Shadow of a Doubt (Tangled Ivy Book 2)

by Tiffany Snow

  Scott frowned. “Why would he think using you would get to Devon? He left months ago.”

  This was the part I’d been dreading. I didn’t speak and I felt my cheeks get warm. Scott’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Ivy,” he said. “He did leave months ago, right? You haven’t seen or heard from him since Paris, right?”

  I couldn’t look in his eyes any longer. My gaze dropped, which was answer enough for Scott. He muttered a harsh curse.

  “Tell me.”

  I swallowed hard, then answered. “He came back. Explained to me why he’d done what he had. Told me he wanted me to move into his place.”

  “So he’s here now?” Scott interrupted. “You didn’t want to lead Clive to Devon at his apartment?”

  “No,” I said. “I live in his apartment, but he’s rarely here. He’s only been back a handful of times since New Year’s.”

  “Since New Year’s,” Scott repeated, and I saw understanding dawn in his eyes. “So when you turned me down . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know if the FBI would still be looking for him. I didn’t want to lie to you.”

  “But you did,” he said, bitterness in his voice.

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “I don’t agree with that, but it’s neither here nor there at this point,” he said. “So Clive had the opportunity to kill you, but didn’t. He wants Devon.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, just call him,” Scott said with a shrug. “If you’re afraid he’s monitoring your cell or something, you can use mine. Warn Devon about Clive, then tell him to get his ass back here and take care of it. It’s not like you need some psycho holding a knife to your throat.” He dug his cell phone from his pocket and held it out to me, but I didn’t take it.

  “Um, I can’t,” I said.

  “Can’t what?”

  “Can’t call Devon.”

  “Why not?”

  This was so awkward, I hated even having to say it. “I don’t have his number,” I confessed. “Or any other way to reach him.”

  Scott looked at me in disbelief, surprise rendering him momentarily speechless. Then he said, “You have no way to communicate with Devon? No phone number or emergency contact information?”

  I shook my head.

  “What if you need something?” he asked, and now I could see anger building in his eyes. “He just pops into town whenever he feels like it and leaves the same way?”

  It was about a thousand times worse hearing Scott say this than Marcia. At least Marcia was a woman and didn’t judge me—women the world over did stupid things for men and we all knew it. But having a man look at me like I was out of my mind to allow myself to be in a relationship like this . . . I wasn’t able to keep my mortification at bay and I could feel my face burning.

  “I didn’t say it was a perfect relationship,” I murmured, at a loss as to what else I could say.

  “A perfect—are you kidding me?” Scott fumed. “You’re in danger and have no way to reach him. It’s not a relationship, Ivy. It’s called having a fuck buddy.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face at the utter scorn and derision in his words.

  “Excuse me.” I slid out of the booth. “I shouldn’t have called you.”

  “No, wait,” Scott said, jumping to his feet and catching hold of my arm. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I don’t mean to sound so harsh. Please stay.”

  I stared at my feet, the ground blurring as unshed tears built in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and he did sound contrite. “Sit down. Please.”

  Finally, I gave a curt nod and sat back down in the booth. Scott took his seat again, too.

  “Okay, so I won’t go into my thoughts on how Devon is treating you,” Scott said. “Let’s just solve the problem, okay?”

  I looked up at him. “Sounds good.”

  Scott took a good look at my watery eyes and his jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

  “So you can’t go to Devon’s apartment because you’ll lead this Clive guy there,” Scott said. “And I’m assuming you don’t want to lead Clive to where you used to live either, right?”

  I nodded. “Plus, Logan and I aren’t exactly getting along right now,” I said.

  “Somehow I doubt he’d care about that if he knew you were in trouble.”

  I didn’t argue. It was probably true, but that didn’t change the fact that I wasn’t going to drag Logan into it.

  “So I guess I see why you called me,” Scott said with an almost imperceptible sigh.

