoint her, just as he had his mother.
And himself.
He’d sworn not to break in prison, not to… No, he would not think about jail. The violence. The beating. The…
His body shook with the effort it took to banish the memories. With the determination not to beg Ivy for a second chance. To accept her sweetness, crawl between her tender thighs and let her loving wash away the devil from his soul.
A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, and he stood on the porch for what seemed like forever, listening to its heart-wrenching loneliness. Ivy’s words echoed in his head as the rain beat a staccato rhythm on the weathered wood, and the trees trembled violently from the storm. Overriding his willpower, black memories, heavy and thick, clouded his mind just as the gray clouds above had obliterated the sun the past few days. This fall storm would end one day, hopefully.
But the one in his head would rage on forever. There was no end to it, no rainbow around the corner, no sun waiting to burst through the darkness.
Only for just a moment, when he’d held Ivy in his arms, he’d felt the cloud lifting….
But it wasn’t fair to expect her to repair his damaged soul or accept someone who would never be whole. For God’s sake, he’d broken into a sweat, choking on his own memories when he was on the verge of making love to her. What woman would want a scarred man like that?
I want you, the good, the bad, the ugly.
But Ivy had no idea how deep the ugly ran.
Matt gripped the rail with an iron fist. He needed to go back in. They’d have the dinner he picked up. That’s all they could share. His bones vibrated with fury and anguish as he turned his face up to the wind and rain. Just thinking about someone threatening her made his deep-seated anger surface. Her father. This anonymous man who’d phoned her. The other psychos he knew who lived among them.
Matt had to focus. Make sure she was safe. And find out who killed her parents.
Then he’d get out of her life, so she could go back to hers, where she belonged. Where she would forever be safe from men like him…
IVY SNUGGLED UNDER the covers with her favorite Santa, closed her eyes and made a wish—please make the storm stop. It sounded like monsters outside were beating on the windows and roof. They were trying to tear the house down. Trying to break in. Trying to get her.
The howl of the wind grew louder. Tree branches scraped against the glass panes, and twigs and limbs slapped the side of the house. Rain pinged on the roof, pounding so loudly she thought her eardrums might burst.
Her mother’s laughter drifted through the haze. Soft. Tinkling. A beautiful sound that reminded Ivy she was safe. Music floated through the paper-thin walls, a guitar strumming softly. She wanted to crawl in bed with her mother.
She started to climb from bed, but a man’s voice echoed from the other room, and she froze.
Daddy didn’t like for her to get in bed with them. He always made her go back to her room. Laughed and said she was acting like a baby.
Ivy frowned and clenched the covers. Was her father home?
Earlier, he’d gone to the bars, carousing. Mama said he wouldn’t be back until morning.
Ivy knew what that meant. Her father would get drunk. And hopefully he’d sleep it off before coming home. If he didn’t, he’d probably lost at poker, and he’d be in a bad mood. His temper was like a volcano, explosive and hot. And he took it out on her mother.
Another clap of thunder shook the house. Ivy jumped off the bed, racing toward the door. The monsters were coming closer. They would snatch her this time.
Lightning streaked the room, and she clutched the Santa in one arm, then listened at the door. The man’s voice drifted through the house. Deep. Husky.
No. Not her father’s. Another man’s voice.
But who was visiting her mama?
Curious, Ivy opened the door slightly, then tiptoed silently across the wooden floor, wincing when the boards squeaked. Better not let Mama know she was up. But she had to know the man’s name.
One step more
. Two. Three. She reached her mother’s bedroom door.
Ivy held her breath and peeked through the crack. Her stomach flip-flopped. A tall man wearing nothing but his underwear stood beside the bed, and her mother…no, Ivy couldn’t look.
But she had to. Had to see who was in there. Make sure it wasn’t Daddy drunk again, going to hit her.
No, it wasn’t Daddy. This man was bigger. His hair was lighter.
Why was the man half-naked? And why was he in her mama’s bedroom?
The man suddenly crawled on top of the bed and pinned her mother down on the mattress like a wrestler. Her mother groaned and struggled to get away, and he started bouncing on top of her. No! He was going to hurt her! Ivy had to stop him!
