by Rita Herron
Ivy’s face paled, and Matt cleared his throat, anxious now for the old woman to leave. He didn’t like her spooking Ivy.
“And you, Mr. Mahoney,” the old woman said, “you should let go of your hatred and secrets. They will destroy you in the end.”
Matt stared at her, his jaw tight.
Revealing his secrets meant trusting. Possibly hurting Ivy more.
No, it was better she didn’t know, not about the ugly things that had happened to him in prison. And especially about Red Row…
A.J. CRAWLED FROM THE COUCH and gripped the arm for support, then staggered to the bathroom, downed three painkillers and splashed cold water on his face. The bourbon he’d had at dinner still heated his blood, but his mouth felt as if cotton balls had been jammed all the way down his throat, clear up to the top of his head.
He’d done it again. Blocked out hours.
But the events of the previous twenty-four hours rolled past. Matt’s mother’s confession. Ivy being attacked. The fire. The river cult circling Lady Bella Rue’s house.
Hunting for Tommy Werth and Trash McClinton. But the boys had hidden out somewhere, had escaped for the night, and he’d had to wait on a warrant for their houses.
So he’d stopped for a drink.
And then what had happened?
He’d found enough balls to visit his father.
Shit…their fight had tipped him right off the ledge, and he’d driven straight to the Ole Peculiar for another round.
What then? He thought he’d driven home after the bar, but maybe he’d taken a side trip to Red Row.
A fog glazed his mind, as if a plastic bag had been yanked over his head and suffocated him. How many brain cells had he lost?
He flipped on the shower, dove beneath the spray, reminding himself that he had to find and arrest those boys. The warrant should be ready by now. Damned ironic. Tommy and Clete were the same age as he and Matt had been when the Stantons were slaughtered.
A.J. had been cocky and full of himself; Matt had been angry and looking for trouble. He’d found it big time.
Guilt threatened to shatter A.J., but he shoved it back down. He and his father had done whatever necessary in order to protect themselves back then. Otherwise A.J. might have been locked up instead of Matt. A.J.’s life ruined.
He would never have survived prison.
Oh, who the hell was he kidding? His life had been ruined, anyway. He’d been stuck in this town, paying penance, indebted to his old man ever since.
And they still didn’t talk about that night.
He dragged himself from the hot water, toweled off, dressed, then drove by the diner and picked up coffee. Maybe he’d find Tommy or Clete home. First, he stopped by the Werths’, but the door was locked and there weren’t any cars in the drive or garage. He walked around the outside, but the rooms were dark, and no one appeared to be inside. He jiggled the doorknob and entered cautiously, then checked the house that appeared just as it had the last time he’d visited, as if the boy had had a party. He climbed back in his squad car and drove the short distance to the McClinton house.
Just like the Werths’, the log house was dark, but a muddy Jeep and a new pickup were parked outside, the pickup’s wheels caked thick with red mud from the river. Clete’s.
Pay dirt.
A.J. pounded on the door and hit the doorbell at the same time. Tapping his foot as he waited, he circled the house and noticed a small garden area near the woods, past Terri Lynn’s roses. He’d check it out later, but suspected the boys might be growing their own stash of dope. He walked back, pounded on the door again, then pushed on the doorknob.
“Clete, Tommy, it’s the sheriff. Let me in.”
The door jiggled, then squeaked open. They hadn’t bothered to lock it. Pretty stupid for criminals. Then again, they were boys.
His boots screeched on the parquet flooring as he inched through the den. He kept one hand on his gun just in case. The perps who’d killed Dora Leigh and Terri Lynn were damn dangerous, and he did not want to die at the hand of a couple of vicious teenagers.
The scents of weed and booze stifled the air. Empty pizza boxes littered the mahogany coffee table in the den. Cigarette stubs and Cheetos bags added to the mess, at odds with the plush furnishings. Terri Lynn had taken pride in her home, had hired a decorator to give the house a formal, sophisticated look. Her son’s lack of respect was obvious.