  “I thought . . . since you’re an FBI agent . . . you might be able to help me,” I said. “I don’t want Clive to climb into my car again.” My throat thickened and I had to brush a hand across my eyes.

  “Shh, it’ll be okay,” Scott said, reaching across the table and taking my hand. “Let’s get some dinner and we’ll figure it out, okay?”

  He sounded so kind and capable, his hand reassuring on mine, and I nodded.

  We had dinner—well, Scott ate. I mostly picked at a salad, his words about Devon echoing inside my head. Combined with what I knew to be Marcia’s disapproval, plus Logan’s, it seemed everyone thought what Devon and I had was a complete and utter joke that was entirely on me.

  Scott made small talk, asking me how my job was going and things like that, which I readily answered. We steered carefully clear of talk about Devon. I saw his eyes flick appreciatively over me a couple of times and I regretted my choice in clothes for the day. I’d worn a Michael Kors dress I’d found on the clearance rack at Nordstrom that I loved, but I was afraid maybe it was sending the wrong message to Scott.

  The top was tight and black with a low-cut scoop neckline, while the skirt was tan with a black trim that edged an open slit reaching from the hem at mid-calf to my upper thigh. I didn’t have a lot of cleavage to display, but the black and gold belt made my waist look tiny and the dress showed a lot of leg, which I had plenty of. Paired with my gold crisscross espadrille wedges, it was a businesslike yet still sexy outfit. Clothes were my Achilles’ heel and I liked dressing well, though my bank account didn’t appreciate my shopping habits.

  I tried to pay for dinner, but Scott insisted. He took my elbow as we walked outside. The evening was cool, but the sun was setting a little later every day, so the last rays of sunshine still lit the twilight sky.

  “Why don’t you come and stay with me for a few days,” Scott suggested. “Until you have time to figure this out. I’ll drive you to Devon’s apartment for some clothes and we’ll go from there.”

  I was taken aback, though his kindness shouldn’t have surprised me. “Um, I don’t know,” I said. “That sounds like an awful inconvenience for you.”

  Scott shrugged, smiling ruefully. “I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

  I didn’t smile back. I didn’t like being the said damsel, and I didn’t want to have to be saved. “I’d rather just be a damsel in a normal life.”

  He shook his head, his expression turning grim. “That won’t happen until you break it off with Devon.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, and neither could I argue with his plan to let me stay with him for a few days. I could leave a note for Devon . . . for whenever he decided to come back.

  We drove in his car and I directed him to Devon’s apartment. He followed me inside the lobby, sticking quite close and gazing into the deepening shadows.

  “Nice place,” he observed, once we were exiting the elevator on Devon’s floor.

  I was unlocking the apartment when Beau poked his head out from his place across the hall.

  “Hey there, Ivy,” he said in his usual jovial way. “I heard two voices and thought maybe Devon had come back. I have an in for this amazing and rare merlot that I just know he’d totally love.”

  Beau was talking fast, but his shrewd gaze was sizing up Scott.

  “Hi, Beau,” I said. “No, he’s not back yet. This is . . . my friend. Scott. Scott,
this is Beau.”

  Beau stepped out, his smile friendly as he held out his hand to shake Scott’s.

  “Nice to meet you,” Beau said. “Any friend of Ivy’s is a friend of mine.”

  “I bet,” Scott said, and I could tell by the way he said it that he’d already figured Beau out—a salesman who could sell ice to an Eskimo.

  “Are you a wine guy?” Beau asked. “Because if you are, I’ve got—”

  “I’m more of a beer kind of guy,” Scott interrupted. “But thanks.”

  “Sure, man. No problem.”

  “We’ll talk to you later,” I said, walking into the darkened apartment. Beau waved as Scott followed me inside. I closed the door behind me and reached for the light switch. “Sorry about Beau. He’s a very enthusiastic sales—”

  I stopped talking.

  “Holy shit,” Scott breathed.

  I had to agree.

