Wicked Beginning: An Ivy Morgan Mystery Books 1-3

by Lily Harper Hart

  She had nothing against cities, she reminded herself. They were just dirty, loud, and annoying. She disliked the very idea of them. She liked to run free, her long hair trailing behind her as she raced through the forest. Cities smothered, they didn’t enhance.

  So why was she dreaming about one now?

  “I’m not making excuses, Mom. I really do have to work on Sunday.”

  Ivy recognized the voice, turning her head expectantly as Jack strolled down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear, and he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. Ivy knew she had attitude where cities were concerned, but this didn’t look like a safe neighborhood. She opened her mouth to call after Jack, hoping his presence would cut back the shadows that appeared to be encroaching on her, but something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

  Someone was following Jack.

  Ivy couldn’t make out the dark silhouette’s features. It was clearly a man, broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and sturdy thighs. He was tall. Not quite as tall as Jack, but tall all the same. He moved furtively, purposely keeping himself in the shadowed alcoves offered by the various fire escapes littering the brick façade of the nearby buildings.

  Without realizing what she was doing – or why – Ivy followed. Her bare feet padded along the cement silently, and even though she knew it was a dream, she couldn’t help but hope she wouldn’t step in anything disgusting during her trek.

  “Mom, I’m not being difficult,” Jack said, continuing his conversation. “I honestly have to work. I’m not just saying it because I don’t want to have Sunday dinner with you. That’s ridiculous.”

  Jack stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and even though she was behind him, Ivy could read the frustration as it settled on his shoulders. “Mom, I promise, as soon as my workload lightens up, I’ll carve out a special day for you. It’s just … this is a big case.”

  He was silent for a few moments as he listened to the woman on the other end of the line.

  “I’m not trying to be a bad son, Mom,” Jack said. “I’m trying to be a good cop. No … no … you just talk to hear yourself talk sometimes, don’t you?”

  Ivy couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Despite the exasperated look on Jack’s face, the love for his mother was evident. He looked lighter in this dream, like the troubles of his past weren’t weighing down his future. That’s when Ivy realized where she was. This was a dream, but it was one that stemmed from a real incident.

  The dark figure trailing Jack increased his pace while Jack argued about the merits of familial love. Suddenly, Ivy knew exactly what memory Jack was stuck in, although she had no idea how she’d been drawn into it. That’s what was happening, though. She was a visitor in his dream.

  Almost as if she was in someone else’s body, Ivy watched in horror as the figure drew something out his pocket. It was a gun. Someone was about to shoot Jack. She’d seen the scars on his chest. She knew whoever it was hit his target. Ivy opened her mouth, desperate to change history even though she knew it wasn’t possible.

  “Jack!”

  JACK bolted to a sitting position in his bed, his heart hammering as a cold sweat clung to his bare chest. He’d had the dream so many times he’d lost count, and yet this one had been different.

  He’d been walking down the street talking to his mother. They were arguing about the fact that he’d missed three family dinners in a row. The dream was always the same. The conversation was always the same. Everything happened just like it did on that fateful night.

  Until tonight. Tonight was different. This time, just when he was about to find out who his true enemy was, someone called his name. In the split-second before consciousness claimed him, Jack caught a glimpse of the woman trying to save him – and he would’ve recognize that dark hair with the pink streaks anywhere.

  Ivy.

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck, pushing the remnants of the dream out of his head, and glanced out his bedroom window. Morning was here, although barely. He knew it was fruitless to try and return to slumber. Once he was up, he was up. He couldn’t go back under with the dream so fresh in his mind.

  Jack tossed the covers off of his body, stretching as he climbed to his feet. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror over his dresser, his eyes automatically dropping to the twin scars on his chest. They were located a few inches from his heart, and they served as constant reminders that trust and loyalty were earned, not given away freely.

  Ivy gave him a bottle of cream two weeks before, claiming it would help the scars fade. At the time, he’d told her he didn’t want the scars to fade – but that wasn’t the truth. He wanted them gone. If he could shake the mental ones, that would be even better. It was those scars keeping him from Ivy now. He wasn’t the same man who was shot in that dream, though, and the man looking back at him from the mirror wasn’t worthy of a woman like Ivy.

  Jack pressed his eyes shut briefly, picturing her beautiful face and pouty lips. There was just something about her. He couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t identify why he was drawn to her. He wasn’t so obtuse that he didn’t recognize the attraction every time it zinged him. He also wasn’t brave enough to push the fear out of his mind and give in so he could claim what he really wanted.

  No, Jack Harker knew he wanted Ivy Morgan. He didn’t need his subconscious to tell him that he was looking at her as a form of salvation. He could feel it every time they shared oxygen. That didn’t mean he was going to give in, though.

  She deserved a real man. She deserved someone who wouldn’t be forever scarred by the sins of the past. She deserved someone who could love her completely.

  Jack didn’t think he was any of those things.

  “GOOD morning, honey.”

  Ivy made a face when she saw Jack outside her front door. After she’d rudely walked in his dream the previous evening, she felt odd being in his presence. She’d invaded his personal space. There was no doubt about that. Instead of apologizing and owning up to her indiscretion, though, she opted to ignore it.

