In His Shadow (Tangled Ivy Book 1)

by Tiffany Snow

  He stalked toward me, his stride long and purposeful. Instinctively, I took a step back, but wasn’t quick enough to escape him. In the span of two heartbeats, he was in front of me, his body too near mine.

  “We-we’re closed,” I stammered.

  The hint of a smile curled his lip. “Brilliant, because I’m not here for the bank,” he said, his soft accent making the words sound like a promise.

  “Oh.” It was all I could come up with. Too busy examining every detail of his face, breathing in his scent that I could just catch on the chilled breeze, my mind couldn’t spare the brain cells to compose a proper reply.

  “Come with me,” he said, taking my elbow and steering me toward his car.

  It was only after I’d obediently taken several steps that I remembered.

  “Wait . . . I can’t,” I said, putting on the brakes. “I-I have plans.”

  “Break them,” he said, opening the door for me.

  I looked at him, appalled. “I-I . . . can’t,” I sputtered. “I won’t. Listen, you can’t just show up here—”

  Curving a hand around the back of my neck, he pulled me to him and kissed me, cutting off my words. It wasn’t a sweet, tender kiss. It was dark and deep, thrusting me back into memories of last night. His mouth was hard against mine, his tongue hot. The hold he had on me was firm but didn’t hurt, though my neck felt fragile in his grip.

  When Devon lifted his head, it took me a moment to open my eyes. The anger that had been building over his arrogant high-handedness had disappeared, replaced by a languid desire that crept through my bones. I found that I was clutching the lapels of his jacket like a lifeline, my fisted hands crumpling the expensive fabric.

  I lifted my eyes to find Devon watching me, his icy blue gaze so intense, I couldn’t look away. Neither of us spoke.

  “Ivy?”

  The familiar voice calling my name shattered the spell and I pulled myself out of Devon’s grip, taking a couple of unsteady steps back. Our eyes were still locked together, but he made no move to come after me.

  “Ivy!”

  Turning, I spied Logan. He’d rather haphazardly parked his car across the street and was dodging traffic as he hurried toward me.

  Seeing Logan knocked some sense back into me, and my backbone. I glanced back at Devon.

  “I have plans.”

  With that, I turned and walked away, though part of me wanted to run. I was scared of Devon and yet, he drew me with a force so compelling, it was in and of itself frightening. My head was shouting all kinds of warnings and danger signals about him, which I would be wise to heed, no matter what had transpired in my bed last night.

  I met up with Logan halfway down the sidewalk.

  “Who’s that?” he asked, looking over my head at Devon. His brow was creased in a frown.

  “No one,” I said, grabbing his arm and tugging him back in the other direction toward his car. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Logan looked down at me in disbelief. “He was kissing you! That doesn’t sound like a ‘no one’ to me. Unless you’re suddenly in the habit of making out with strangers in public?”

  “I’ll talk to you about it in the car,” I said, shaking my head. “Now please, let’s just go, okay?” I tugged again on his arm, but he wasn’t moving.

  Logan glanced back toward Devon, his jaw clenching. I didn’t turn around to see if Devon was staring back, though from the way Logan was glaring, I could very well guess that was exactly what he was doing.

  “Fine,” he said curtly, finally letting me pull him away.

  A few minutes later we were in Logan’s car and speeding away from the bank . . . and Devon.

  CHAPTER SIX

  You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I turned to look at Logan from where I’d been watching Devon out the back window. Logan looked tired and pissed. His tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt undone, but his eyes were sharp.

  “I know that guy,” Logan continued when I didn’t answer. “That’s the guy that came to my firm, the guy who invited himself to dinner that night. Did he follow you?”

  Logan was doing exactly what I’d predicted, heading straight for the overprotective-big-brother zone.

  “It’s not like that,” I said, trying to think of what to tell Logan that wouldn’t piss him off more.

  “So then what’s the deal? You’re seeing him or something? I mean, that’s fine, you know, whatever, but you could’ve told me.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said. We’re not doing something as normal as dating. I’m just using him for sex and vice versa. Geez. Logan would think I was taking a page out of his book.

  “Then what’s it like?” he shot back. “Because I know you, and there’s no way in hell you’d be letting some guy you barely know kiss you.”

  It was true. Logan had seen me date guys in high school and college, and I’d never been a girl who liked being touched and kissed before I felt secure and comfortable with the guy. Usually, I’d broken it off before it ever got to that point.

  Devon had blown past all that, all my insecurities and hang-ups that kept men at arm’s length. I didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t given a damn, as he put it, or if it was just the fact that it was . . . him. I could tell none of this to Logan, of course, so I decided to tell a sanitized version of the truth.

  “He was a customer at the bank,” I said, “and that night, at dinner, we kind of connected,” which was a nice way of saying he’d kissed me breathless in the hallway. “I’ve seen him a couple of times since, had dinner,” all of which was perfectly true. I shrugged. “So he kissed me. It’s not a big deal.”

  Logan glanced back at me from the road. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” He was looking at me like I’d betrayed him, the hurt in his voice making me wince.

