In His Shadow (Tangled Ivy Book 1)

by Tiffany Snow

  A chill ran across my skin. That sounded like something out of a movie.

  “But they didn’t have anything like that back then,” I said. “If they had, they would have used it.”

  Still reading, Devon said, “They had viability problems. It didn’t last long outside of the lab and it wouldn’t transmit person to person. Only direct exposure worked. To compound those issues, they couldn’t create a vaccine to immunize themselves. Without the vaccine, they couldn’t risk using the virus.”

  I sat for a moment, confused. “This is all interesting, but what does this have to do with me or the pendant or those people who are after it?”

  “I would guess they think that either Dr. Galler or his son—the man you knew—eventually worked out the problems or came up with the vaccine, and they want to use this virus.”

  Staring at him, I said, “No, surely not! That’s . . . that would be ridiculous! Who would do such a thing?”

  “Lots of people,” was his grim reply. “A bioweapon like this . . . there are those who’d pay millions for such a thing. Billions.”

  Taking the pendant in his hand, Devon pressed a tiny latch on the side and the rectangle clicked, opening up like a locket. Intrigued, I leaned closer.

  “What’s inside?” I asked.

  “It’s a key code,” he replied. “The last few pages of the journal are written in code. This is probably the key.” He showed me the letters etched inside the gold locket. “We’d have to take it to a code breaker to see what it really says.”

  “Would they be able to break it if it’s that old?” I asked.

  Devon nodded. “With it being World War II, I’m guessing the last bit was encrypted using the Enigma machine. That code was broken. So we just need to find someone who can translate the code for us.”

  “What does the virus do to you?” I asked.

  “From the patients Dr. Galler infected,” Devon said, the word patients marked with heavy irony, “it’s a mutation of the Ebola virus, and somehow he managed to speed up its effect. The victims’ organs would liquefy within hours of exposure rather than days.”

  I shuddered at that particular mental image. “They knew about Ebola back then?”

  “Obviously Dr. Galler knew about it,” he replied.

  We sat in silence for a moment while I tried to digest all this information. So the people Devon was after maybe had this virus and wanted the vaccine before . . . what? Unleashing it on an unsuspecting populace? Selling it to the highest bidder? It seemed incomprehensible to me and as far removed from my life as a boring bank teller as . . . well, as Devon’s life as a spy.

  “These people,” I began, “are they the kind of threat you deal with all the time?”

  Devon was still scouring the pages. “Yes,” he answered simply. “There’s always someone wanting to rule the world.”

  It was a strange thought, but I wasn’t surprised. I supposed history had shown what lengths some will go to for the power to control and rule others.

  “So what will you do now?” I asked.

  “Now I need to find Clive and see who turned them on to Galler and his research. Why, after all these years, did they come looking for this?”

  “Clive will know that?” I asked.

  “He should,” Devon replied. “He’s worked undercover for them for the past twelve months.”

  “Them?”

  “Nanotech,” he explained. “The bad guys.” He stood. “After I talk to Clive, I’m going to their headquarters. You’re coming along.”

  Stunned, I just stared at him, sure I’d misheard. “What?” I asked.

  “I said, you’re coming along,” he repeated.

  “But I-I can’t just leave,” I sputtered. “I have a job.”

  “It’s Christmas week. You’ll take vacation, or call in sick, or quit. I don’t really care. But you’re coming with me.”

  “Why? Won’t it be dangerous?” Not that it would probably keep me away if he said yes. I just wanted to be clear on what I was getting into.

  “You’ll be safe and sound at a posh hotel, I promise,” he replied. I noticed he didn’t answer the why part of my question.

  Well. If a posh hotel was involved, how bad could it be? And did it really matter? I’d be with Devon. That was all I cared about.

  “Okay, I’ll come,” I said. “Now, where are we going?” I’d never heard of a place called Nanotech. Was it in the Midwest?

  “Ever been to Paris?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Before we went anywhere, I needed to pack. It was late afternoon by the time Devon drove me to my apartment. He sat in the living room waiting while I tried to figure out what in the world to pack for a spontaneous trip to Paris. At Christmas.

  I could have done a pirouette in delight at the thought of spending a few days in Paris, despite the fact that it was really more of a . . . business trip for Devon. He was taking me with him. I decided to focus on that and not on what kind of danger awaited me by being at his side.

  I was nearly done, just trying to decide whether or not to take the designer dress Devon had given me, when I heard the rattle of keys in the front door. Glancing at the clock in dismay, I realized it was way too early for Logan to be coming home. I’d hoped to be gone and just leave a note before he arrived. Looked like that wasn’t going to happen.

  Dropping the dress, I ran into the living room just as Logan opened the door. I definitely did not want to see him and Devon go at each other again.

  Logan’s gaze fell on me and his face lit up in a smile.

  “Ives!” he exclaimed in delight. “There’s my girl!”

  I was really glad he hadn’t seen Devon yet, and I rushed to give him a hug.

  “You’re home early,” I said, squeezing him around the neck. He dropped his briefcase and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Taking off early today?”

