Stab at Love

by Kristine Mason

  Nadine entered the coffee shop. Instead of going to the counter, she glanced around, saw him, then rushed to the table he’d secured.

  “Thanks for meeting with me,” she said, sitting across from him.

  “No problem, but I’m not interested in doing a follow-up piece to the charity auction. What Ivy and I have is between us.”

  She puffed her cheeks, then blew out a deep breath. “That’s not why I asked you to meet me.” Concern sharpened her eyes. “I’m not going to dance around this. I prefer to be blunt.” She reached across and rested her hand on his. “Ash, did you know Ivy has been married three times?”

  He froze. Impossible. She would have told him.

  “By the look in your eyes, I’m going to assume she hasn’t told you. But it’s true. After I ran into you on Sunday, and you told me about getting engaged, I…well, I couldn’t help myself. I had to look into her background. You’re wealthy and famous, and, hey, there are a lot of horrible people out there who love to con people out of their money.”

  “She has her own money,” he said, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind asked him how he knew this. What proof did he have? None. All he had was her word.

  “Right. Inheritance money from her mom and grandma. I don’t think this is about money, though.”

  Annoyed the woman was wasting his time, he stared at her throat and now wished he’d performed at least one of his favorite passions on her. If the woman was dead, she couldn’t bother him. “Get to the point.”

  She let out another breath. “All three of her husbands ended up dead. One was an accidental drowning, the next died when he accidentally electrocuted himself, and the last died from carbon monoxide poisoning. Each coroner in every city ruled her husbands’ deaths as accidental. Detectives had to go along with it because there was no evidence of any kind that she’d been involved. And, as you pointed out, she has her own money. In total, she only gained about fifty thousand dollars from all three husbands’ life insurance policies, which she used to cover their funerals.”

  His head spun and his heart raced. No. This wasn’t possible.

  Or was it?

  He’d assumed that something, which had been nagging at him from the moment they’d met, had been his body, his mind, grappling with the idea of love. If Nadine wasn’t bullshitting him, he now knew what that something meant.

  She was just like him.

  Anger rushing through him, he leaned forward. “If you print any of this, I will do everything in my power to destroy you. Do you understand?”

  Eyes wide, she sat back. “Yes.”

  “The cops, the ME, they let her go. Have you ever considered that Ivy has had bad luck with men?”

  “I did. And if that’s the case, I don’t think I’d want to be you right now.” She glanced around them, then also leaned forward. “Ash, I know you think you love her, and that you don’t want to believe any of this. But please read the files I sent to your email. It contains the police and MEs’ reports. Once you do, I hope you reconsider marrying Ivy.”

  “Fuck off,” he said, leaving the bitch reporter at the table, only to rush to his SUV and open up the email she’d sent. He stared at one of the files on his cell phone. His blood went ice cold. Ivy had married Liam Klien right out of high school, then they’d both attended the University of Cincinnati. During their sophomore year, while on a camping trip with a group of friends, Liam had gotten drunk and fallen into a lake, where he’d drowned. His blood alcohol had been well above the legal limits.

  He moved on to the next file, which was from the St. Louis, Missouri, ME and police. Her second husband, Jordan Garfield, who she’d married after graduating from the University of Missouri, had electrocuted himself while changing a socket at their recently purchased home. Ivy had been at the house, but there’d been no evidence of foul play.

  The final file came from the Atlanta PD and ME, and stated that Theo Darwin, Ivy’s third husband, had died while working on his car. According to Ivy’s statement, Theo had been drinking—blood alcohol levels confirmed this—and had decided to stay up late to repair his car. At some point, while the garage had been closed, he’d decided to test the engine, then had passed out with the car running. Cause of death was accidental carbon monoxide poisoning.

  As he thought back to their past conversations, how she’d only been in three relationships and had thought she’d been in love, how she’d claimed men left—and they would if you killed them—how she’d lived in Dayton, St. Louis and Atlanta…

  He laughed. The biggest, deepest belly laugh of his lifetime. “Holy fuck.” He shook his head.

