by Tiffany Snow
“Yes, sir.” I lowered the old-fashioned shade so people would know my line wasn’t open, then headed toward the offices in the back. My heels echoed on the marble floors. I knew I didn’t want to work as a teller forever, but I loved being at the bank, especially this one. Everything was old and ornate, and sometimes it seemed as though I’d stepped into the past and John Dillinger would come sweeping through the doors at any moment with a Tommy gun in hand.
I rapped my knuckles on the office door and opened it once I heard him call out. To my surprise, two other men were in Mr. Malloy’s office as well. All three of them looked my way. Mr. Malloy looked upset, his thin, white hands twisting together.
“Come in, Ivy,” he said. “These are Special Agents Lane and . . .” His voice faltered.
“Johnston,” one of the men supplied, getting to his feet. He reached and shook my hand, as did Agent Lane. “We’re with the FBI.” He flashed some kind of elaborate ID at me. “You’re Ivy Mason?”
Oh, no. Cops. And not just one of your friendly, local boys-in-blue, but big-bad-federal ones. Their presence didn’t bode well.
“Yes, I am.” I struggled not to let my panic show. They’d found out. Somehow they’d found out I’d seen that man murdered and hadn’t told anyone. But how? And what would they do to me?
“You saw Mr. Orin Galler last Friday evening at his home?” Johnston asked.
“Um, yeah, I did.” I was confused. What did Mr. Galler have to do with the guy in the alley?
“How long were you there?” the agent continued.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe ten, fifteen minutes at the most.” I glanced at Mr. Malloy. “What’s this all about?” But it was Agent Lane who answered.
“Mr. Galler was found murdered in his home this morning,” he said.
My jaw dropped open in shock. “What? Mr. Galler?” I couldn’t believe it.
“The time of death was Friday evening,” he said. “His body wasn’t discovered until this morning by his cleaning lady.”
“That . . . that’s awful,” I managed to say, my eyes watering. Mr. Galler had been a sweet old man. How horrible that someone had not only killed him, but that no one had been by to find him for days.
“From what we’ve been able to ascertain, you were one of the last people to see him alive.”
That dried up my tears pretty darn quick. I’d seen enough TV shows to know by the way the agents were looking at me that sympathy was the last thing on their minds.
“Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with it?” I asked in disbelief.
“There’s no sign of forced entry into the home,” Agent Lane said. “Whoever killed him was most likely someone he knew.”
“He was a sweet old man! I’d never do anything to hurt him!” The panic was back now, but for an entirely different reason.
“What happened when you went there Friday night?”
I struggled to remember. “Nothing important,” I said. “I sat with him for a few minutes and chatted. He hadn’t been feeling well lately. I gave him the papers Mr. Malloy sent and left.” Then I remembered. “Wait! His usual butler wasn’t there, Roger. Mr. Galler said he’d taken ill and that a company had sent a new guy, William, to fill in.” Yeah, go investigate that guy, not me.
“Roger is dead, too,” the agent replied. “After being tortured first. There’s no sign of anyone else in the home and no record of any company sending a replacement.”
My knees wobbled and Mr. Malloy grabbed my arm, urging me to sit in a chair. “That’s impossible!” I insisted, sinking down onto the leather. “He was there, I saw him! Spoke to him!”
“Can you tell us what he looked like? Anything about him that you remember?” Agent Lane asked.
“Yes, absolutely.” I told him what I could remember about William, not that there was a whole lot to go on. I’d only spoken to him for a few minutes, when he’d answered the door. Agent Lane wrote down everything in a little notebook. “But why is the FBI involved? Why aren’t the police here instead?”
“Mr. Galler was a special case, an immigrant from World War II,” Johnston explained. “His murder has raised some red flags. We’re here to investigate whether it was foul play or something more. And that’s all I’m at liberty to say.”
I nodded. It sounded serious and I was glad when the agents stood to leave. Federal agents had a lot of power and they scared me. Lane reached into his pocket and handed me a card. “We’ll be in touch, Ms. Mason,” he said.
I took the card, staring up at the two men as they left the office. Agent Lane’s shrewd gaze lingered a moment on me, but he didn’t say anything before he closed the door behind them.
“Are you all right?”
I glanced at Mr. Malloy, glad to see he for one wasn’t looking at me with suspicion in his eyes.
“I-I guess,” I stammered. “I’ve never been questioned about a murder.” At least not where they considered me a suspect. Though the agents may have just done that to scare me into telling them everything I knew, which totally hadn’t been necessary. Their very presence had ensured I was scared enough to cooperate.
“Did anything unusual happen while you were there Friday?” he asked.
That was when I remembered the pendant Mr. Galler had given me, but for the life of me I couldn’t see how that could have anything to do with anything, so I shook my head.
“No. It was just a quick visit, and I left.”
Mr. Malloy and I sat in silence for a moment, then I stood up with a sigh, feeling suddenly tired. “I guess I’ll get back to work.” He nodded and I left his office, the agent’s card burning a hole in my hand.
Marcia and I ate our lunches together in the break room, though it was hard for me to pay attention as she related the tale of the guy she’d gone out with Friday night, and, as it turned out, Saturday night, too.
