Last Kiss Goodbye

by Rita Herron

  “Condom,” he whispered.

  She hesitated, clenching back her orgasm, as he jerked open the door and reached inside his jeans pocket. Seconds later, sheathed and anxious, he lifted her hips, thrust inside and felt her splinter into a thousand quivering pieces as pleasure rippled through her. Her cry of ecstasy heated his raw desire, but he hesitated. She was so tight…. She was a virgin. The realization humbled him. He didn’t deserve her. Why had she chosen him as her first? “Ivy?”

  “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t stop now, Matt. I love you.”

  His heart twisted. Emotions pummeled him. He didn’t deserve her, but Ivy’s whisper of love filled his soul with hope, longing, and he pumped inside her harder, thrusting in and out, deeper, deeper, pulling her hips closer until he could go no deeper, until she collapsed against his chest in a ragged heap, whispering his name and her love as he poured himself inside her.

  THE WATER HAD CHILLED, yet Ivy’s body still burned from Matt’s touch as they rinsed off, climbed from the shower, and he wrapped a big towel around her. His dark eyes looked hooded as he gazed down at her, but a smile curved his lips, and she dropped a kiss on his neck, catching a water droplet.

  She hadn’t meant to confess her love out loud, and wondered what he was thinking.

  “Ivy—”

  “Shh, you don’t have to say anything,” she whispered, reaching up to thumb through his dark hair. “I can’t help the way I feel, Matt.” She kissed him tenderly. “And I can’t help but want you again.”

  His body went rock hard, and he quickly ran a towel over his damp body. With another deep growl, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. When he’d eased her onto the mattress, his eyes skated over her, his look of male hunger triggering need within her again.

  I can’t help wanting you, too,” he said. His fingers felt like feathers as he gently trailed them along her cheek. “But I don’t want to hurt you, Ivy. God knows you don’t deserve having another man do that.”

  She kissed his palm. “You couldn’t hurt me, Matt. Not ever.”

  His jaw tightened, but his hands remained gentle as he peeled back the covers, discarded his towel and climbed in bed beside her. Ivy turned into his arms, traced her fingers along his jaw, then lower to the thick dark hair on his chest, over a jagged scar, then down to his stomach. His muscles clenched, his sex pulsing harder as she explored him.

  He flipped her to her back and rose above her, pausing long enough to sheath himself and stare into her eyes before he thrust into her. She groaned and gripped his arms, clinging to him as he lowered his mouth and kissed her again. The kisses were tender, but quickly turned urgent as the heat between them built to a raging inferno. His hands roamed everywhere, teasing, torturing, and his body filled hers to the core, joining them so deeply that she knew Matt had become a part of her forever. She would always remember his touch, his scent, the feel of his hard body firmly embedded inside her. Love soared in her heart as the first tremors of her release rocked through her and her muscles clenched around him. And when he cried out her name in a gruff whisper, she vowed that nothing would tear them apart, that Matt would be hers forever.

  MATT CRADLED IVY IN his arms, closing his eyes as he listened to her breathing relax into the slow rhythm of sleep. She had said she loved him.

  Emotions choked him even as he warned himself it didn’t matter. Ivy deserved more than he had to offer. Besides, he couldn’t even think of a future until they found her parents’ killer. Keeping Ivy safe was his first priority.

  Then he had to make something of his life so he would be worthy of her.

  But he couldn’t do anything until morning. So he twined his legs with hers and allowed himself to fall asleep with her in his arms. If he only had a night or two with Ivy, he intended to savor every minute.

  A.J. RESTED HIS BOOTED feet on his desk and rubbed at his weary eyes, every minute that passed bringing more tension to his already aching body. From the cell block in the back room they’d had built to hold juveniles, Tommy Werth and Clete McClinton howled, bawled and cussed. One of them sounded like a damn baby, completely freaked out from coming off his high. A.J. had been forced to call a paramedic to check on the stupid kid, and had been warned not to leave the boys alone. One or both might be suicidal.

