Читать книгу Last Kiss Goodbye - Rita Herron - Страница 11

IVY SLAMMED THE DOOR to the cabin, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as she slid the curtain aside and peered out the corner of the rain-lashed window. A tree branch scraped the glass, wind rattled the pane and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t seen the driver or the make of the vehicle that had sideswiped her, but she had stopped, and the man who owned the gas station had rushed to check on her. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen anything helpful, either. Still, for insurance purposes, she’d driven to the sheriff’s department, met the deputy and filed a report. He’d muttered something about the weather making teenagers do crazy things. But she wasn’t at all sure teenagers had been driving the car.

And now someone had been sitting in that SUV outside her cabin. Someone who’d been watching her.

Someone who meant her harm.

She’d sensed an aura of anger when she’d met his eyes through the window. Was he the same man who’d intentionally sideswiped her earlier? The person who’d been following her in Chattanooga for the last few weeks? And if so, what did he want? Why would someone wish to hurt her?

Fog coated the windows, the darkness cloaking the room adding to her nervousness. The scents of pine floors, dust and cleaning solution wafted around her, and a spider spun an intricate web in the corner to trap its prey.

Why did Ivy feel that someone might be spinning a web to trap her?

Her chest tightened. She’d varied the routines. Broken the patterns. Ventured to a new place.

And now the ominous threat of danger ate at her nerves.

Hoping the man had gone, she glanced again at the SUV, but it remained. She tried to remember if she’d seen it earlier, maybe in town. It looked black, although with her color blindness she never could be quite sure. The windows were tinted. Nothing else distinguishable.

Shivering, she grabbed the afghan off the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders, trying to warm herself and stop the trembling. What if the man came after her tonight?

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and she startled, her breath catching. The familiar stirring of another panic attack teetered on the surface, and she forced herself to take steady, deep breaths as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Just because Miss Nellie had filled her head with superstitious stories didn’t mean they were real. And just because a man was parked near her cabin didn’t mean he intended to harm her.

Suddenly, the door of the SUV swung open, and a giant emerged, silhouetted in shadows, rain drenching his face and body. He had to be at least six-four, with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen, dark shaggy hair and stark features that gave him a wolfish look. Another bolt of lightning highlighted his profile, and she gasped at the jagged scar on his left cheek. Matt Mahoney.

She recognized him from the television newscast.

He stalked slowly across the muddy ground, and she gripped the window ledge for support. But a few feet from her cabin, he veered off toward the neighboring one. Her breath gushed out in relief, and she raked her trembling hand through her hair in frantic movements.

He must be staying in the cabin beside her. Dear Lord, did he know she was here? Had he been waiting for her to return, to go inside?

Forcing herself away from the window, she flipped on the lamp, then let out a bloodcurdling scream. Jagged bold letters were scrawled on the wall: Leave Town Or Die.

Although the words looked brown to her, a dark, thick substance smeared the knotty pine walls.

Another shudder rippled through her as the stench enveloped her, and she screamed again in horror. The warning had been written in blood, and a dead chicken lay on the bed below it, its body and feathers bloody and mangled.

MATT FROZE, silently telling himself he’d imagined the scream from the cabin next door, that the shrill sound had been the wind blowing.

But he glanced at Ivy’s cabin, anyway, and a sense of foreboding washed over him. If she had cried out, he was the last person to help her. He had his own agenda this go-around, and it sure as hell didn’t include rescuing her ass again. Even if it was the prettiest piece he’d seen in years.

No, his boots remained firmly planted on the ground.

But his conscience kicked in.

If the real killer still lived in town, he’d be nervous about Ivy’s return. Just as he wouldn’t be thrilled to see him.

What if he was in there now? What if he attacked Ivy….

Muttering a curse, limbs tight with agitation, Matt stalked through the mud to her cabin, then pounded on the door. A mixture of emotions pummeled him—dread, excitement, the need for revenge. After all these years, he’d finally meet her face-to-face, look into those eyes and watch her reaction to him in person. Several tense seconds passed and he knocked again, but Ivy didn’t answer. The pounding storm filled the air with foreboding.

Christ.

Various ugly scenarios roared through his head. Ivy being raped and murdered. Her throat slashed like her mother’s had been. Blood covering the goddamn floor.