A.J. worked his way upstairs, and checked the bedrooms but found them empty. Blood stained the bedsheets and white satin comforter in the mother’s room, and a trail of it dotted the gray carpet leading to the door. He sniffed and leaned closer to check it out. It was pretty fresh. He’d get the crime unit out here right away.
Frowning, he strode back down the steps when he noticed the basement door ajar. Placing his hand over his gun, he eased down the steps. Pitch-black silence greeted him, until he flipped on a switch and light flooded the basement. Tommy and Clete both groaned and rolled over, shading their eyes with their hands. Still wearing the black hooded sweatshirts, black paint covering their faces, they looked like two hooligans.
Clete threw his shoe across the room. “What the hell? Get out!”
“Turn off that light!” Tommy bellowed. “You’re blinding us!”
A.J. braced himself. “It’s the sheriff, boys. You’re under arrest for murder.”
Tommy suddenly shot up, but staggered and crashed into the wall. Cursing like a sailor, he toppled over, rubbing his foot, obviously still half-stoned. Clete reached for a baseball bat on the floor beside him, but A.J. removed his gun from its holster.
“I have a weapon and it’s aimed right at you,” he snarled, letting them know he meant business. “Now, put your hands up above your heads where I can see them. And don’t make any sudden moves or I’ll shoot.”
IVY HAD ALMOST DIED the day before. The thought reverberated over and over in her head like a video that had been stuck on Rewind. As Matt helped her into his SUV, she breathed the fresh damp afternoon air, grateful to be free of the hospital room and on her way back to the cabin. The majestic Appalachians rose around her, the sweeping canyons and mountain ridges reminding her of the daunting beauty of the area, and the breathless exuberance of simply being alive. Yes, there was beauty here, as she’d first thought; she simply had to look hard enough beneath the evil to find it.
Although her body still struggled with exhaustion, her heart fluttered at the protective way Matt had been treating her. He hadn’t strayed more than a few feet from her side since the attack and the fire. She didn’t want him more than an arm’s length away, either.
She had never felt this close to another person. Especially a man.
Tension throbbed relentlessly in the air between them as he checked behind him to make sure no one followed.
“Should we talk to Arthur Boles tonight?” Ivy asked.
Matt’s fingers tightened in a death grip around the steering wheel. “No, rest one more day. We’ll confront him first thing in the morning. I want to do a little more homework before I approach him.”
“Homework?”
“Research,” Matt answered, although he didn’t elaborate.
Ivy accepted his silence, anxious that he might be keeping information from her. But fatigue lines crisscrossed his face, and she realized he hadn’t slept the night before because he’d stayed alert guarding her, so she didn’t push him.
He stopped long enough at the diner to pick up two dinner trays again, and the scent of turkey and dressing filled the car as they drove on to the cabins. Inside, they ate in virtual silence, then Matt excused himself to shower.
Ivy stared at his back as he retreated into the bathroom, worry knotting her insides. Matt had withdrawn from her. But why? What had happened?
Two nights ago, they’d almost made love. The beautiful memory still taunted her with what-ifs. And when Matt had pulled her from the burning trailer, she’d felt his body trembling with fear. When he’d held her…she’d
sensed that he wanted her.
Why did he keep resisting, continually holding her at a distance? Did he think if he made love to her she’d demand a commitment?
Granted, she thought she loved him, but she didn’t expect him to return the sentiment.
Shadows from her nightmares threatened to steal into the cabin, but Ivy mentally blocked them. For one night, she simply wanted to forget that her traumatic past had brought her here. That her father hadn’t loved her. That everyone deserted her.
That if she hadn’t repressed her memories, then Matt wouldn’t have suffered.
Tonight she wanted to feel alive again, and she wanted Matt to know that she loved him.
Even if she couldn’t speak the words out loud, she could show him.
Summoning her courage, she tiptoed toward the bathroom and eased the door open. The hot spray of water clouded the room. Matt’s clothes lay on the floor in a heap, the outline of his naked form silhouetted through the frosted shower door. Her heart stuttered.
But the need to touch Matt and hold him overwhelmed her, and she moved forward. He had his back toward her, his head turned upward, water sluicing down his throat and body. He looked tormented. Troubled. She eased the shower door open, her breath catching at the sight of his taut muscles and lean, strong body. So male. So perfect.