  Logan buried his face against my hair and inhaled deeply. “Mmm,” he said on a heavy sigh. “No one’s there this week anyway. Hard to find the motivation to work. I thought I’d leave early, take you to a nice pre-Christmas dinner like we planned yesterday. I’m glad to find you home and not still at his place.” The disgruntlement in that last part had me wincing.

  “Um, yeah, about that—” I began.

  “Afraid we won’t have time for dinner, mate,” Devon interrupted.

  Logan’s head jerked up and I turned to see Devon had stood. He’d leaned a shoulder against one wall, his arms crossed as he surveyed us. The look in his eyes had me rethinking my current position in Logan’s arms.

  “But thanks for the invitation,” he added.

  Logan had gone stiff as soon as Devon had spoken, and though I squirmed a bit trying to unobtrusively detach myself from him, his arms only tightened around me.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Logan bit out. “I told you in the hospital, haven’t you done enough?”

  “Logan—” I tried again, but Devon cut me off.

  “Tell me,” he said, “for how many months and years did you stand by and watch while your best friend was assaulted night after night in her own bed?”

  I sucked in my breath at the accusation in Devon’s voice, the blood leaving my face in a rush.

  Logan must have been as shocked as I was because when he spoke, his voice was a choked hiss of sound. “What did you just say?”

  “I said,” Devon pushed himself off the wall and dropped his arms to his sides, as though readying himself for a fight, “why would you let Ivy go through such hell when you, and only you, could have helped her?”

  “I was fourteen years old,” Logan ground out. “I didn’t know what to do.” His fingers were biting into my flesh, his hold on me was so tight.

  “Didn’t know what to do? Or didn’t want to do anything?” Devon retorted. “How often would she come over,
Logan? Twice a week? Three times?”

  Logan swallowed so hard I could hear it.

  “I was there for her—” he began.

  “Did it not occur to you to tell your parents, a teacher, a cop, someone what was going on?” Devon cut in and the venom in his voice sent a chill through me. “Or did you like playing the knight in shining armor just a little too much?”

  Logan thrust me away and sprang at Devon, who was ready for him. His first swing missed, but his second connected with Devon’s jaw. The crunch of bone against bone was loud in the room. Devon retaliated, his blow snapping Logan’s head back.

  “Stop it! Stop it, both of you!” I yelled, afraid at how far they’d go in trying to hurt each other.

  They ignored me, now in close quarters and grappling. It was quickly apparent that Devon was much more skilled at hand-to-hand combat than Logan. They knocked over a chair and shoved the kitchen table before Logan was facedown on the floor with Devon’s knee in his back, his arm twisted up behind him.

  “You bloody arsehole,” Devon hissed, only slightly out of breath. “She trusted you, and all you did was stand by and watch it happen.”

  “Fuck you,” Logan snarled.

  I hurried forward, latching on to Devon’s upper arm. “Please,” I said. “It’s not his fault! Come on, please don’t do this.” I hated to see them fighting and was at a loss as to the why of it. They barely knew each other yet hated one another.

  Devon didn’t respond for a moment, the hard set of his jaw making me worry that he would end up breaking Logan’s arm no matter what I said. But at last he released him. Standing, he took my elbow and pulled me toward him as Logan scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving.

  “You don’t think I regret every single fucking day that I didn’t do something?” Logan yelled at Devon. “I was young and stupid and scared. One day I see a girl who looks like an angel sitting in the corner of the library. She’s crying and won’t tell me why. I tried to help her, be her friend, make her smile. Then one night she shows up outside my bedroom window, couldn’t talk, couldn’t tell me why she was there, just with a look in her eyes that made my soul bleed.”

  He stopped, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he shoved his fingers through his hair. When he looked up, his eyes were haunted with pain.

  “I’d give anything to be able to undo the past, but I can’t. All I can do is protect her now, from men like you.”

  “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” Devon growled.

  “I know enough,” Logan retorted.

  “Stop it!” I broke in before they started on this path again. “Enough with the fighting already! I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, but neither of you is in charge of my life.” I turned to Logan. “Logan, you’re my best friend and I love you dearly, but I have to be free to make my own decisions, even if you don’t agree with them.”

  Facing Devon, I said, “And I didn’t tell you those things so you’d blame Logan. You just told me only hours ago that it wasn’t my fault. Neither is it Logan’s.”

  Devon didn’t reply, our eyes locked in a battle of wills. But I wasn’t backing down. He’d been wrong to say those things to Logan. After a moment, he gave me a curt nod and I knew I’d won. But I didn’t want to push it, with either of them, so I said, “Devon, would you please grab my suitcase from my bedroom?” He left to do as I asked and I turned back to Logan.

  “I’m sorry, for all of that,” I said, rushing to apologize for Devon. “He’s just upset, I think.”

  “Ives, don’t—”

  “Please don’t say it,” I warned, interrupting him. “I know how you feel about him, but it is what it is.”

  Logan’s jaw was locked tight, his lips pressed firmly closed.

  “I’m going away with him for a few days,” I continued, reaching out to straighten Logan’s tie, which had gone askew during their fight. “But I’ll text you and I’ll be back soon.”