Even as he assured himself Ivy was fine, that he had imagined her cry for help, his hand snaked forward to reach for the doorknob. He wouldn’t sleep unless he knew she was safe. Besides, if a murder occurred in the cabin next to him, he’d probably wind up in jail once more, taking the fall.

He couldn’t be locked behind bars. Not ever again.

Self-preservation kicked in, and he halted just before his hand closed on the knob. His fingerprints had landed him in trouble the first time. He wouldn’t make the same mistake. Instead, he dragged his shirttail from his jeans, wrapped it around his hand and clutched the doorknob.

Slowly, he pushed open the wooden door, the rusty hinges squeaking. Ivy cried out again, then flung herself against the sofa, clenching the back. He raised his hand to calm her, at the same time searching the dimly lit room for an intruder.

“Wh-what do you want?” Ivy whispered.

“Is someone here?”

“No…”

He jerked his head toward her with a frown. She was cowering from him. Then her gaze flashed sideways quickly, as if to search for something to protect herself, and his temper spiked.

“You don’t remember me, Ivy?”

Those big green eyes that had tugged at him when she was little did a number on him now. They snatched at his sanity and resolve. She was afraid of him. Her reaction shouldn’t bother him, but it cut him like a knife.

He knew he looked like hell. His hair was too long and he needed a shave. Scarred as he was, he probably looked downright scary. The past few days, little kids had stared at him on the street. Women had yanked their heads away. Old ladies had whispered and rushed past as if he were some hideous beast.

Ivy’s fingers dug into the upholstery. “Yes, I saw you on the news. You’re Matt Mahoney.”

He balled his hands into fists. Her gaze followed the movement, and she backed up another step. She thought he intended to hit her, he realized. Then he remembered her old man beating on her and her mama, and understood her reaction.

“I heard you scream,” he said in a gruff voice. “I came to see if you were all right.” Her gaze flashed sideways again, and he followed the movement.

“What the hell?” His gut tightened at the sight of the bloody warning on the wall. Then he saw the dead animal and cursed.

“You were outside in that SUV, watching me.” Her voice rose in hysteria. “You’ve been following me, haven’t you? You were in Chattanooga, too. And now this…”

He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t do this, Ivy. And I haven’t been following you.” Not technically, anyway.

She flinched as lightning illuminated the room, and he found himself wanting to turn his head to spare her from seeing his scar. But he forced himself to remain immobile, his gaze pinning her in place. It was her fault he’d ended up in jail. Her fault he’d been convicted.

She needed to face the reality of what her silence had cost him. The brutality he’d suffered because he’d helped her.

And she needed to give him some answers.

IVY CLUNG TO THE AFGHAN, the anger and bitterness in Matt Mahoney’s body language stealing her breath. He’d been tough back when she’d known him, but just a teenager looking for trouble and a good time.

Now, he seemed hard. Cold. Aged and bitter. Prison had probably done that to him. She tried not to think about the horrors he must have endured inside. She’d read stories, seen articles, news reports….

She’d wanted to think that he’d survived.

But the icy bleakness in his eyes told a different story. Still physically fit, he stood tall and proud, though, like a warrior prepared for battle. The long gash on his cheek appeared even more stark in real life, but the rest of his body was sculpted like an athlete’s. His muscular arms were defined, and he didn’t have a fat cell anywhere that she could see. And in spite of his shaggy wet hair, the scar and his brooding expression, he was more masculine, sexier, than she’d ever imagined.

But his soul was completely black. It had been destroyed.

She offered a tentative smile, but a warning flashed in his eyes.

A warning she would definitely heed.

Maybe he had left the bloody message and chicken as a sick idea of revenge.

“I was watching you outside,” he snarled, “but I didn’t write that threat or kill that chicken, Ivy. Unlike your father, my style is not to terrorize women.” He cut his eyes toward the wall, then started toward her, his fists still clenched, his long arms swinging by his side.

Reacting on autopilot, from memories Ivy thought she’d long ago forgotten, she threw up a hand. “Stop. Let’s talk.”

He didn’t stop, though. He kept coming, his heavy boots hammering the wood floor, his husky, angry breathing rattling the tension-laden air. She frantically searched for a weapon. Glanced at the phone, gauging whether or not she could reach it.