But anguish dug at her throat at the sight of the long gashes and jagged scars on his back. Dear heavens, what had happened to him in prison?
Matt suddenly jerked around, his eyes feral, his expression tortured as he grabbed her arms. It was almost as if he couldn’t see her.
“Matt?”
He gripped her wrists so hard she thought her bones would snap.
“Matt, you’re hurting me.”
He suddenly blinked and stared at her in horror. “God, Ivy… I’m sorry,” he said in a gruff whisper. “I…can’t stand for anyone to sneak up behind me.”
The truth dawned on her, and her stomach roiled. Then his eyes met hers and raw misery darkened the depths.
The need to take away his pain overrode her own feelings.
“I want to be with you,” she said.
He dropped his head forward, rubbing his eyes as if to clear them, but mumbled no.
She gripped his wrists this time, and forced his hands away from his face. “Look at me, Matt.”
He groaned. “Please, Ivy, go back in the den.”
“No, I told you, I want to be with you.” She released his hands, then slowly began to remove her clothes. Her shirt fell to the floor, and his eyes darted to the garment. Her bra went next, then her jeans and socks and underwear.
“Ivy…”
A second of shyness assaulted her. She’d never felt so vulnerable. Never thrown herself at a man. What if he didn’t want her?
HE KNOCKED ON TALULAH’S door, his body jumpy with tension that needed to be released. Ivy had survived and Mahoney was hovering over her at that cabin. He should just finish them both off tonight. But he’d already taken enough chances the last two days. He needed to lie low for a few hours. Regroup. Rest. Figure out his next move.
Tomorrow he’d find a way to kill Mahoney and get Ivy.
Tonight, he’d satisfy his cravings with whatever choice Talulah had for him. Hell, Red Row was every man’s fantasy come true. Beautiful, available women. Always ready when a man wanted. Great sex. No ties. And the girls would do anything he ordered.
Just like Lily Stanton years ago. Until she’d gotten greedy…
He knocked again, and lights flickered inside, the soft glow of a red light bathing the interior as the door opened.
Piles of blond hair topped her head in some kind of glittery comb concoction, but wispy tendrils escaped, feathering around her perfectly made-up face. She dotted perfume between her breasts as he entered.
“Come on in, sexy stranger. Talulah has just what you need.”
“I hope so,” he said in a low voice. “Because I’m feeling pretty needy.”
Her light laughter floated through the air like music, and a sea of candles flickered on every piece of furniture in her bedroom. Talulah had been one of his first. He wondered if she remembered. Half hoped she didn’t. That would be dangerous. Then again, he wanted her to remember. He had been good; she’d said so. One of her best pupils.
But he’d first had Lily Stanton, and she was pure heaven.
Talulah sprawled on top of the sheets, her skin glistening from bath oils, the flutter of the candlelight painting her in soft golden shadows. The red satin robe she wore parted, revealing luscious, plump breasts, and tight, red-tipped nipples. For a woman her age, she looked athletic and fit. Only the softening of her thighs told him that she was not the same young girl she’d been when he’d last seen her. Some things just got more beautiful with age, better with experience.
But those thighs had seen a lot of men over the years, and those bad times had carved tiny lines along her mouth. With a throaty sigh, she murmured, “Tell me your name.”
He smiled and shook his head. “No names, just bodies touching.”
She wiggled her eyebrows, picked up a long red feather, rose onto her knees and drew it along his cheek. Excitement stirred within him, pumping his blood through his body in a hot stream. She nipped at his shirt with her teeth, and his breath hissed out, ragged, uneven, sweat already beading on his lip, come already rising to the tip of his erection. He stripped off his clothes and tossed them to the floor, desire and pure lust rippling through him. Her gaze traveled down his chest, across his stomach to his cock. An appreciative smile tipped her ruby-red lips.
Her gaze rose to meet his while she circled one hand around his length.
“You know how I like it, Talulah.”
Suddenly an odd look flashed into those age-old eyes. He grabbed her wrists, threw her facedown on the bed and tied her wrists to the bedposts. She made a small protest, then angled her head to search his face.