  Standing on my toes, I rested my hands on his shoulders, leaning forward to press a kiss to the bruise that was beginning to darken his jaw where Devon had hit him.

  “Merry Christmas, Logan,” I said. “I want a rain check on that dinner, okay?” I smiled, hoping he’d smile back. It took a moment, but he did, his lips curving ever so slightly.

  “Like I could say no to you,” he said softly. His smile faded and his brows drew together in a frown. “Just please, Ives, please be careful. I don’t know what I’d do if—”

  “Ready?” Devon interrupted.

  Logan’s eyes flicked behind me and his jaw locked again, a pulse throbbing in his cheek.

  Anxious to keep the peace, I stepped away from Logan and turned around. Devon was holding out my coat and helped me into it. A moment later, we were heading out the door.

  “I’ll talk to you soon,” I assured Logan, who stood in the doorway, watching us. The look on his face made my chest hurt and I smiled again, but this time he didn’t smile back.

  Devon took my hand, tugging me down the stairs, and I lost sight of Logan.

  We stopped at a nondescript house in an upper-middle-class neighborhood on the way back to Devon’s apartment. He turned off the car’s headlights as we drove down the street to the last house on the corner.

  “Why are we here?” I asked.

  “Clive lives here,” he explained, getting out of the car.

  The house was dark as we approached, no lights glowing from the inside. We went to the front door and Devon lifted his hand to knock, but froze.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Devon didn’t answer me, he just reached inside his jacket for his gun. Looking down, I saw the door was slightly ajar. My breath caught in my throat as Devon pulled me behind him, then eased open the door.

  Inside it was as still and quiet as Galler’s home had been, and my nerves felt an inch from snapping. Every doorway loomed as a possible danger. Were they waiting here for us? This time would I be able to survive?

  But not even my overwhelming terror could prevent me from following Devon. He held his weapon with both hands and at eye level now, ready to meet any threat that would come our way. I cowered behind as I followed him, too afraid to stay alone by the door.

  We crept along the hallway and I saw the faintest light glowing from underneath a door. Devon must have seen it, too, because he paused outside the door. Positioning me behind him and well away from the opening, he turned the knob and pushed.

  My breath was a thready catch in my throat, adrenaline pouring through me in a cold wash of ice. But nothing happened.

  Devon stepped inside the room, gun at the ready. Whatever he saw made him pause. He lowered the gun.

  “What are you doing, Clive?” he asked.

  Cautiously, I poked my head in and saw Clive sitting in a chair. He looked bedraggled, like he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and his eyes were red and swollen. A gun sat on the table at his elbow, next to a decanter of amber fluid. He held an empty glass in his lax grip.

  Clive didn’t answer Devon. In fact, he didn’t seem to hear him at all. He just stared off into space.

  “Clive,” Devon repeated, louder this time. He took a step toward him, his movements steady but cautious. “Clive.”

  At this, the third mention of his name, Clive finally reacted, but not in the way I expected.

  “They took her,” he said, his voice flat. “They took Anna. They said they knew I was helping you, and that if I ever wanted to see her alive again, I had to kill you.” He didn’t even look at Devon as he spoke, his gaze still focused away from us, unseeing.

  “Who took her?” Devon asked.

  Clive laughed, a bitter, hard sound that sent chills crawling over my skin.

  “Who do you think?” he retorted. “He knows you’re on to him and he’s not just going to let you or anyone Vega sends waltz into his labs and sab
otage their work. He’s worked too hard, stepped on too many people, to get so close and lose.”

  “Are you going to kill me, Clive?” Devon asked the question almost idly, as though he were asking if they’d be drinking white wine or red with dinner.

  “You know I can’t,” Clive replied, resigned. He added more of the liquor in the bottle to his glass and swallowed it in one gulp. “Anna and I are both as good as dead. If she’s even still alive.” His eyes shone bright, but no tears fell.

  I was horrified by all of this. That beautiful, sweet bride had been taken by the same people who’d tortured me and Devon? How long would they torture her before they killed her?

  I must have made a noise because both men suddenly looked at me. Swallowing hard, I stepped into the room.

  “C-can’t you go get her?” I stammered. “You know, rescue her?”

  “You’re still with the girl,” Clive observed, frowning slightly. “Doesn’t she know she’ll end up dead? Just like Anna.” Leaning his elbows on his knees, he covered his face with his hands.

  Way to be a pessimist there, Clive. I looked questioningly at Devon. “Can’t you find her? Save her? They could be hurting her, like they did me, or worse . . .” I didn’t want to think about it, my imagination painting too clear a picture of what Anna might be enduring.

  Devon was gazing shrewdly at me, and I couldn’t read his expression. He might have thought I was being sentimental and naive, that I had no idea what I was asking. And he’d be right. But if I were Anna, I’d want someone to ask—someone to take a chance and help me, if any help were possible.

  “Do you know where they have her?” Devon asked, still looking at me but his question directed to Clive.

  Clive sniffed and swiped at his eyes before lowering his hands. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “I guess so.”

  “Can you still get us in?”

  Clive glanced up, his mouth falling open slightly. “Uh . . . yeah. But—”