His gaze fell to it, and he gestured toward the handset. His hand was steady. Scarred, too, with large knuckles, his fingernails short and blunt. “You going to call the sheriff, or am I?”

Her pulse clamored in her throat. “You really want me to phone the sheriff?”

“Hell, no,” Matt muttered. “The law is the last damn thing I want to see my first night in town. But if someone’s threatening you, you have to inform the cops.”

He was right. She grabbed the phone and punched 911. Seconds later, an operator’s voice echoed over the line, and Ivy explained the situation.

“I’ll send Sheriff Boles right over,” the operator said. “Are you sure you’re all right, miss?”

Ivy squeezed the phone so tightly her fingers grew numb. No, she wasn’t sure. Matt Mahoney’s steely look had started her heart pounding.

“Miss?”

“Y-yes, just send the sheriff.”

“All right. Hang tight.”

Ivy’s hands trembled as she placed the handset back into the cradle. “The sheriff’s on his way.”

Matt grimaced. “It looks like someone doesn’t want you in town, Ivy.”

Her frayed nerves shattered at his blunt tone. “But no one here knows my real identity.”

A deep sarcastic chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Apparently someone does.”

She shuddered. He was right. The sideswipe incident earlier suddenly took on a more dire meaning. But who had figured out her identity? And why would they want to run her out of town?

Matt cleared his throat. “I imagine they won’t be too happy to see me, either.”

She bit her lip, a million questions racing through her mind. “Why did you come back?”

“Why do you think?”

He stepped closer, so close she inhaled the scent of soap, something clean and fresh like Irish Spring. But another more woodsy odor radiated from him, as well, all primal male. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he waited for her reply. But she couldn’t find her voice.

“I came to see you,” he finally said in a gruff voice.

“Me?” Her voice quivered. “But…why?”

He lifted his big hand and twirled a damp strand of hair around his finger. Tension radiated from every pore in his body, the heat between them igniting a mixture of fear and excitement in her belly. He had the darkest, deepest eyes she’d ever seen. Brown. No, black. He looked so lost and angry. So alone.

The way she’d felt so many times.

His pain drew her. She suddenly wanted to wipe it from his eyes. Assure him that life wasn’t all evil.

Miss Nellie would say she was a sucker.

That erotic dream floated back. Matt Mahoney kissing her. Stripping off her clothes. Touching her in secret places. Eliciting feelings she’d never felt before. Making her come alive.

A bold and sexy look flared in his eyes. Hunger. Lust. The urgent need of a man to take what he wanted.

She backed away, frightened by the potency of that desire. Half wanting it, half terrified of the desperate need that accompanied it.

He chuckled sardonically. “Don’t worry, Ivy, I’m not going to attack you.” Still, he moved closer again, until he was only a breath away, until his masculine scent trapped her like honey did a fly. With a soft sigh, he traced a finger down the side of her cheek, and her skin tingled.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for us to meet face-to-face, so you could explain why you didn’t tell everyone what happened that night,” he said in a husky voice. “Why you let them throw me in a cell to rot for the rest of my life when you knew I was innocent?”

MATT STEELED HIMSELF AGAINST the pain that flashed on Ivy’s face. He had every right to be angry. To confront her. After all, he’d waited fifteen damn years to do so. Half a lifetime, during which his life had disintegrated, where he’d been shunned and cast aside. But he hadn’t banked on the fact that frightening Ivy would carve a pit of guilt in his belly. Make him feel like the low-down criminal everyone thought him to be.

Or that the sudden attraction he felt for her might be reflected in her own expressive eyes.

No, he’d imagined her reaction. Been so desperate for a woman that he’d twisted fear into desire. Ivy was too young, too beautiful, too innocent for a man like him.

She licked her lips and his throat went dry.

“I…I’m sorry, Matt.”

“Sorry?” he hissed. “Sorry doesn’t make up for prison, Ivy.”

“I know.” Her eyes flickered with regret, and he silently cursed, wishing he could drag his gaze away from her soft, luscious-looking mouth. The other half of him wanted to kiss her. Taste those sweet pink lips. Swirl his tongue inside and watch her fall apart in his arms.

Damn. Ivy was not a little girl anymore. And he wanted her with a vengeance.