“Ivy,” she finally said with an exasperated huff. “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said!”
“I’m sorry,” I apologized, “it’s just that, well, you know old Mr. Galler?” She nodded. “Well, someone killed him after I left his house Friday night.”
Marcia’s eyes practically bulged out of her head. “Oh my God!” she said. “What happened?”
I told her what little I knew and how the agents had been by to question me.
“You’re lucky you weren’t killed, too! What if you’d still been there?” She shuddered.
I hadn’t thought of that. Yikes.
Lost in thought, I was barely aware of the afternoon passing by until my cell phone buzzed close to six o’clock. It was Logan texting me.
Have to work late. Sorry. Can you catch a cab?
I wasn’t surprised. Logan often had to put in sixty hours or more a week at his job. I texted back.
No problem. See you at home.
It was nearly six thirty and already full dark when I left the bank. The wind was whipping through the streets of downtown, taking my breath away with its icy blast and making me regret wearing a skirt and thin blouse. I shivered, my teeth clacking together, and wrapped my arms more tightly around my middle.
Taxis weren’t usually hard to come by, but tonight it seemed no one wanted to stop. After the third one roared past me, I bit out a curse and started walking just to keep the blood flowing. If nothing else, I could walk to Logan’s office and just wait for him to finish working.
Another cab was barreling down the street and I stuck an arm up to wave it down. That’s when I noticed the man.
About twenty feet away, he wasn’t looking at the traffic. He was watching me.
It wasn’t like men had never looked at me before, so just the fact that a man was watching me would have been innocuous, but there was something about the look in his eye and the focused expression on his face. It sent a chill down my spine.
My
arm faltered and the cab zoomed by. I took two steps backward on the sidewalk, my gaze on the man, and he took three steps toward me. Echoes of the agents telling me how Mr. Galler had been killed, his butler tortured and killed, rang through my head.
Turning away, I started hustling down the sidewalk, cursing the fact that I’d worn heels today. Who wears heels when there’s snow on the ground? An idiot like me, apparently.
A quick glance over my shoulder showed that he was following me, and gaining.
Abandoning all pretense that I didn’t know he was chasing me, I started running. I passed by buildings that I didn’t dare stop at to try to enter. This area of town was a business district and most doors would be locked. I’d lose the precious lead I had.
The bitterly cold air burned in my lungs, making my eyes sting as I ran. I thought frantically, trying to figure out what to do. Another glance behind made my heart stutter. He’d be on me any moment now. I couldn’t outrun him.
The squeal of tires yanked my attention to the street, where a steel-gray sedan had just done a one-eighty and jerked to a halt. The passenger door flew open.
“Get in!” a voice called out.
I had a split second to make a decision. Keep running and be quickly caught by an unknown man? Or take what was behind door number two, though it may be worse?
I’ll take door number two, Monty.
I didn’t have time for second thoughts. Dashing into the street, I threw myself into the car. The driver stepped on the gas, the momentum slamming the door shut.
Panting for breath from fear and exertion, I turned to see who had so precipitously saved me.
“You!” I burst out.
I made a grab for the door handle, but Devon slammed his hand down on the master lock.
“You’re going to jump out of a moving car?” he asked, his tone dry. “That’ll leave a mark.”
“Better hurt than dead,” I retorted.
“Who was that?”
I gulped. “I have no idea.”
Devon glanced at me, his gaze sharp as he took in my chest still heaving and the fear in my eyes. “Seems a bit odd,” he said finally, looking back at the road. “A bank teller being chased by an unknown assailant.”
“You could say my life’s taken an odd turn the past few days,” I shot back with a meaningful glare.
The ghost of a smile whispered across his lips and vanished. He glanced up in the rearview mirror, his mouth tightening slightly. I turned to look behind us.
“Is he gone?” I asked, searching the rapidly disappearing sidewalk for him.
“It appears so,” Devon said. “A would-be mugger, perhaps? You should be more careful.”
I shrugged, turning back around with a relieved sigh. “Yeah. I guess.”
Now that I had a moment to breathe properly, I looked around. It was a nice car. A really nice car. The seats were heated leather and the interior made my car look like something out of the Flintstones. It was a sporty sedan and while I wasn’t great with car logos, I thought it was probably a Porsche.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, glancing at Devon. He was wearing another suit that perfectly encased his broad shoulders, and I could smell a hint of the intoxicating aroma I now associated with him.
This time when he looked at me, I saw a hint of mischief in his eyes.
“To dinner,” he said lightly. At my surprised expression, his lips twisted in a near smile. “I’m starving.”
Devon’s gaze fell to my mouth and my pulse skittered. The impulse to lick my lips was nearly overwhelming. I dragged my eyes away from studying the man next to me and focused on the road.
He drove to a restaurant out of my price range and handed the keys to the valet. I glanced around as I got out of the car, looking for a cab, but Devon was already there, taking my elbow in a firm grip and steering me inside. We were led to a secluded table in a quiet corner. I unbuttoned my coat and Devon was there again, standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders as he lowered the heavy fabric down my arms.
