by Tiffany Snow
Also by Tiffany Snow
In His Shadow, The Tangled Ivy Series
No Turning Back, The Kathleen Turner Series
Turn to Me, The Kathleen Turner Series
Turning Point, The Kathleen Turner Series
Out of Turn, The Kathleen Turner Series
Point of No Return, The Kathleen Turner Series
Blane’s Turn, The Kathleen Turner Series
Kade’s Turn, The Kathleen Turner Series
Blank Slate
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Tiffany Snow
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477829103
ISBN-10: 1477829105
Cover design by Jason Blackburn
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014958173
For Leslie, whose friendship and loyalty I cherish.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
Acknowledgments
About the Author
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 drugs 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 didn’t suspect that fact bothered him. It was the nature of spies to be secretive, but 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.
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 minimal. Some would say I was fortunate to have been born pretty, but it had always been more of a curse than blessing to me. Though without my looks, I might never 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 that 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 a teller. I’d been daydreaming of last night, putting me behind schedule.
I hurried into the kitchen, then 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.
-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. I lived in his apartment, for which he paid all the bills, but that seemed . . . different than a pile of cold, hard cash.
I didn’t know what to do with the money. I couldn’t leave it sitting out. Back in the bedroom, I hesitated, then put it in the top drawer of the nightstand. That was probably the most appropriate place for it anyway, I thought somewhat bitterly.
Now I was really late for work. I drove my own car although I had the keys for Devon’s Porsche. He’d left them when he’d left the keys to his apartment and a directive to move out of my best friend Logan’s place and into his. But driving such an expensive car made me nervous, so my old sedan was preferable.
Marcia, another teller at the bank and one of my few close friends, was pouring herself a cup of coffee in the break room by the time I hurriedly clocked in and tossed my lunch into the communal refrigerator.
“Oh, pour me a cup, too, please,” I said, somewhat breathless from my dash into the building after I’d parked my car.
She obliged, pouring a second cup and eyeing me. “You look a little tired today,” she said. “Everything okay?”
“Devon came last night,” I said, taking the cup from her. We fell into step together as we walked to the front of the bank and to our teller booths.
“It’s April and you started this . . . relationship . . . on New Year’s,” she said. “Six times in four months, that should make you happy.” Her voice was carefully even. She didn’t really “get” my relationship with Devon, but wanted to support my decisions, which was more than I could say for Logan.
“I was,” I said, pausing outside my booth, “but then this morning, I saw he�
�d left money on the kitchen counter.”
Marcia raised her eyebrows. “Money?” I nodded. She frowned. “How much?”
I glanced around before answering, then lowered my voice. “Ten thousand dollars.”
Her eyes flew open wide. “Ten thousand—”
“Shh!” I glanced around again, but no one had paid attention.
“Ten thousand dollars,” she said again, this time much more quietly, but no less astounded. “Are you kidding me right now?”
I shook my head. “I counted it.”
“Did he talk to you about it?”
“No. He just left a note.”
“And it said?” she prompted.
I pulled the scrap of paper from my pocket and handed it to her. She read it, then handed it back.
“What do you think it means?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I have no idea, but you know I don’t understand how this relationship works anyway. Maybe it’s just what he says. Some money in case you need it.”
“But I’m already living in his apartment. He pays all the bills. Why would I need money?”
“Girl, if you think you’re going to get sympathy from me because your boyfriend gave you ten grand to spend on whatever you want, you’re looking in the wrong place.” Her dry comment prodded a grin out of me.
We had to stop there because customers had entered the building. I was busy all day and when I did pause to eat lunch and chat with Marcia, we didn’t talk about Devon or dissect the events of last night. Not that it stopped me from dwelling on it all day.
Was I making a big deal out of nothing? Ten thousand dollars was a lot of money. Maybe it was a goodbye gift? Maybe I wouldn’t see him again?
The thought made my stomach clench as anxiety struck. Surely he’d tell me if he wasn’t coming back? He wouldn’t just leave and not say a word?
But I wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure he wouldn’t do just that.
I had no way of reaching him. When he called, his number was always blocked, and he didn’t call that often anyway. There was no predictable pattern to it and he rarely stayed on the line for long.
Warm spring air greeted me when I stepped out of the building a little after six o’clock. I was tired. The lack of sleep last night and a long day at work had taken their toll and I couldn’t wait to get home and relax.
Home.
Was that how I thought of Devon’s apartment? Home?
It was the closest thing I had to a home since moving to St. Louis from Dodge City, Kansas, last summer. I’d stayed with Logan for a while, but then Devon had swept into my life and one of his conditions for remaining in my life was that I move out of Logan’s place and into his. Since he was hardly ever home, I had the place to myself. A perk I’d gladly give up if it meant I’d get to see him more often. Six times over the past four months wasn’t enough, especially when the longest visit had been only ten hours.
I unlocked and climbed into my car, tossing my purse onto the passenger seat. I pulled my door shut with a slam just as the rear door opened and a man slid into the backseat.
Alarmed, I reached for my door handle. “Hey! What’re you—” But I was cut off when he reached over the seat and took a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. I gasped in pain, and with my next breath, I felt the cold slide of a blade against my throat.
“Hallo, luv. Been a while, eh?”
I caught sight of the man in my rearview mirror.
Clive.
He used to work with Devon, if I used the term work loosely. The details were sketchy. What I did know was that he’d once betrayed Devon and left him for dead, and that Clive’s brand-new wife had been murdered by a poison that had also infected me. I, however, had survived.
I swallowed. “What do you want?” I asked, proud of my steady voice.