  “What are you doing here so early?”

  Jack held up a brown diner bag, shaking it enticingly. “I brought breakfast.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what people eat in the morning,” Jack replied, unruffled by her grouchy behavior.

  “But why?”

  “Because I need to talk to Kelly, and I thought breakfast would make it easier,” Jack admitted.

  Ivy bit her lip, conflicted. She knew Jack had a job to do. She also knew Kelly wasn’t ready to be pushed. “I don’t know.”

  “If you’re worried about me seeing you with bedhead, don’t,” he said. “I’ve already seen you in the morning.”

  “I don’t have bedhead.”

  “If that’s your story … .”

  Ivy self-consciously ran a hand through her hair, internally sighing when she realized it was standing on end in some places. “You get off on this, don’t you?” She pushed open the door, resigned.

  Jack couldn’t help but smile when he saw her fuzzy pajama pants and tank top. She was adorable in the morning. She looked muddled, and her mind wasn’t firing on all cylinders without her morning caffeine fix, and he just wanted to … touch her. “I think you’re cute in the morning.”

  “That’s just what every woman wants to hear,” Ivy said, turning on her heel and stalking toward the kitchen. “Hey, you look … cute.”

  “It’s better than looking like a crazy person,” Jack said, walking into the living room and closing the door behind him. He scanned the couch, remnants of Kelly’s night scattered about in the form of a pillow and blanket. “Where is Kelly?”

  “She’s in the shower,” Ivy said. “I let her take the first one because the water doesn’t hold out for two and I don’t want her to suffer.”

  “That must’ve made mornings hard when you were a teenager,” Jack said, following her into the kitchen and resting t
he bag of food on the table. “Did you and Max battle it out every morning?”

  “No. Max was stronger than me, so he usually rubbed my face in his armpit and then held me down until I gave in.”

  “And your parents let him get away with that?”

  “My parents never got involved in our fights,” Ivy said. “Once we hit a certain age, they said we had to battle it out on our own.”

  “Did you ever win?”

  “Sure,” Ivy said. “Sometimes I tied his door shut with a piece of rope from the outside.”

  “That sounds fun,” Jack said, smirking. “Wait … this house only has two bedrooms. Where did Max sleep?”

  “There’s a bedroom in the basement,” Ivy replied, yawning as she measured coffee grounds. “Max lived down there.”

  “I didn’t know this place had a basement,” Jack said. “That’s good. It’s kind of small otherwise.”

  “It’s perfect for one person,” Ivy corrected. “When four of us were living here, it was rough, though.”

  “What do you have in the basement now?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “If you must know the truth, I’m kind of scared of the basement,” Ivy said, snapping the drawer into place and pressing the button to start the coffee machine. “I had nightmares about being locked down there as a kid, so I rarely went down there unless I was desperate for a good shower.”

  “You’re scared of your own basement? I didn’t think you were scared of anything,” Jack teased, settling at the kitchen table.

  “Everyone is scared of something, Jack,” Ivy said. “Everyone.”

  Jack met her serious gaze for a moment, confused. While she definitely wasn’t a morning person, she usually wasn’t so melancholy either. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  Ivy shook her head, dislodging the serious thoughts. “Nothing is wrong. It just takes me a little bit to wake up in the morning. What’s up with you? Why are you here with the crows?”

  Jack glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was listening. When he found the hallway empty, he turned his attention back to Ivy. “We found Kelly’s foster parents yesterday.”

  “Foster parents?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Where are her real parents?”

  “They died in a car accident when she was eight,” Jack said. “She’s been in the system ever since.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “It is,” Jack agreed, fighting the urge to reach across the table and take her restless hand into his.

  “Did they … do something to her?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “They didn’t even appear to know she was missing.” He told Ivy about his visit with the Gideons the previous afternoon, keeping the story short but hitting all the important beats. When he was done, he waited for her response.

  “What a bunch of jackholes.”

  He wasn’t disappointed. “They’re definitely … jackholes,” Jack agreed. “Wait … is that supposed to be a slur where you use my name?”

  “Not everything is about you,” Ivy said, tapping her finger against his chin and causing his face to warm. “I’ve always called people that.”

  Jack wasn’t sure he believed her, but he let it go. “Has she mentioned anything about being in foster care?”

  “No.”

  “I need to talk to her about this,” Jack said, choosing his words carefully. “I know you don’t want me to, but I can’t put it off.”

  “She’s so scared, Jack,” Ivy said. “She doesn’t trust you yet. She barely trusts me.”

  “I know,” Jack replied. “That’s why I’m going to be working out here today with both of you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m working out here,” Jack said firmly. “I’m going to go out to that greenhouse and … pot whatever you want me to pot … and just generally get to know her before I have to start asking her some tough questions.”

  “You’re going to pot plants in my greenhouse all day?”

  “Did I stutter?”

  “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Ivy asked. “If you and I spend an entire day together we’re either going to kill each other or … .” She broke off, her cheeks coloring as she refused to finish the statement.