  “I don’t know and I’m really sorry,” I said. “I-I guess I wasn’t sure what to make of it at first, so I didn’t want to say anything. Please don’t worry.” Again, all true, though I didn’t think I’d be getting any awards for veracity anytime soon.

  Logan looked back at the road, the set of his jaw grim and his hands tight on the steering wheel. He was silent for a moment.

  “Ivy, I’ve been watching out for you since I was fourteen and too much of a kid to do anything to help you except be there when you showed up at my window in the middle of the night.” He paused and it seemed both of us were recalling those nights that now seemed so long ago. “I know you’re a grown woman and it’s your life,” he looked back at me, “but please don’t ask me to stop looking out for you. I don’t even know if I could.”

  My heart twisted at the worry in his eyes and I reached for his hand, prying it from its death grip on the steering wheel.

  “I know,” I said quietly, folding his hand in both of mine. “I love you, too.”

  Logan’s face softened and I knew he was over it. I gave a little sigh of relief. I hated it when we argued, not that it happened very often.

  “So tell me about this Romeo,” Logan said with a sigh. “What was his name again?”

  My stomach lurched and I was glad he didn’t recall the fake name Devon had given him at dinner. “It’s Devon,” I said. “His name is Devon.”

  “Ah,” Logan said. “Devon. Well, to hell with Devon for tonight. I’ve had a shitty week and there’s no way I’m going back into the office on a Friday night, no matter my lofty intentions this morning.” He grinned at me. “I’m in the mood for drinking and dancing, Ives. You in?”

  I grinned back, pushing thoughts of Devon aside. “You read my mind.”

  Logan was one of those dream guys who could actually dance and loved it. He’d taught me and now one of our favorite things was to go to the same club we always went to, have a few drinks, and spend hours on the dance floor.

  The club was a country bar cal
led Whiskey Tango. They didn’t allow smoking, which was kind of nice for us nonsmokers. We ordered burgers, fries, and beers before Logan shed his jacket and tie and pulled me out onto the floor. A lot of guys liked to two-step, even to the fast numbers, but Logan liked the fifties’ style swing dancing. We’d danced together for so long, it was like we were telepathic, our moves smooth and sure.

  We took a break to eat, but soon I’d pulled my hair up into a ponytail and undone a couple more buttons on my blouse as I fanned myself. Logan had rolled back the cuffs of his shirt and his skin was hot through the fabric, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, but that didn’t stop him. He spun me around the floor until I was breathless and grinning.

  “Gotta take a break,” I panted at the end of a song.

  “Wuss,” he ribbed me good-naturedly.

  “There’s a blonde in the corner eyeing you,” I suggested, raising an eyebrow. Logan glanced over, winked at me, and headed her way.

  I sank gratefully onto my stool at our table, taking a sip of my Crown and Coke. I wasn’t a big drinker so it didn’t take much to make me tipsy. I watched as Logan took the blonde onto the dance floor, and it was obvious that she was a novice dancer. Considering how pretty she was, though, I didn’t think Logan minded.

  “Hey, beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Looking around, I saw a man slide onto the stool next to me. He was tall and dark-haired, an easy smile on his face. Lifting a hand, he signaled for a cocktail waitress.

  “Um, I’m actually with someone,” I hedged. I was awful at turning people down. It was the people pleaser in me, I thought, that hated to disappoint someone, even strangers. But neither did I want to encourage an unknown guy.

  “Does he know that?” the guy said with a grin, jerking his head toward the dance floor where Logan and the blonde were laughing together.

  I gave a weak smile.

  The harried waitress came by and the guy ordered another round. When she left, he held out his hand. “I’m Steve. And you are . . . ?”

  Manners made me give him my hand and answer. “Ivy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ivy,” he said, folding my hand in his much larger one. He was still smiling and seemed nice enough. He wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, like Devon, but he was good-looking and his wide, friendly smile made him more attractive. I relaxed ever so slightly.

  “Would it be just too cliché if I were to ask if you come here often?” Steve asked.

  I laughed at that. “Maybe,” I said. “But yes, I do. My friend and I like to dance.”

  “You from around here, Ivy?”

  I shook my head. “No. You?” I was always vague when people asked where I was from and didn’t give any more information than necessary. Call it an ingrained sense of caution, but I didn’t think strangers had a right to know my life story just because they bought me a drink.

  “Born and raised,” Steve said, handing the waitress some money when she returned with our drinks.

  We chatted for a little while and he told me he sold insurance for a living, which you wouldn’t think was very interesting, but he had some funny stories that had me laughing.

  Steve was a nice, normal guy. He wasn’t dark and mysterious, and he probably didn’t shoot people or kill them with his bare hands.

  I sipped the drink Steve had bought me while we talked. It was in an old-fashioned rather than tall, the way I usually ordered, and it seemed the liquor went straight to my head. My vision grew blurry and I tried to focus on what Steve was saying, but couldn’t.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I said, sliding off my stool. To my shock and embarrassment, my knees almost immediately folded.

  “Easy there,” Steve said, catching me as he jumped to his feet.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, trying to blink my vision clear. I tried to hold on to Steve, but I had trouble making my muscles obey my commands. “I think I need some water.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Steve said. “Let me give you a lift home.”