She cried out and pushed at the door. She had to save her mama.
The man turned and gave her an icy look. Her mother yelled for the man to get off of her.
Ivy tried to make her legs move, but they were glued to the floor. Suddenly the man jumped off the bed and ran toward her….
IVY JERKED AWAKE, PANTING as she dug her hands into the covers, trembling all over. The dream…it had been real. A memory.
The door suddenly burst open, and Ivy screamed, expecting to see the man in her dream, the one who chased her. But Matt stalked toward her.
“What’s wrong, Ivy?”
She searched his face, trying to remember that other man, but a black curtain shrouded his face, just as her memory had been blank for so long.
The mattress dipped as Matt sat down on the bed beside her. “What’s wrong? I heard you cry out.”
He stroked her arms, but his gaze scanned the room as if searching for an intruder. “Did that man call again?”
“No.” She chewed on her lip, her heart racing. “I…had a nightmare. I think it was about the night my mother died.”
Matt gripped her arms and forced her to face him. “Did you remember something?”
Confusion and anguish rippled through her. “There was a man at my house. A man in the bedroom with my mother.”
A muscle ticked in Matt’s jaw. “It wasn’t your father?”
She shook her head. “No, Matt. My mother…I think the man was either raping her or…or he was her lover.”
MATT RESISTED ADMITTING THAT the man might have been a customer. Better Ivy believe her mother had a lover, someone who really cared about her. But the blackmail scheme seemed equally plausible.
“Matt, maybe I saw my mother being attacked.”
Matt’s pulse clamored at the sound of fear and pain in Ivy’s voice. “It’s possible. It’s also possible your mother had a boyfriend in town.” He lowered his voice, stroking her arm, hoping to soften the blow. “After all, no one could have blamed her for wanting to escape your father.”
Ivy nodded, hugging her knees to her chest and folding her arms over them. “I wish I could remember the man’s face.”
“How about his height? Or the color of his hair?”
Her gaze flew to his, eyes wide. “He was taller and bigger than my father. And his hair…I think it was lighter, but I don’t remember the exact color.”
“What about his age?”
She shook her head, her hair falling in a tangled curtain around her troubled face. “I don’t know. I was so young…. Every man looks old and big to you when you’re eight.”
He smiled, remembering the way she’d cowered from him. “So I looked old to you?”
Ivy’s mouth tilted slightly into a half smile. “Not that old. But…I’d heard things about you.”
“I’m sure they weren’t good.”
“You did have a reputation as a bad boy, but all the teenage girls swooned over you.”
He grunted. They certainly didn’t anymore. They ran from his scarred face. Only Ivy hadn’t backed away.
Her declaration echoed in his head, tugging at him, making him pull her closer. I want you, Matt. The good, the bad, the ugly.
No, he couldn’t allow himself to believe that declaration. There were things she didn’t know about him. And if she found out about Red Row…
She angled her head to look at him. Questions and need shimmered in her eyes. “It’s late, Matt. You haven’t slept at all.”
Shadows streaked the room, but he embraced them, allowing them to hide his true emotions. “I…wanted to watch the cabin.”
“You have to rest, too.” She pulled at his arm, drew him down on the bed beside her. “Please, stay with me. I don’t know if I can fall asleep again, I’m afraid I’ll have another nightmare.”
He stretched his arm beneath her and pulled her up against his chest, savoring the fresh scent of her shampooed hair and the scent that belonged to Ivy.
“I can’t keep fighting my memories,” she whispered. “I should go back to sleep and finish the dream. Maybe then I’d see the man’s face.”
Matt nodded and pulled her closer, toying with her hair as she nestled against him. If she could identify the killer, this whole mess would end, and Ivy could return to Chattanooga. Then he could make a life for himself, be somebody.
But as he held her in his arms and closed his eyes, he imagined life without Ivy, and the emptiness threatened to consume him.
With that realization, the familiar bitterness assaulted him. Who was he kidding? He might be out of prison, supposedly free now. But people still remembered him as bad-boy Mahoney. Some would always think he was guilty. Others would know that he’d been in jail and realize he’d done bad things while incarcerated. Even his own mother hated him.