  Jack didn’t finish it for her either. He knew exactly what she was going to say. They were going to either kill each other or kiss each other. He knew it, too. “I don’t know what else to do. I really want to help her.”

  Ivy sighed, tugging her hand through her snarled hair dejectedly. “Will you promise to do what I say and let me be the boss?”

  Jack felt a little thrill in his stomach at the suggestion. “If that’s what you’re in to.”

  Ivy scowled. “You know very well that’s not what I meant.”

  Jack reached for the bag of food and started doling the eggs, potatoes, toast and sausage out. “If that’s your story.”

  “I hate men sometimes,” Ivy grumbled.

  Eight

  “This makes absolutely no sense,” Jack said, staring down at the pot Ivy was shoving in his direction and shaking his head.

  “What confuses you?” Ivy asked, irritated.

  “That plant is already in a pot.”

  “I noticed.”

  “If it’s already in a pot, how come I have to put it in another pot?” Jack asked.

  “Because I said so.”

  Jack scowled. “Why really?”

  Ivy sighed. “Plants have delicate root systems,” she said. “If you let the root system of a particular plant get too big in a small pot it becomes warped and hard to deal with. If you put the plant in a bigger pot, the roots can spread.”

  “Okay, let’s say I buy that in theory,” Jack challenged. “If that’s the case, then why don’t you just put these things in big pots to begin with?”

  “Because that’s a waste of space,” Ivy replied. “Besides that, if you put a tiny plant into too big of an ecosystem, it can flounder and die.”

  “You’re just making that up.”

  Ivy narrowed her eyes and extended her index finger menacingly in his direction. “You said you were going to do what I said.”

  “No, I said that you clearly got off on being bossy and I was going to let you dominate me today,” Jack countered. “Those are two totally different things.”

  “You’re impossible,” Ivy snapped, tossing a dirt-covered gardening glove in his direction.

  Jack caught it in midair. “You throw like a girl.”

  “You shoot hoops like a girl,” Ivy shot back.

  “You cheated,” Jack said. “You had home court advantage and you know it.”

  Kelly giggled, caught up in the interplay.

  Jack and Ivy shifted their attention to her, surprised.

  “This is not funny,” Ivy said.

  “It’s funny,” Kelly replied. “You two are like a bickering old couple. I can see you in fifty years sitting on the front porch of the cottage and arguing about who is right and who is wrong.”

  “I’m always right,” they said in unison.

  “See,” Kelly said. “It’s so … cute.”

  “I am not cute,” Jack said. “I am manly and strong and should be treated thusly – even by a woman who wants to dominate and degrade me.”

  “Who is degrading you?” Ivy asked, frustrated.

  “You are,” Jack said. “You’re talking down to me because I don’t know how to pot a plant.”

  “You always talk down to me.”

  “I do not.”

  “You do, too,” Ivy said. “You treat me like I need a babysitter. Admit it.”

  “You’re so full of it your eyes are turning brown,” Jack said. “I’ve treated you with nothing but respect since the day we met.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “What about the night you insisted on sleeping on my couch even though I didn’t want you to?” Ivy asked.

  �
��I slept on your couch because a crazy person left you poisonous flowers,” Jack argued. “You were in danger.”

  “I was not in danger.”

  “Oh, really? Were you, or were you not, stalked in the woods by a crazy person?”

  “You were stalked by a crazy person?” Kelly’s eyes were as big as saucers.

  “Technically yes,” Ivy said. “However, I was not stalked that night. I wasn’t stalked until the next night.”

  “Did you ever consider you weren’t stalked that night because I was sleeping on your couch?” Jack asked.

  “I … .” Ivy’s mouth hung open as she mulled the question over. “Oh, crap. I hate it when you’re right.”

  Jack wrinkled his nose. “Did you just admit I was right?”

  “No.”

  “You did, too,” Jack said. “Where is my phone? I want you to repeat that last statement for me while I record it. Every time you argue with me about who knows best, from now on, I’m going to play that back for you.”

  “You are crazy,” Ivy said, pushing herself to her feet and dusting off the seat of her cargo pants. “I am not repeating that. In fact, I never said it at all. Kelly is my witness.”

  “Kelly is my witness,” Jack said, reaching for Ivy’s leg as she moved around him. “Where are you going? I’m not done winning this argument yet.”

  “You haven’t won this argument. I … oomph.” In her haste to get away from Jack’s insistent hands, Ivy took too long of a stride and her foot landed on a metal dowel, causing her to slide along the floor and topple forward.

  Jack instinctively reached up and caught her, using his impressive muscle mass as a buffer to protect Ivy from a hard impact on the greenhouse floor. Ivy gasped, rolling over in Jack’s arms so she could face him. Their faces were inches apart.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, fighting to keep his heartbeat in check. “I … I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. You could’ve been hurt.”

  “You caught me,” Ivy said, surprised. “I … you actually caught me.”

  “It’s not like I cured cancer,” Jack said, embarrassed and yet pleased at the way she was looking at him. “I … you were right there. I just reached out for you.”