  “N-no, I need L-Logan,” I forced out, my lips slurring the words. I was starting to become alarmed now, in a hazy, fuzzy way. Alcohol had never affected me like this before.

  “I’ll take care of you,” Steve said, half carrying me toward the door. “Don’t you worry.” Something in his eyes was different now, calculating instead of friendly, and I got scared.

  “Let m-me go,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to pull away, but it was like swimming through molasses. I turned my head, trying to find Logan through the crowded dance floor.

  But we were already out the door. The air was frigid against my skin, my coat still in the club. By now, I couldn’t move, my body weight entirely supported by Steve. To any passerby, it’d look like a guy helping his girlfriend after she’d had too much to drink. My head lolled against his shoulder, my arms hanging uselessly at my sides. The hold he had around my waist was painfully tight and I knew I’d have bruises tomorrow—if I survived tonight.

  A car pulled up, skidding to a stop at the curb in front of us. Steve jerked open the back door and shoved me none-too-gently inside. He climbed in after me, slamming the door behind him.

  “Go!”

  The driver took off down the street. Steve grabbed me and hauled me upright from where I’d slumped against the passenger door. My eyes were heavy and I had trouble keeping them open. I felt strange. I was afraid and panicked, but it was as though those emotions were covered by thick blankets, their sharp edges muted against my lethargy.

  “Tell me about Galler,” Steve said.

  I stared at him, the words slow to penetrate my mind.

  “Galler told you something,” he said. “What did he tell you that night you were there?”

  “She looks like she’s about to pass out,” the driver said. “How much did you give her?”

  “I paid the waitress to do it,” Steve shot back.

  “Well, she ain’t gonna be any use to us if she can’t talk.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Steve focused on me again and my eyes slipped closed.

  Pain exploded in my cheek. Steve had slapped me. Hard. He did it again and I tasted blood.

  “Wake up, you stupid bitch!” he snarled. “Tell me what Galler said!”

  I was confused and I hurt, and I couldn’t think what he wanted me to tell him. I could barely see him now, black clouding my vision as I fought to stay conscious.

  I heard the sound of breaking glass and Steve turned to the driver, but the driver slumped over in his seat. There was a small hole in the windshield in front of him.

  The car careened out of control and Steve threw himself toward the steering wheel, but he was too late. We crashed, the sound of screeching metal and shattered glass loud in my ears. Steve flew forward, his body striking and then breaking through the windshield. My limp body ricocheted against the backseat, my head slammed into something hard, and then everything went dark.

  Oh, God, what a hangover. My head ached and my stomach felt like I was going to throw up any minute. How in the world could I have let myself drink so much? And why had Logan not stopped me? He knew I couldn’t hold my liquor.

  Something ice-cold pressed against my cheek, making my eyes fly open as I instinctively jerked back.

  “Easy now,” Devon said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I gave you something to counteract the drug, but you need some more time.”

  And it all came rushing back to me. Steve. The drink. The car crash. Oh God . . .

  “Where am I?” I asked, looking around. Devon was right. I felt incredibly weak, though the fog that earlier had clouded my brain and weighed down my limbs had lifted. “How did I get here? Where’s Logan?” I struggled to sit up.

  “Stay put,” Devon said, pushing me gently but firmly back onto the couch. “If you attempt to stand up, you’ll fall.” He replaced the cold pack ag
ainst my cheek, holding it there. That’s when I felt that my face hurt. Oh yeah, that asshole had hit me.

  I was in an unfamiliar apartment and I guessed it to be Devon’s. He sat beside me on the couch I was lying on. He’d discarded his tie and jacket, and I wasn’t a bit surprised to see the shirt he wore was still immaculately white and unwrinkled.

  His expression was carefully blank as he watched me, but when he pulled away the ice pack to check my face, his jaw tightened and his eyes grew cold.

  I grimaced. “How bad is it?” I didn’t like to think I was vain, but I wasn’t an idiot either. I’d be lucky if Steve hadn’t left a mark.

  “It’ll heal,” he replied, his voice curt. “Tell me what the bloody hell happened?”

  My eyebrows went up. “Me tell you what happened,” I said. “Shouldn’t you be telling me? How did you find me? Did you kill that man?” I remembered how the driver had been shot right before we’d crashed.

  For a moment, I didn’t think he’d answer me, but then he said, “I wasn’t looking for you. I was looking for them. Imagine my surprise when I opened the back door and you came tumbling out.”

  “So it was just a happy coincidence that you came along when you did?” I asked, not believing a word of it.

  “What else did they do to you?” Devon asked, ignoring me. He nodded toward my blouse. “Your clothes are ripped.”

  I glanced down. Sure enough, though I’d undone a couple of buttons, the fabric was now torn and gaping.

  “Nothing like that,” I said, searching my memory. “He said he’d had the waitress put something in my drink, then he was mad because it made me sleepy. That’s when he hit me.” Devon’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He kept asking me about Mr. Galler.”

  “Mr. Galler,” Devon repeated.

  “He was a customer at the bank,” I explained. “He was killed last week.”

  “And why would you know anything about Mr. Galler?”