  It would serve the little pricks right if he threw a rope in the cell and left ’em with it. He sure as hell wouldn’t miss their scrawny asses. They’d cussed and beaten the walls for the first hour, then taken to moaning and screeching promises vile enough to blister the paint on the scarred concrete walls.

  A.J. massaged his neck, checking the time. Pritchard was supposed to come back and relieve him in an hour. A.J. had to have a few hours of sleep before morning. All hell had broken loose after he’d brought in the boys. Word of their arrest and the river cult had somehow spread to the county commissioner. The governor had heard about it, and the feds were sending over agents to investigate the town. Apparently they had had their eyes on Kudzu Hollow and the mysterious crime sprees over the last few years, and thought A.J. needed help.

  He needed help, all right. He needed a way out of this town, away from the madness.

  But there seemed to be no relief in sight.

  In the morning the place would be covered with feds and reporters.

  And he still had to worry about Mahoney and Ivy Stanton.

  The telephone rang, and he shook his head, praying it wasn’t another problem. But as soon as he picked up the line, a shrill cry pierced the silence.

  “Sheriff…” the woman hiccuped, “this is Chantel. I…just got to Talulah’s and…she’s dead, Sheriff. Dead. Someone killed her!”

  A.J. cursed and dropped his booted feet onto the floor with a thud. “You’re there now?”

  “Yes, at her trailer,” she sobbed. “And—and she’s all bloody….”

  Hell. First the boys’ mothers, now a hooker. They couldn’t be connected, could they?

  “I’ll get out there right away,” A.J. said. “Chantel, you need to stick around and answer some questions.”

  But the line had already died, indicating Chantel had decided not to wait.

  Probably best for her. For all A.J. knew, the killer might still be in the trailer park, primed for another victim.

  A SHORT FEW HOURS later, Matt woke up, more rested and energized than he’d felt in ages. Having Ivy next to him had given him a peace he’d never thought he’d experience again. With that peace and elation also came arousal, and anticipation.

  Along with hope, which he tried not to dwell on.

  But the fact that she’d chosen him as her first made his pride swell, replacing some of the bitterness in his soul. He had felt connected with Ivy years ago, and now that connection had grown stronger. But would it breach when she learned the truth about him and her mother? No, she didn’t have to know.

  But he had to find the killer before he attacked Ivy again. Adrenaline kicked in, and he rose and headed to the kitchen nook. He made a pot of coffee, then sat down and reread the transcripts of his trial. Next, he jotted down notes on what he’d learned so far, drawing lines to the suspects he had in mind.

  Ivy’s mother had entertained men from Red Row. From what Ivy remembered, Matt thought it likely Arthur had been one of her clients. And he’d seen Arthur at Red Row recently. He’d also been at the trailer fire.

  Larry Lumbar? Matt scribbled his name, but had no real information on the man. Unless he’d fingered Matt to cover his own crime?

  Who else?

  Maybe a person who had something to do with the real estate deal. Matt needed to stop by the county courthouse and explore the possibility, find out how much property the Stantons had owned. If they still held the deed to the junkyard, that property rightfully belonged to Ivy. She could sell it if she wanted.

  But if they’d owned other property that had been sold, then who had profited?

  When Ivy awakened, he’d ask her about the land. Maybe the profits from a sale had gon
e into an account or trust fund for her. Or perhaps the woman who’d raised her had used the money to take care of her.

  He checked his watch. Damn. He couldn’t talk to anyone at the courthouse for at least a couple of hours. Restless, he opened the front door of the cabin to check the perimeter, searching the dense woods and shadows for signs that someone might be lurking nearby. The morning paper lay on the stoop, so he picked it up, his eyes narrowing on the lead story.

  Two local boys arrested for murdering their mothers. Both are thought to belong to a river cult in Kudzu Hollow. Drugs have been confiscated and are thought to have been a precipitator of the crimes. Sheriff Boles stated that he will be working with county and state officials to put an end to the violence in Kudzu Hollow, as well as destroy the cult and disband the drug operations.