His proximity made the air freeze in my lungs, the hard wall of his chest at my back, and I couldn’t move. Lowering his head, Devon’s lips brushed the skin of my neck, bared by the loose blouse and my side-swept ponytail. My hands clenched into fists at his touch, my body leaning ever so slightly into his, then he stepped away.
Devon’s manners were impeccable and I had to keep reminding myself that this man had shot someone and threatened me. He ordered a bottle of wine and our dinners, though I couldn’t fault his choices.
We sipped our wine, an excellent vintage, and took measure of each other, as though we were calculating an opponent’s strengths and weaknesses. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem Devon had any weaknesses. As for me, well, I just prayed I wasn’t as transparent to him as I felt.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked once the waiter had brought our food. “Is wining and dining me supposed to make me agree to sleep with you and forget you shot someone?”
“You’ve already decided to sleep with me,” Devon said, refilling our wineglasses. “That’s a foregone conclusion.”
The absolute certainty in his words, his demeanor, set my teeth on edge. There was confidence . . . and then there was Devon, who put a whole new level of meaning to the word arrogant.
“You seem very sure of yourself,” I said stiffly. I took a bite of the lamb he’d ordered for me. No sense letting good food go to waste. I loved lamb. Like I said, champagne taste.
“Just stating a fact,” he said. “Am I wrong?” His eyes studied me over the rim of his wineglass as he took a drink, his gaze like a palpable touch as it dropped to my neck, shoulders, and breasts.
I suddenly wished I hadn’t worn the translucent shirt today, feminine as it was. If I was brutally honest with myself, in the back of my mind this morning I knew I’d wanted to wear something pretty . . . for him. But now that he was here and devouring me with his eyes, my instinct for self-preservation kicked in and it was only through sheer force of will that I didn’t cross my arms over my chest.
“Why me?” I asked, avoiding his question. “I’m sure you could have your pick of women, a good-looking guy like yourself. Why accost me?”
“So you think I’m good-looking?” he teased.
I rolled my eyes. As if he didn’t know how gorgeous he was.
“Why am I accosting you, then,” he continued. “You mean besides the fact that you’re beautiful, young, and detest me for reasons unknown?” His British accent made the question sound polite, friendly even, though the look in his eyes was anything but.
“I told you why I don’t like you,” I replied stiffly. “You were going to kill me, remember?”
“True. However, I proposed a much more . . . pleasurable . . . alternative,” he said with a smile.
The smile was unexpected and warmer than I would have thought him capable. It softened the hard planes of his face and made his eyes appear less like chips of ice. It also had the effect of making butterflies dance in my stomach. The low noise of the restaurant grew distant as we stared at one another and his smile slowly faded.
I was drawn to Devon in a way I couldn’t explain, with an intensity that I felt deep in my bones was dangerous and self-destructive. I’d been right to dislike him, my instinct pegging him correctly as someone who could hurt me. Not just physically—though he could obviously do that, too—but emotionally and forever.
If I was smart, if I had any sense of self-preservation at all, I’d get up and walk out. I don’t know what kept me in my seat. It was akin to someone with their first taste of an illicit drug. Despite knowing all the dangers and warnings, they just couldn’t help themselves from taking that first step, that first taste, that said there would be no going back.
I’ve never thought of myself as someone who was drawn to the unknown or as a girl who had a thirst for taking a
walk on the wild side. I was Ivy Mason. Pretty, yes, but sensible. A girl who liked safety and comfort above all else. Someone who eschewed the fleeting thrill of the “bad boys” my girlfriends always oohed and ahhed over and who never failed to break their hearts. I was smarter than that, wiser than that.
Or so I’d believed.
Dinner was over and it was time to go. I was so nervous, I was nearly light-headed, though maybe that was from the wine. I had no idea who Devon was, what he did for a living—though I was guessing he worked on the wrong side of the law—and yet here I was letting him touch my back and brush his fingers down my arms as he helped me into my coat.
Turning me to face him, his hands spanned my waist inside my coat. I was narrow and small, his hands so large his fingers nearly touched. I could feel the heat of his touch through the thin material of my blouse and it seemed to burn. A shudder went through me and I tipped my head back to look up at him. His eyes were intently studying me, their depths sparking with blue fire.
“Don’t fight it, luv,” Devon said, his voice a low thrum of sound. “You were mine from the moment I laid eyes on you.” The possessiveness in his gaze made the breath catch in my chest.
It wasn’t until we were outside in the brittle cold, Devon no longer enthralling me with his words and his touch, that sanity returned. What was I doing? This was insane. I was insane. Devon couldn’t be trusted, no matter how inexplicably drawn I was to him.
Devon released his hold on me to take his keys from the valet, and I bolted. Another couple was exiting the restaurant, heading to a waiting cab, and I darted in front of them.
“Sorry!” I called over my shoulder, slamming the door behind me. “Go!” I told the driver, who stepped on the gas, unfazed by my rather abrupt entry into his car.
I turned in my seat to look out the back window. Devon was standing in the street by his car, gazing after the fleeing cab. I couldn’t see the expression on his face, but the lines of his body were taut. Maybe he was angry, but I had the feeling my impulsive action had been more like waving a bloody flag to a hunter who lived for the chase.