  He was engaged to a serial killer.

  Now he had to kill her before she killed him.

  Chapter 11

  Ash’s house, Norfolk, Virginia

  Sunday, 6:24 p.m. Daylight Saving Time

  POISON IVY.

  Ash stared at the gold charm resting along the base of Ivy’s throat, then to his fiancée’s beautiful and innocent face. He had no idea how he’d managed to get through dinner and their conversation without strangling her.

  I love her. I don’t want her dead.

  He didn’t, but how could he sleep next to a woman who would eventually plot his ‘accidental’ death? After his meeting with Nadine, he’d read through everything she’d emailed him. Twice. He could guarantee any investigator who’d worked those three cases—especially the third one—had wanted to find a way to charge Ivy with murder. But she’d been careful, conniving and so fucking smart.

  God, he loved her. Her mind and her body. How had she done it? More importantly, why? Not one of her husbands had had money or large life insurance policies. Her first husband, Liam, had been nineteen when he’d died and hadn’t even had life insurance. The second husband, Jordan, had been working a shitty sales job when he’d met his demise and had been worth next to nothing. Theo, hubby number three, had actually made a good living, and had brought money into the marriage. But after he’d died—with a modest life insurance policy—Ivy had given everything he’d brought into the marriage to his family.

  With each marriage, she’d walked away with absolutely nothing. Was it possible he and Nadine were wrong about Ivy? If medical examiners, crime scene investigators and detectives from three different cities and states—who’d had access to top-notch investigative tools—hadn’t been able to pin any of her husbands’ deaths on her, then maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe she was unlucky in love. That could be the reason she hadn’t told him about the three men. If, on the first night they’d met, she had mentioned having been married three times, and how all of her husbands had died in freak accidents, he would have still taken her to the manor, but he would have killed her on the way home.

  Hell if he’d spend sleepless nights wondering if he was next on her list.

  “Did you hear a word I said?” Ivy asked, then took a sip of her wine.

  “Beach wedding or Vegas.” He forced a smile. “Since neither of us have family or friends, either will work. I’ll be happy with whichever place you decide.”

  She beamed. “I’m thinking the beach. Of course, I’ll have to buy a new, more conservative bathing suit.”

  He pushed his plate aside and reached for his whiskey. “Bring the green one for when we’re alone in our room.”

  “We should book a suite that has its own private pool.” She stood and gathered a few of the dinner dishes. When he pushed his chair back, she said, “I have these. Take your drink to our room. I made you a special dessert that can only be served in bed.”

  A special dessert? How thoughtful. What was it, cookies and antifreeze ice cream? Or maybe arsenic cream pie? Or maybe a venomous snake had mysteriously found its way into the house and into their bed. Had she considered that kind of ‘accidental’ death for one of her future husbands?

  “Are you sure I can’t help?”

  She kissed him on her way to the kitchen. “Nope, I’m good.”

  Good at killing. Again, why h
ad she done it? What had been the gain?

  As he made his way to their room, he considered her father and grandfather. She’d claimed to have been twelve when they’d disappeared. If that were true, he couldn’t imagine a young girl being able to murder two grown men, hide their bodies and any evidence of a crime. He thought about her grandmother, how the woman had given Ivy the charm the day before her death. Had the older woman known about Ivy’s husbands?

  He pulled back the comforter and sheets, checking for anything that shouldn’t be there. When he didn’t discover any venomous snakes under the pillows or poisonous spiders hiding in the sheets, he told himself to relax. There was no reason to be paranoid, and he needed to continue to act natural. She had no idea about his meeting with Nadine or his suspicions and had the element of surprise on his side.

  Guilt pierced him in the gut as he hid his camera under the bed. Did she have to die? He could break up with her, move to another state and leave her to hunt for her next victim. He could, but he wouldn’t. She was his, and when he’d informed her that only death would separate them, he’d meant it.

  He dismissed the guilt and focused on the anger and betrayal. Damn it, he loved her. For the first time in his life, he’d been truly happy. She’d drained him of his loneliness and had brightened the future.

