In His Shadow (Tangled Ivy Book 1)

by Tiffany Snow

  I thought about it. Logan was going to be pissed, not so much that I was moving out, but at where I’d be moving to and with whom. But this was my life, and I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t so blinded by my love for Devon that I didn’t know the likelihood of how this was going to end . . . with my funeral.

  It was a chance I was willing to take, though Logan would never understand. Having to deal with the stress of his disapproval combined with Devon and Logan butting heads every time they were in the same room had me agreeing to Devon’s request.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll move out of here and into your apartment.”

  Devon flashed a satisfied smile. “Brilliant.” He started kissing my jaw, his lips trailing a path down my neck.

  “Though I do want my gun back, or another one, please,” I said, tipping my head to give him better access.

  “I can accommodate that,” he replied.

  “Especially with Jace still roaming around,” I said, unable to stop the shudder that went through me.

  “I told you, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.” Now his lips brushed my shoulder and his hand drifted down my stomach.

  I frowned. “Why not?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  His mouth fastened over my nipple as his hand slipped between my legs. My flesh was still slick from our lovemaking and the slide of his finger made my questions drift away.

  I trusted Devon. If he said he’d take care of it, then he would. He’d keep me safe . . . from Jace, from everyone. He cared about me, even if he hadn’t said he loved me. I could, and would, wait for his return, and his love.

  In the morning, he was gone. On my bedside table I found three things: a gun, a set of keys, and a note.

  Happy New Year, sweet Ivy.

  Until we meet again—

  —D

  EPILOGUE

  The man flipped through the channels on the decrepit television. There was nothing on.

  “Piece of shit,” he groused to no one, tossing aside the remote. The cheap motel had the most basic of cable packages. But what had he expected? He was practically in the middle of fucking nowhere to find a motel where they took cash and looked the other way.

  He was out of cigarettes, too. Mumbling more curses, he grabbed his keys and headed outside to the stolen Cadillac that was so old, it probably predated him. A few minutes later, he was buying a pack of smokes and a six-pack. Glancing up at the television in the corner of the store while the clerk counted his change, he saw a blonde anchorwoman giving the news. Her hair was long and straight, but not as blonde as it should be.

  Not as blonde as Ivy’s.

  The mere thought of Ivy gave him a hard-on. Angry now, and frustrated, he slammed the car into gear and tore out of the lot.

  It was getting dark and his mood was no better when he returned and unlocked the motel, juggling his beer in one hand and the key in the other. Tossing the key onto the cheap table in the corner, he twisted the cap off one of the beers and took a long swallow.

  It wasn’t until he turned around that he saw the shadow of a man sitting in the corner.

  He choked on the beer, the bitter liquid making him cough as he spluttered and reached for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans underneath his flannel shirt.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Jace,” the man said.

  Jace froze, now seeing the outline of a gun in the man’s hand.

  “Very slowly, take that gun and set it on the table. One wrong move and you’ll be dead.”

  Jace complied, his eyes glued to the man’s gun, which remained steady in his grip.

  “Now put the bottle down,” he ordered. He had some kind of British accent, his voice all calm, like they were talking about the latest football scores.

  Jace did as he was told. “Who are you? What do you want? I don’t have any money.”

  “That’s good because I’m not here for money. Take off your clothes.”

  A cold sweat broke out on Jace’s forehead and he didn’t move. “I’m gonna yell, man. Even if you shoot me, the manager will hear the shot.”

  “That manager’s been paid very handsomely to be utterly deaf until morning,” the man said.

  Jace began to panic. He knew very well how easily someone could be persuaded to look the other way, especially in the type of company he kept.

  A shot rang out and Jace jumped about a foot.

  “That’s your only warning. Now take off your clothes.”

  Realizing he had no choice, Jace hurried to comply, stripping off the flannel shirt and cheap blue jeans until he stood in his socks and underwear.

  “All of it.” The man’s voice was like steel and sent a cold shiver of terror through Jace. His hands shook slightly as he removed the rest of his clothing.

  “Now use these,” the man tossed him a pair of handcuffs. “Lie on the bed and cuff your wrists to the headboard.”

  Jace eyed his discarded gun on the table.

  “Try it and you’ll be dickless.”

  He glanced over. The man had his weapon pointed directly at Jace’s penis. Without any other choice, Jace climbed onto the bed, acutely aware of how naked and vulnerable he was. It took a couple of tries to get the handcuffs fastened, but they finally clicked into place.

  “What do you want?” he tried again, embarrassed at how his voice shook.

  “What do I want?” the man asked, putting his gun into the holster hidden under the suit jacket he wore. “I’m here for some long overdue justice, Jace.”

  “How do you know my name?” Jace’s thoughts scrambled, trying to think of whom he’d wronged that they’d send an assassin after him, because it was obvious that’s who this guy was. It had to be someone with some serious cash because this guy had to cost a bundle to hire.

  “I’ve heard it spoken,” the man said as he reached into his pocket. “Told to me quite calmly in a story that would leave most sane people horrified. And I’ve heard it spoken in terror, in a nightmare that I could only imagine paled when compared to reality.”