  Matt glanced at the neighboring headline and groaned. Kudzu Hollow’s Own Resident Mistress Strangled. Talulah. Dead?

  What was going on around here?

  He frowned, something about the murders nagging at him as he walked back inside. Arthur Boles had to be the connection. Matt would question him today, push him for information. And maybe even a confession.

  The bed squeaked, and Ivy roused, looking sleepy and tousled, well loved and at least partially rested. But the bruises on her neck stood out stark and purple in the morning light, renewing Matt’s anger.

  His gut twisted, and he started toward her. But if he touched her again, they’d end up back in bed, and he had to focus on this case. Find out the truth.

  Then make something of himself.

  It was the only way he and Ivy had any kind of future. A future that he suddenly wanted with every fiber of his being.

  IVY HAD FELT EMPTY and alone without Matt in the bed beside her. She offered him a tentative smile, and heat flared in his eyes, setting her heart aflutter. But the darkness flashed back a second later.

  Matt gestured toward the paper. “A.J. arrested two boys in that cult for killing their mothers. One of them might be the boy who attacked you.”

  A chill rippled through Ivy. She hoped A.J. had caught the youth.

  Matt poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. “I want to talk to Arthur Boles this morning,” he said. “Then do some research at the courthouse.”

  “I’ll get dressed and go with you. I want to hear what Arthur Boles has to say about my mother.”

  An odd look twitched in Matt’s face, but he nodded.

  A few minutes later, Ivy hugged a second cup of coffee to her as Matt drove into Kudzu Hollow. A gray haze had settled over the sky, the onset of a winter storm evident in the cold mist hanging in the air. Her cell phone rang and she checked it, frowning when George’s name appeared. She didn’t want to deal with him now, so she let the recording take a message.

  “Who was that?” he asked, wondering if the caller was the man who’d threatened her.

  “George Riddon,” she said quietly, “a man I work with. I’ll phone him back later.”

  He let the comment slide, although her clipped response and refusal to answer the call spiked his curiosity. What if the two of them had a personal relationship he’d stepped into the middle of? He didn’t want to pursue that now. Couldn’t think of Ivy with another man.

  “Ivy, do you know anything about the property your parents owned?”

  She shrugged. “No. Why?”

  “The woman who raised you never mentioned monies collected from a real estate sale? Maybe she used the funds to raise you. Or maybe she put them in a trust fund for you.”

  “Miss Nellie never mentioned it. And the lawyer who handled her affairs said there was nothing but her house when she died.” Ivy sipped her coffee. “What’s this about, Matt?”

  “Just a theory.” His lips thinned to a grim line. “I’m looking for a motive that might explain your parents’ deaths.”

  She grew quiet for a minute, obviously contemplating the possibilities. “Arthur Boles worked in real estate, didn’t he?”

  Matt nodded, sped around the curve past the new subdivision, and drove to the more affluent side of Kudzu Hollow. They passed a large white building at the top of one of the ridges that looked as if it had once been a business, but was shut down. She wondered what it had been.

  “I don’t remember this part of town,” Ivy said.

  “Boles owns an estate on the river.”

  She swallowed, studying her surroundings as she spotted the black wrought-iron gate surrounding the estate. Boles’s antebellum house was reminiscent of a picture from Southern Living magazine. Set off from the main road, the two-mile drive was flanked by dogwood trees and live oaks.

  Ivy frowned, surprised to see A.J.’s squad car in front of the house. Facing Arthur was daunting, but having his son present unsettled her even more.

  A few minutes later, a butler with white hair and a curt expression answered the door. Loud, heated voices echoed through the hallway as they approached the study. The voices quieted immediately when the butler knocked, and they entered the massive paneled study. A.J. and his father stood on opposite sides of the room, staring at each other warily.

  “We need to talk,” Matt said without preamble.

  “Look, Mahoney,” A.J. began, “I’ve gotta go. I have two boys who need to be arraigned, a dead hooker, and the feds are on their way here today to ask questions.”