  Killing her would hurt him but fuck it. He’d eventually get over it and her.

  “Ready for dessert?” she asked, carrying a tray into the room.

  He eyed the various items. Strawberries, chocolate sauce, whipped cream and two glasses filled with a drink that was probably laced with bleach. “I’m ready for you,” he said, pulling off his shirt. “What kind of drinks did you make?”

  “Brandy Alexanders. It has a yummy chocolate taste to it, which I thought would go well with the strawberries and whipped cream. If you’re not in the mood for anything sweet, I can get you something else.”

  She was sweet and sexy and, damn it, why did she have to be a husband killer? If she murdered random people for sport, he wouldn’t be preparing himself to kill her. He’d suggest they give a new meaning to ‘date night’ and kill together.

  “I’m definitely in the mood for something sweet.” He lifted the hem of her sundress, then slid his hand between her legs to cup her naked sex. He pressed two fingers into her heat and pumped a few times. When her passion moistened his fingers, he brought them to his mouth for a taste. “Yeah, definitely sweet. Get on the bed and let me have my dessert.”

  She stroked the front of his shorts and ran her hand over his erection. “For my dessert, I think I’ll be covering this with whipped cream.”

  Imagining her licking and sucking the sweet cream from his hard length had his balls tightening. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t get to that point. The longer he dragged this out, let her touch and talk to him, the harder it would be to kill her.

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said, and unable to resist her tempting lips, he kissed her.

  As she swept her tongue over his, he unzipped the back of her dress and let it fall to the floor. After unhooking her bra, he palmed her breast and teased her nipple. She hummed and undid the front of his shorts. Once those and his underwear were around his ankles, she wrapped her hand around his dick and pumped him.

  They kissed and caressed each other as they slowly made their way to the bed. Once he had her on the mattress, he spread her legs and had his dessert. Today would be their last time together, and he needed one more taste of her. He licked and kissed her sex until she was holding his head against her heat and coming on his tongue.

  Goose bumps coated her soft skin. Her legs trembled and her breath came in short pants. “Oh, wow,” she said on a sigh. “That was…wow.”

  He kissed his way up her body. Drew one nipple in his mouth, then the other, before settling himself between her legs.

  “What about my dessert?” she asked with an adorable pout.

  “Later,” he said, and thrust deep.

  Her sex gripped him as she released a groan. He wanted to hate her, erase his emotions and pretend she was just another victim, another beautiful portrait with mesmerizingly haunting eyes.

  Knowing her body and the signs of an impending orgasm, he did as he’d done at the manor and during the photo shoot. Slid his hand over her breast, then to her throat. Her gaze locked on his, not with fear, but cautious curiosity.

  “A little tighter,” she said, running her hands along his forearm and chest. “I know you like it, but not too tight. Okay?”

  His heart rate skyrocketed. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach, making him nauseous. He’d truly never understood the concept of panic until now. Once he applied enough pressure, there would be no turning back. The thought made him so lightheaded his vision swam and he had to momentarily close his eyes. When he opened them, Ivy was wearing a small smile.

  Infused with anger, he stared at her mouth. How many times had she smiled at her husbands before she’d killed them? He tightened his grip on her. Or told them she loved them? Had she loved them?

  “Do you love me?” he asked, leaning in and pressing down on her throat.

  Her eyes widened and her face reddened. While trying to pull at the hand around her neck, she mouthed, “Yes.”

  “Did you love Liam, too? What about Jordan and Theo?”

  Tears slipped from her eyes and onto the pillow as she tried to buck him off her.

  “You were eventually going to kill me, weren’t you? How were you going to do it?” His tongue grew thick, heavy and a tickle caught at the back of his throat. “Now I know why your grandma gave you the poison ivy charm. You’re fucking toxic to men,” he said, panting. He stopped fucking her to catch his breath but couldn’t. His skin tingled. His heart beat too fast. Panicking, growing dizzier by the second, he glanced to the tray of desserts, then to Ivy.