  He paused and pulled a switchblade from his pocket, hitting a button that flipped up a six-inch blade. “Tonight, you’re going to feel that terror, Jace, and feel the utter despair of knowing that no one is coming to help you.”

  Fear washed over Jace in a cold rush and his arms jerked at the handcuffs, which held fast.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Jace yelled.

  “I’m a friend . . . a very close friend . . . of Ivy’s. She sends her regards.”

  All the blood left Jace’s head in a rush as he stared, horrified, at the man.

  “So I have quite the evening planned for us, Jace,” he said, walking to the corner and returning with a wooden broomstick, minus the broom. “First, I’m going to acquaint you with this, hit you about a bit, tenderize you, so to speak. Then I’m going to sodomize you with it. Will that be a new experience for you, Jace? I do know you were in prison. Perhaps you were someone’s bitch? A pretty boy like you had to have had a boyfriend or two.”

  “You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Jace choked out, but the man didn’t look it. He was dressed in a goddamn suit, for chrissakes.

  The man’s face turned hard and cold, his eyes inhuman and terrifying. “I’m not the one who likes to rape little girls.”

  “She wanted it! She liked it!”

  The slam of the wooden handle across his crotch made him scream as pain licked him like fire, curling up his belly and into his throat. Vomit spewed from his mouth, dribbling down his chin and coating his chest. He choked and coughed, drawing his knees up in a futile attempt to ease the pain.

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Jace,” the man chided. “If you’re having that much of a fit because of a little bruise, you’ll no doubt cry like a baby when I cut it off.” He slammed the knife down, point first, into the wood of
the bedside table. The light glinted off its blade.

  “Was there anything else you’d like to say?” the man asked, again so calm. “Maybe you’d like to beg. I think I might like that. Yes, I’d like to hear you beg for mercy.”

  Jace began to cry. He knew with a dead certainty that this night would be his last, and that it was going to be filled with terror and pain like nothing he’d ever known. He also knew that the only thought the man would have as he stood over his dead and mutilated body was to make sure there was no blood to mar the pristine silk of his tie.

  Two days later

  “So tell me again what this relationship is exactly?”

  Marcia looked confused as we stood in the break room fixing our coffee. She’d hounded me that morning about whether or not I’d texted Devon or gone by his place, and I’d caved to the desire to tell someone about him. I’d glossed over the details—saying he worked for the government and traveled a lot, most of the time doing things that he couldn’t tell me—but enough to where she got the gist. I’d finished by telling her that I was going to move into his apartment and that I’d see him again . . . sometime.

  “It’s the greatest sex you’ve ever had,” she continued, “but you can’t call him, don’t know when he’ll be back, and he never said he loved you or admitted to any kind of feelings at all?”

  Well, when she put it like that . . .

  “Um, yeah, I guess that’s about right,” I mumbled, dumping creamer into my coffee.

  Marcia sensed my chagrin because she softened her words. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand. It seems you’re in this . . . relationship . . . that most men would kill for and most women would run from. He owes you nothing, isn’t committed to you in any way—he’s not secretly married, is he?—but can just stop by and have sex with you whenever he feels like it?”

  “I love him,” I said stubbornly, despite the way I knew my cheeks were burning.

  The sympathy in Marcia’s eyes bothered me, as if she knew this was destined to be an epic fail. “I know,” she said. “I really do. There isn’t a woman alive who hasn’t been where you are—in love with a man who won’t commit. I just want you to be aware of what you’re doing. I’d sure hate to see you get hurt, Ivy.”

  “I do,” I insisted. “I know what I’m doing.” The chances of Devon and I ending up together—safe and happy—were minuscule. But I had to try.

  “So long as you’re going into it with your eyes wide open,” she cautioned.

  “I am.”

  We fell into a kind of awkward silence as I finished stirring my coffee. I did know what I was doing. Maybe. Probably.

  “What’s that? What happened?”

  I glanced at the television behind me and it was flashing one of those news alerts. We both moved closer and Marcia turned up the volume. An on-site anchor was standing outside one of those strip motels that were cheap and ubiquitous, renting rooms by the hour. The banner across the bottom of the screen read “Escaped Parolee Found Murdered.”

  “. . . Jace Croughton, a released felon wanted for not reporting for parole a few weeks ago in Kansas, was found murdered inside this motel. Though the owner says he didn’t see or hear anything, the victim was found to have been brutally tortured for hours before bleeding to death . . .”

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, my eyes wide.

  “Wow, that’s like totally medieval,” Marcia said. “Probably some kind of gang or drug thing.” She shrugged and grabbed her cup of coffee before heading back to her booth.

  I didn’t answer, still reeling. Devon had killed Jace, there was no doubt in my mind. I wanted to tell Marcia, but couldn’t. It surely spoke to some kind of feelings Devon had for me that he’d done this—committed murder to avenge me. But that wasn’t exactly something you wanted to point to as a sign. He killed my stepbrother who used to abuse me, so he must love me a little, right? Yeah, somehow I didn’t think she’d take it as proof of Devon’s devotion. Mental instability? Yes. Love? No.