“Lily wouldn’t let me take her this way,” he said, the memory clear in his head of the last time he’d been with her.
Those blond eyebrows rose, the blue mascara above her eyes climbing upward as she twisted toward him. “Oh, my goodness, sugar…it can’t be.” She hesitated, recognition dawning as she licked her lips. “It is you, isn’t it?”
He swallowed, his body as hard as a rock, his mind ticking away the inevitable.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Talulah whispered. “Your mama said you were dead….”
A rumble of laughter escaped him as he lowered himself onto the bed beside her and nudged her thigh with his dick. “Do I look dead, Talulah?”
Her appreciative gaze flew to his sex, then back to his face, but her smile disappeared. “I don’t understand. You…where have you been all these years?”
“You shouldn’t ask questions, Talulah.”
Too late, awareness flooded her. Talulah knew she had made a mistake in recognizing him. He couldn’t let her go now, not and take the chance she’d reveal his identity.
No, once he had his fill of her, it was bye-bye, Talulah.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IVY DESERVED BETTER, but Matt’s resistance shattered. He wanted her with a need so strong it defied logic. Watching her offering herself to him so unselfishly only stoked the fire burning in his body.
But she had seen his scars. Had seen his reaction…
He had to make her understand that sometimes the inner beast inside him snapped, that someday he might hurt her. Not that he’d intentionally do so, but if she came up behind him and the dark trapped him…well, sometimes he simply reacted.
“Ivy—”
“Shh.” She licked her lips, the vulnerability of her innocence glowing softly in her sparkling eyes. And some other emotion—tenderness? Affection? Love?
No, he couldn’t allow himself to believe in love. Not for a man like him.
But one night of touching, holding, intimacy…
How could he possibly turn away from her offering? After all, he h
ad almost lost her once.
And he would lose her when this whole mess ended.
But tonight they could be together. Create a beautiful memory for him to carry with him during the lonely nights ahead.
She gripped the edge of the shower door, and he drank his fill of her naked body as she climbed in the shower with him. Hot water sluiced off his back, running down his torso. Without speaking, she took the soft bath sponge, dotted it with soap and began to rub it over his chest. A shudder rippled through him, but he smiled and savored her gentle ministrations. Slowly, she swirled the soapy bubbles through his thick, coarse chest hair, over his nipples, then to his stomach. His muscles clenched as she trailed the sponge over his erection. Then she gently turned him around.
He swallowed hard, feeling raw and exposed, but she simply leaned up and kissed the soft, puckered scars on his back, trailing the soapy bubbles, then her fingers, then her lips over each wound that had been so deeply and violently embedded in his skin. He closed his eyes, willing her loving touches to heal him. Then something miraculous happened. His shame and pain slowly faded. Somehow Ivy magically made them float into the distance.
Her arms lowered, the sponge dropping to the floor as she spread her hands across his buttocks and massaged his cheeks. Pure hunger speared through him, and he whipped around, knowing he would never last if she tortured him further. He desperately wanted to touch her now. To feel her quiver in his arms before he finally made her his.
With a wicked smile, he retrieved the sponge and resoaped it. “Your turn, sugar.”
She threw her head back to give him access, the moment of abandon unlocking yet another closed door to his emotions, and his heart opened. In all his life, he’d never seen anything as beautiful as Ivy with her long blond hair damp with water, soap dribbling over her puckered nipples, her pale throat glistening with moisture as he bent to kiss it. His hands trailed over her breasts, circling each nipple until she groaned and arched into him. He suckled them next, discarding the sponge to slide his soapy hands over her flat stomach, then lower into the curls at the juncture of her thighs. She clung to his arms, moaning as he parted her legs and slid first one finger, then a second inside her. Wet and panting, he finally kissed her mouth, catching her sighs of rising euphoria into his own throat as he moved his fingers deep inside her, then withdrew to tease the rosebud of her desire. She stiffened and deepened the kiss, pressing herself into his hand as she cupped his sex and began to stroke his length. His cock was engorged to the point of exploding. But sanity emerged a second before she guided him inside her.