  It seemed Clive had already found the place . . . and completely trashed it.

  The furniture was ripped apart, glass broken, the television shattered. Everything that could be destroyed had been. Red paint had been tossed over the entire apartment in drips and splatters. Against the whites and ivories of the fabric and carpet, it was garish and macabre.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, taking a step forward. Scott grabbed me, yanking me to a halt.

  “Don’t move,” he said. He was looking down at the floor in front of me. I followed his gaze. Saw nothing.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He nodded toward my feet. “There’s a trip wire. Do you see it? It’s transparent. Difficult to spot.”

  I looked harder and after a few moments, I saw it. Barely two inches in front of my leg, it was a hair-thin wire that ran across the entry, but I couldn’t see what the ends were attached to. Not that it mattered. I was sure whoever had done this hadn’t rigged it so that balloons and confetti rained down on the one who triggered the wire.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Now we very slowly and very carefully retrace our steps out of here,” Scott said. “And I’ll call the bomb squad.”

  A bomb.

  Scott kept a tight grip on my arm, carefully leading us backward and out the door to the hallway. Moments later, he was on his phone and I heard sirens in the distance. He banged on Beau’s door, ordering him to take me outside and not let me out of his sight, then he began evacuating the rest of the building.

  The bomb squad came, along with a lot of other official-looking people, both in uniform and out of uniform. A few of them wanted to ask me questions, and Scott helped me field those.

  It was a friend’s apartment. No, I didn’t know where he was. No, I didn’t know who would have done that, and so on.

  “Hey, Lane,” a man called out, heading toward us. Scott turned as he approached. “Good job spotting that,” he said. “The wire was hooked to a bomb loaded with shrapnel. Guaranteed to kill anyone within a ten-foot radius and leave nothing but body parts behind.”

  A shudder went through me. I’d nearly set off that bomb. If Scott hadn’t seen it . . .

  “Any prints?” Scott asked, taking my hand in his and slotting our fingers together. It was reassuring and I held on much too tightly.

  “Doubtful,” the man said. “It was skillfully made and triggered. Whoever did that isn’t dumb enough to leave prints behind. But we’ll check.”

  “Thanks,” Scott said. “Has the rest of the place been checked out?”

  “Yeah. We’re giving the all-clear to the other residents now.”

  Scott led me by the hand back up into the apartment. I hesitated at the open door.

  “It’s okay,” he assured me. “If the guys say it’s clear, then it’s clear.”

  His obvious faith and trust in the competence of his friends helped ease my fear. We headed inside.

  I wasted little time in throwing clothes that were salvageable and other necessities in a suitcase. While it may have been safe, the devastation done to the apartment and the yellow police tape that now surrounded it were unnerving. I thought about leaving Devon a note, then discarded the idea. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t see that something had obviously happened. He knew how to reach me, if he wanted to.

  That last thought was bitter, and I realized that some of what everyone else saw in our relationship was beginning to sink in to me, too. I’d been terrorized twice today, by the same man that Devon knew was alive and who had betrayed him once before. Devon had barely spoken to me the other night, hadn’t even asked how I was doing or anything about my life. We’d had sex and he’d left after leaving the money on the counter.

  Speaking of which . . .

  I threw that in the bottom of my suitcase, too, piling my clothes on top of it. If I was going to be playing a cat-and-mouse game with Clive, then I might need that money.

  “Ready,” I said, rolling my suitcase into the kitchen where Scott stood, waiting.

  “Did you want to leave him a note or something?” he asked.

  I tipped my chin up a notch. “No. He’s a smart man. I’m sure he’ll figure it out.” I shrugged. “Or not. Perhaps his current fuck buddy will keep him too occupied for him to care what happens to me.”

  Scott’s lips tipped up in an appreciative grin. “Let’s go then.”

  Beau and his sixth sense had him popping out of his apartment again as we left.

  “You okay?” he asked me in an undertone. Scott took the hint and continued down the hall, where he pressed the button for the elevator.