  I felt . . . relieved that Jace was gone, but I shouldn’t be glad at someone’s death. That seemed wrong somehow, to not just be relieved but to have that spark of satisfaction, of joy even, that he was dead.

  But no matter my confusion over my feelings, one thing was crystal clear. Devon had been right. I didn’t have to worry about Jace any more.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not have been possible if not for the loving encouragement of Kele Moon and Paige Weaver. Thank you both for your advice and your friendship. I treasure both.

  Thank you and much love to my wonderful betas—Nicole, Leslie, and Tiffany—whose love and enthusiasm for my writing keeps me going on the tough days. I love you all and am blessed to call you friends.

  Thank you to my wonderful editor, Maria Gomez. I treasure your steadfast cheerfulness and the way you persist in pushing me just a little bit more, which makes the manuscript so much better. You’re going to be an awesome mom.

  Thank you to Melody Guy for pointing out those plot holes to be filled.

  Thank you to Marina Adair for making sure I was on the right track.

  Thank you to Jennifer Armentrout for telling me the single best piece of advice upon finishing one series and starting another. I wrote it down and look at it every day before I begin writing. You’re awesome and I love you.

  To my agent, Kevan Lyon, you’re a rock star and I thank you.

  To my amazing husband, my best friend, Tim, for your support and belief in me. Thank you for being you, which makes me a better me.

  And, as always, my thanks and appreciation to all those at Montlake Romance for their continued support in creating a wonderful platform and an amazing team to sell my books. You are all fantastic and it’s a privilege to work with you.

  CONTINUE READING FOR

  AN EXCITING PREVIEW OF

  SHADOW OF A DOUBT,

  BOOK 2 IN THE

  TANGLED IVY SERIES

  PROLOGUE

  He came in the dead of night.

  I was accustomed to his unannounced arrivals, so when I woke to the feel of a man sliding under the sheets with me, I wasn’t afraid.

  He was already naked and it only took a moment for him to slip my nightgown over my head and toss it aside. He kissed me and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his.

  His skin was warm, his body hard. His taste and touch were addictions I craved more fiercely than the most avid heroin addict.

  We didn’t speak. I didn’t welcome him home or ask about his day. He couldn’t tell me about his job even if he wanted to, though I suspect that fact didn’t bother him. It was the nature of spies to be secretive, though since I’d known only one, I supposed I wasn’t an expert on the subject.

  These thoughts were driven from my mind as his hands skated down my body. He shifted my legs apart, moving to lie between my spread thighs. I focused on him, memorizing the feel of him pressing against me, inside me.

  The night passed in a blur of whispered sighs and moans, sweat and skin beneath tangled sheets, until the pleasure he’d wrung from me forced me into an exhausted and sated slumber.

  When I woke to sunlight streaming through my window, he was gone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I was hard-pressed to keep a stupid grin off my face as I got ready for work.

  Devon had come last night.

  It had been weeks since I’d seen him, each night going to bed hopeful, each morning waking up disappointed. My cell phone hadn’t rung with a call in the middle of the night, the number blocked. Its silence mocked me.

  But I hadn’t been disappointed last night.

  My body still tingled when I thought about what had passed in the early hours of the morning, a shiver running down my spine.

  I finished running a brush though my hair—long, straight, and pure white-blonde. My makeup was minim
al. Blessed with beauty, I was glad for my looks for the first time in my life. Without it, I doubted I’d ever have caught Devon’s eye.

  Some men were attracted to lush figures, which I didn’t have. Tall and on the too-skinny side of thin, I had the perfect shape to wear the designer clothes I couldn’t afford that filled my closet. That shape was not one men usually drooled over.

  Other men were all about the face. Devon was one of those men. He didn’t seem to mind my angles and planes where there should be soft curves. He liked my face. He liked it a lot. And he’d once told me he liked the way I moved, the way I walked.

  Maybe influenced by one too many runway shows, I tried to do justice to the clothes I wore. So I stood tall, shoulders back, chin up, and sashayed my ass down the street, usually in four-inch heels. It made me feel good about myself and gave me a confidence it had taken me years to acquire.

  Glancing at my watch, I saw I was going to be late for work if I didn’t hurry. Worcester Bank opened early and I had to be there even earlier for my job as teller. I’d been daydreaming of last night, putting me behind schedule.

  Hurrying into the kitchen, I grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. I needed a quick fix before I left. That’s when I saw it.

  A stack of money on the kitchen counter.

  I stared in confusion for a moment, then set aside my mug and reached for the money. Next to it was a note.

  For anything you might need, luv.

  -D

  Absently, I counted the stack. It was about a half-inch tall and only contained hundreds. When I was through counting, I just stood in amazement.

  Ten thousand dollars. Devon had left ten thousand dollars just . . . sitting on the kitchen counter.

  My happiness abruptly deflated like a popped balloon. Last night had seemed special—a wonderful reunion after too many weeks apart. But now it was sordid, tainted by money left figuratively on the bedside table, as though Devon were compensating me for having sex with him.