  She stared at him with a mixture of regret and sadness, then mouthed, “Sorry.”

  Sorry?

  Wheezing, trying desperately to draw air into his lungs, he rolled off her and the bed. His knee slammed into the wood floor. Ignoring the pain, he half-crawled, half-walked to the bathroom. Weak and worried about losing consciousness, he searched the vanity drawer. The backstabbing bitch had given him something and he was having a severe allergic reaction. If he didn’t inject himself with epinephrine, his airways could close, and he could go into shock or cardiac arrest.

  He could die.

  He gave up on that drawer and moved to the next. Christ, where was his medication? He always kept it in the same places throughout the house and in his car.

  “Looking for this?” Ivy stood in the doorway, naked and holding the medicine that would save his life. “When I was going through your email, I came across the one from Nadine Marx.”

  Gasping, his body heavy, his head swimming, he slumped against the vanity.

  “FYI, I’m a snooper. You really shouldn’t keep a notebook with all of your important passwords. Or at least lock it away.”

  “Please,” he panted, and tried to will his arm to reach for the injector.

  “Anyway, you gave me no choice.” She walked over to him and removed the injector’s safety cap. “I discovered your secret room two days ago,” she said, jabbing the needle into his leg and sending epinephrine into his body. “I’ve seen enough dead people to know when I’m looking at a picture of one—or nineteen.” After opening the linen closet and pulling her cell phone from between the towels, she sat cross legged on the floor. “The slit throats on a few of the women were also a dead giveaway.”

  As his muscles relaxed and his airway opened, his heart rate slowed and he dragged in several deep breaths. “Messy,” he managed.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I have no doubt. I’m assuming that’s why you prefer strangulation.”

  He nodded and licked his dry lips.

  “Why did you kill those women?” she asked.

  “Their eyes. I love to capture the fear in them.”

  “You said
mine were beautifully unearthly. I think you even used the word enchanting. Why didn’t you kill and photograph me?”

  “I planned to, then I fell in love with you. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved. I couldn’t imagine my life without being able to look into your eyes.” He glanced to the poison ivy charm. “Why’d you kill your husbands?”

  She shrugged. “Liam’s death wasn’t planned. We’d only been married for about six months when the butterflies stopped flapping their wings.” She sent him a rueful grin. “Grandma used to tease me about how I loved those butterflies fluttering around my belly. But I did love that sensation. I still do.”

  “Did you kill your grandma?”

  “God, no. Although she did figure out I killed Liam and Jordan. She died before she had the chance to meet Theo. For the record, I’ve never harmed a member of my family.”

  “But your dad and grandpa…”

  “Grandma did that.”

  “You said you didn’t know where their bodies were. You lied to me.”

  She chuckled. “Jesus, Ash, I almost killed you and you’re going to reprehend me for lying?”

  He grinned at the idiocy of it all. “You make it sound ridiculous.”

  “Because it is.” She checked the time. “Okay, back to Liam. He wanted me to quit school so I could work fulltime and help pay for his tuition. His plan was for him to graduate, start his career and once we had extra money, then I could go back and finish my degree. I didn’t like his plan. He wouldn’t listen to me, though.

  “The night he died, we were camping with friends. He was so drunk, it was embarrassing. I went to bed in our tent and woke up around one in the morning. He wasn’t there, so I went to check on him. He’d gone down to the lake and had passed out on the pier. When I tried to nudge him awake, he just snored.”

  There was a faraway look in her eyes as she stared past him. “In that moment, I hated him. He’d killed my butterflies and was trying to kill my college career. So, I pushed him into the water to wake his stupid drunk ass up and teach him a lesson. I expected the water to revive him, but he just sank.” She blinked a few times before meeting his gaze. “You’re wondering why I didn’t go for help. I stood on the pier for probably a solid ten minutes and thought about it, then I honestly panicked. I jumped into the water and tried to pull him to shore. He was too heavy, so I ran to the campsite and woke up our friends. Liam was dead by the time they got there, and I was no longer married.”