  I nodded. “I’m fine. I’m just going to stay with Scott for a while. I have no idea when Devon is going to be back—if he’ll be back.”

  “If I see him, want me to tell him where you are?”

  Tell Devon I’d left and moved in with another man? I smiled. “Yes. Do that.”

  The elevator dinged and I hurried down the hall and into the waiting car next to Scott. The door slid shut.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Scott drove me back to my car and I followed him to his place. He lived in an older suburb about ten miles from downtown. The apartment building wasn’t as new or luxurious as Devon’s, but the neighborhood seemed decent. Scott took my suitcase and I followed him inside.

  It was a two-story complex with four apartments on each level. We took the stairs up and went to the first door on the left. Scott unlocked it and pushed the door open, letting me precede him. When he stepped inside, he flipped on a nearby lamp.

  The space immediately said “bachelor” to me, with a black leather sofa, bigger-than-appropriate television, and blank walls. But it was nice, the furniture tasteful and everything clean and picked up. There was no dirty laundry on the floor or dirty dishes lying around. No half-empty pizza boxes littered what I could see of the kitchen.

  “How long have you lived here?” I asked.

  “They assigned me here almost a year ago,” he replied. “I have an extra bedroom I can put your things in. There’s not currently a bed in there, but you can sleep in mine and I’ll take the couch.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I protested, feeling guilty. This guy had gone out of his way for me once before, and now he was doing it again. I knew he was interested in me, but I had nothing to offer him in return.

  “I know I don’t have to,” he said, flashing me a grin. “I want to.”

  Our gazes caught and held. Scott was tall, even for me, and I was a tall woman at five foot nine. His shoulders were broad and well muscled, his hair and eyes both a deep chestnut. If not for Devon, Scott would have definitely caught my eye. He was a good man, an honest man, who I’d spent Christmas with walking the streets of Paris. While it had been a nightmare because of being stranded there and hunted by Devon, Scott had taken care of me and turned a horrible situation into a really nice memory.

  “Thank you,” I said, trying to put a lot of emphasis and meaning into those two words, because at the moment, I didn’t know what I would’ve done without him.

  “It’s my pleasu
re,” he said. “There’s a bathroom in the hallway. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll go make up the bed for you.”

  He left the room, closing the door behind him. I sighed, pushing a hand through my hair. He was right. Nothing was going to be normal in my life while Devon was still a part of it. But was he a part of it? Fuck buddy. Was that all I was to Devon? Scott was a man—he would know how men viewed these things. Maybe I’d been romanticizing the situation with Devon. He’d been the first man I’d ever had a successful and gratifying sexual relationship with. I’d been afraid that years of abuse at the hands of my stepbrother, Jace, had broken me permanently. Devon had changed all of that.

  Maybe it was time to acknowledge the fact that I was nothing more than a sexual diversion, a liaison, for Devon and move on with my life.

  But he wanted you to move into his apartment, my traitorous subconscious whispered. Surely that means something.

  Well, maybe it did, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he was around to share the apartment—or life—with me.

  I dug for my toiletries and pajamas—soft pants with a matching camisole top—and headed into the bathroom. After scrubbing off my makeup, changing my clothes, and brushing out my hair, I felt more normal. Coming out of the bathroom, I spotted Scott in the living room sitting on the couch. When he saw me, he jumped to his feet.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Are you hungry?” he asked. His gaze wandered over me and the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

  “I’m fine,” I said. It felt slightly awkward to be forced into a more intimate situation with someone that I didn’t know all that well.

  “I was just watching TV,” he said. “Want to join me?”

  “Sure.”

  The sofa was plenty big that I didn’t have to sit right next to him, which would’ve been weird and uncomfortable. I was very conscious that I didn’t want to lead him on in any way, though I knew he was attracted to me. I was attracted to him, too, but I already had a mucked-up relationship. I didn’t need another.