Hell, he’d never be free of his past.
Ivy moaned softly and whispered his name in the darkness, then lifted a hand to brush her fingers gently against his cheek. Unable to help himself, he imagined a different world. Then he rolled toward her, inhaled her sweetness, buried his head in her hair and pretended that Ivy was his to keep. At least until morning.
ARTHUR BOLES LEFT Talulah’s more satisfied than any man had a right to be. Tonight hadn’t been fun—hell, it had been damn near exhilarating. Talulah had slapped him on the ass and told him to stop brooding and talking and give her a good time. His mouth watered just thinking about sliding into her hot wet pussy and watching her cheeks flame as he pounded into her.
He tried not to think about the fact that she was a whore and that she’d gotten paid to do it. All he wanted was to remember her hot lips sucking his dick until come had flowed down her mouth like warm milk. Then she’d lapped it up and climbed on top of him and taken him for the ride of his life.
She was special. At least to him. Hell, she kept him satisfied in a way no other woman ever had.
He tightened his belt, climbed into his Mercedes and headed toward his place for supplies, but adrenaline still surged through him from the past hour. The tawdry sex had done wonders for his nerves. Helped to calm his rattled cage. Helped him decide.
He’d known what he had to do all along, from the very moment Mahoney had been released. And with that Stanton girl back in town, too…
God help him, he just prayed he hadn’t waited too long.
Yes, he’d played it damn smart by coming to Talulah’s tonight. She would provide him with the perfect alibi.
One not even his own son would dare to question.
Five minutes later, he’d stopped by his estate, loaded the trunk with supplies and headed toward Cliff’s Cabins. Thankfully, the rain died, or else his plan might not work. Still, the wet pavement slowed him down as he wound around the mountain. The road was quiet tonight, the wind’s whistle a lullaby, the lack of cars another good sign. Falling rocks tumbled down the embankment, three big stones bouncing off the side of his car. He cursed, hating the damage they’d do to his paint job. But a few tiny dents would be easy to fix and were a small hazard to pay compared to the price of not taking care of business tonight.
Tearing open a cigar with his teeth, he pressed the cigarette lighter, then puffed on the tip of his favorite Cuban brand until the tobacco lit up and the pungent taste filled his m
outh. Five minutes later, he swerved into the drive for Cliff’s Cabins, parked beneath an overhang and climbed out. Wet leaves fluttered down into his hair as he opened the trunk and grabbed the can of gasoline. Tonight he would end this ordeal once and for all. Cliff’s Cabins had been built so long ago that hopefully, even wet, the logs would go up in seconds. Before Mahoney and Ivy Stanton knew it, they would be nothing but names in tomorrow’s obituaries.
A final goodbye that would end the saga that had started fifteen years ago in this town.
Two kids who’d stumbled into the middle of something they didn’t understand.
Two kids who had to die so he could protect the truth.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Kill them he must.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TOMMY DROVE TOWARD his friend Trash’s house like a bat out of hell. Shit, he’d barely escaped that wolf alive. Where had the beast come from? And why hadn’t it chased after that stupid woman instead of him?
He glanced down, shuddering at the sight of his shredded sweatshirt, and could still picture the wolf’s teeth embedded in the black material. Then the damn thing had chomped at his tennis shoes. Tommy wiggled his foot, and pain shot through his big toe. One second longer and it would have been his entire foot in the animal’s mouth. His goddamn foot—food for a freaking wolf!
He shuddered again, feeling sick. And if it hadn’t eaten or mauled him to death, didn’t wolves carry rabies or some shit like that?
The buzz he’d had from the pot had worn off, and his throat was so dry it felt as if he’d swallowed a half ton of gravel. His head pounded and his stomach growled. The only thing worse than the munchies without food was the d.t.’s, and the way his hands were shaking he was sure he had both. He needed another hit—bad.
But no…there was something worse. His head was clearing, and he remembered mouthing off to Trash about offing his mother. He slapped his hand over his forehead. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What kind of moron was he? What if Trash talked?