  “I think you should stick around,” Matt said. “Hear what your father has to say.”

  Momentary panic flickered in A.J.’s eyes, and Ivy stiffened. What did he know that he wasn’t telling?

  Then Ivy glanced from A.J. to his father, and the air caught in her lungs as another distant memory surfaced. Arthur Boles had been at her mother’s house the night she died.

  But so had A.J.

  ARTHUR BOLES SHOT Matt an intimidating look, but Matt didn’t waver.

  “What’s this about?” Boles asked.

  “The night the Stantons died,” Matt said in a cold voice. “Ivy remembered that you were at the house. I think you were working a land deal back then, and that you had an affair with Lily with the intentions of swaying her to sell for less money than the property’s value. Either she caught on to your scam, or she wanted more money. Maybe she even threatened to expose your affair—”

  “What Lily Stanton and I had was not an affair,” the older man snarled.

  Matt’s heart hammered in his chest. He knew what Boles was going to say, but the truth would hurt Ivy.

  Hoping to protect her, he hurriedly cut off Boles before he could continue. “Did she threaten to expose you—is that what happened?”

  Boles shook his head, a bead of sweat trickling down his jaw.

  “My father didn’t kill anyone,” A.J. snapped. “You’re way out of line, Matt.”

  “Am I?” he asked. “Ivy saw him in her house with her mother that night. And I’ve seen him with Talulah a couple of times since I’ve been back, and now Talulah’s dead. Maybe Talulah knew the truth and threatened to expose him, too.”

  “Don’t be crazy,” Arthur shouted.

  “He was standing beside her outside Ivy’s trailer at the fire.” Matt’s voice rose a decibel. “I think he was afraid Ivy would remember, and he tried to kill her to keep her quiet.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” A.J. hissed.

  “Is it?” Matt asked.

  Ivy cleared her throat. “Then if you didn’t kill my mother, Mr. Boles, maybe your son did, and you covered for him.”

  Matt jerked his head toward her, confused.

  A.J. pounced toward Ivy. “Shut up, that’s not true.”

  “You were there, too,” Ivy said, her voice low, distant. “I remember now. I saw you. You were in bed with my mother….”

  A.J. shook his head, but Matt read the blind panic in his eyes. He’d suspected Arthur Boles Sr. but not his son. Dear God, had his own best friend killed the Stantons and left Ivy without a family—then let Matt take the fall?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BITS AND PIECES
OF THAT night flashed back like fireflies flickering in the darkness. Ivy had woken up and seen A.J. in the bedroom with her mother. She’d heard the noises, the ugly sounds of the two of them grunting like rutting animals. Then A.J. had chased Ivy away.

  Later, she’d awakened again, and when her father came in, she’d seen Arthur Boles helping A.J. out the back door. Panicked and frightened, she’d turned away from the men, then had spotted her mother lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

  She dropped onto the floor and sobbed, pulling at her mother’s arm, trying to wake her. She couldn’t be dead. No, her mother wouldn’t leave her.

  Her father had grabbed her and forced her to look at the blood…. “It’s all your fault, Ivy. You’re poison….”

  “Ivy?” Matt slid a hand to her arm. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, the image of A.J. and his father running away from her mother’s dead body haunting her. “You killed her, then you left her there to die,” she whispered. “How could you just leave her that way?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Arthur Boles argued.

  “Dad’s right,” A.J. said in a hoarse voice. “I…did sleep with your mother, but I was drunk, and then I passed out. After that, I don’t know exactly what happened.”

  Ivy shuddered and backed away, her stomach twisting into a knot.

  “My son did nothing wrong,” Arthur said. “Your mama was a whore. Half the men in this town slept with her.”

  Shock immobilized Ivy. “No…no, my mother wasn’t—”

  “Yes, she was,” A.J. said sharply. “She made money on her back while you went to school, Ivy. And sometimes at night, she’d sneak in more customers. She liked the money, she liked men and she was damn good at seducing them.”