“I want Anna back, but that’s never going to happen,” he said, speaking of his dead wife. “So I’ll settle for the next best thing.”
He stopped and I thought he wanted me to ask what that was. His fingers pulled harder at my hair and tears of pain burned at the corners of my eyes. My fingernails dug into my seat as I scrambled to think what to do.
“What’s that?” I managed.
“Revenge.”
Ice-cold panic flooded through me. He was going to kill me. I could almost taste it.
“Anna didn’t deserve to die. She was innocent,” he said.
“Killing me won’t bring Anna back,” I said. “I’m innocent, too.”
“Yes, but I don’t care about you, darling. Besides, I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway. I want Devon.”
My mouth went dry. “I-I don’t know where he is.”
“Of course you don’t. No one knows where Devon is unless he wants them to know. You’re the bait . . . and I’m the hook. See you soon, Ivy.”
Clive was up and out of my car as quickly as he’d entered, leaving me a shaky, trembling mess.
I didn’t go anywhere. I just sat there, thinking furiously. Clive was back. He wanted to kill Devon and was waiting until he came back to strike. Which meant he was watching me.
No way could I just drive to Devon’s apartment and lead Clive right there. That would be really dumb. But where else could I go? It wasn’t like I could sit in the car in the bank’s parking lot all night.
The first person I thought of was Logan, my best friend. But we’d had a falling out recently and things were still dicey. If he knew that I was in danger again because of Devon, he’d go crazy. He hated Devon as it was and this wouldn’t convince him otherwise. Not that it’d be a good idea even if he could tolerate Devon. It wasn’t like I wanted to lead a psychopath to Logan’s door.
The same was true of the rest of my friends. No one needed to be involved in my drama, especially if it might put them in danger. So that left . . .
Picking up my cell, I scrolled through my contacts until I hit upon the one I wanted. After a moment’s hesitation, I dialed the number. I wasn’t sure he would pick up, but after several rings, he answered.
“Agent Lane.”
“Scott,” I said. “I’m sorry to bother you. It’s—”
“Ivy, yeah, hey! It’s good to hear from you,” he interrupted.
I winced a little at the enthusiasm in his voice, wondering if this was a bad idea. Scott had wanted to go out on a date after New Year’s and at first that would’ve been fine. But then Devon had come back into my life and I’d had to turn Scott down when he asked for that date. Not wanting to divulge Devon’s presence stateside, I’d made up an excuse about not being ready to start dating again. He’d taken the rejection with good grace.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Um, well, not so good,” I replied. “I’m having some trouble and I thought maybe you might be willing to help me.”
“Trouble?” he asked, his voice turning cautious. “What’s going on?”
I glanced around the parking lot, uneasy. Was Clive still out there somewhere? Watching? “Maybe I can meet you someplace?” I asked.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at work.”
“Okay, there’s a restaurant not far from there called Claddagh’s. It’s an Irish pub. Do you know it?”
I did.
“Go there. I’m only fifteen minutes away.”
The pub was busy, but not too crowded, and I slid into a booth in the back to wait. The waitress came by and I ordered a glass of wine to steady my nerves.
“Ivy, it’s so good to see you.”
I looked up just as Scott leaned down and gave me a brief hug, then sat in the seat opposite me. The waitress returned, dropping off my wine and taking an order for a beer from him. She left and he scrutinized me, his expression shifting into a frown.
“You look a little pale,” he said. “What happened?”
I took a deep breath and launched into my story, recounting the history between Devon and Clive, from how Clive had betrayed Devon and left him to die, to how Devon had tracke
d Clive here a few months ago, and ending with the tragic death of Clive’s bride, Anna.
“Devon demanded to know who Clive was working for when he’d betrayed Devon, but it turned out he’d only done what he had to in order to protect his wife, Anna. But instead of Devon being able to help save her, she was poisoned by the virus and died . . . horribly.” I shuddered, remembering how the blood had poured from her eyes and ears.
“But they destroyed that virus, right?” Scott asked, referring to the synthesized airborne pathogen a company had created with the intention of selling it to the highest bidder. It was deadly, acted much like the Ebola virus, only faster, and there was no known cure.
Except for me. The only person walking around with the vaccine flowing through her veins.
“I think so,” I said. “Devon told me he’d erased all their data and that everything that had been made was gone.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like the fact that the only thing we have to go on is Devon’s word that a virus with the potential to wipe out eighty percent of the world’s population is no longer a threat.”
I shrugged helplessly. I had no way of reassuring Scott and I wasn’t about to tell him that I carried the vaccine.
He sighed, then gestured for me to continue. “Sorry for interrupting,” he said. “What’s going on that you’re in trouble?”
“Well, I told you all of that so I could tell you how he showed up today,” I said. “Clive.”
“Showed up? Showed up where?”
“In my car. The backseat. He held a knife to my throat and told me he wanted revenge.” Saying it made me relive it, and I took another fortifying gulp of wine.
“He held a knife to your throat?” Scott sounded pissed, his eyes narrowing. “And you say his name is Clive?” He took a notebook from his pocket and jotted down a few notes. “His wife was Anna. Any idea what happened to her body?”
“I don’t know,” I said, somewhat confused by the question. “I’d assume it was burned since she was infectious.”
“I need to check on that, but you’re probably right,” he said, still writing. “Our labs will want to study the body if it hasn’t been destroyed.”
“I’m afraid to go home,” I blurted, and Scott glanced up from his notebook. “I don’t know if he knows where I live, and I don’t want to lead him there if he doesn’t. He said he wants to use me to get to Devon.”