Yet, just as they had fifteen years ago, emotions moved inside him, careening around like he was on a free fall ride. A gut instinct to protect her rifled through him. Even if it meant protecting her from him.

Only Ivy did that to him. Made him think. Feel. Want things he couldn’t have. Dreams he couldn’t afford to acknowledge.

“I don’t remember what happened that night, Matt,” she said in a low, strained voice. “I…that’s the reason I came back here. I need to remember.”

He flattened his mouth in a thin line. Wanted to tell her he didn’t believe her. But the truth radiated in her tortured eyes.

Disturbed by his reaction to her, he dragged his gaze away. Scanned the room. Saw a dingy-looking, cloth Santa perched on top of the faded wooden dresser. Memories crashed back. Ivy clinging to a Santa doll that night. Dropping it in the mud. Him picking it up and carrying her, trying to shield her against the rain.

His gut clenched as another memory followed. One he’d forgotten. Ivy in town, stopping to give half of her peanut butter sandwich to a homeless blind man begging on the street. Her clothes had been hanging off of her, her shoes ratty. She’d barely had enough to eat herself. But she’d been kind to the old man.

A siren wailed from outside, and Matt swallowed, every nerve in his body bunched tight. She’d seen him looking at the Santa, and her face had turned ashen. Had she really blocked out memories of that night?

The siren grew louder. His first instinct urged him to flee as fast as he could. But running would only make him look guilty, just as hiding out the night of the Stantons’ slaying had.

Good God. How had he landed himself into this mess his first night back in Kudzu Hollow?

A pounding on the door brought reality back, and Ivy rushed to answer it.

A.J. Boles, his teenage buddy, stood in the doorway, wearing a sheriff’s uniform, rain dripping off the brim of his hat. Matt couldn’t have been more surprised if his own sorry-assed daddy had returned to welcome him home.

A.J. had been a hellion in their day, had liked vandalizing cars, playing with fire, drinking and women. Yeah, he’d especially liked women. He’d even bragged about screwing the married ones, choosing who to bang just because he hated their rich husbands. A.J.’s own daddy had been pretty well-off, was some big shot real estate developer. Matt had never understood their relationship, only known that A.J. and his old man hadn’t gotten along.

Like he and his own old man hadn’t, but for different reasons.

“Sheriff Boles. You’re Ann Ivy?”

Ivy nodded, glanced sideways and met Matt’s gaze, silently asking if he’d reveal her real identity.

But Matt remained silent, hidden by the shadows studying his former friend. The cocky attitude remained as A.J. skimmed his eyes over Ivy, mentally undressing her.

Matt clenched his fists, that protective instinct swelling inside him again.

No, A.J. hadn’t changed. He still liked women. Was a taker. Then again, all the women had liked him, and had given it up pretty easily.

But the idea of him taking anything from Ivy roused Matt’s anger.

Reining in the control he’d mastered in prison, he forced himself to tamp down his temper. A.J.’s sandy-blond hair had gotten darker. His lean body had filled out, and he’d grown an inch or two, putting him around five-eleven.

“What’s the problem, ma’am?” A.J. asked.

Ivy waved him in. “Come on inside, and I’ll show you.”

Three steps in, A.J. finally noticed Matt. He froze, thumbs in his belt loops, feet spread wide.

“Holy hell, if it isn’t Matt Mahoney. I heard you got released.”

“Word spreads fast.”

A.J.’s gaze shot toward the wall, and his eyes widened as he spotted the blood-smeared writing and dead animal. “Shit.” He turned to Ivy. “When did this happen?”

“It was like that when I arrived here tonight.”

A.J. quickly glanced at Matt, his eyebrows raised as if waiting on an explanation. Matt squared his shoulders, searched for the old familiar connection between him and his buddy, felt tension knot his neck at A.J.’s assessment. He’d had fifteen years of being stared at with suspicion, as if he was a rabid dog that preyed on children. As if he deserved to die.

He hadn’t expected it from A.J.

“Mahoney?” A.J. finally asked.

Disappointment assaulted Matt at the silent implication. He’d hoped that his friend would remember old alliances. After all, they’d fished together. Set off stink bombs in the girls’ locker room so they could watch them run outside in their underwear. Hidden in the closet with nude girlie magazines and laughed at the raunchy jokes. And they’d taken their first trip to Red Row together, another bonding of sorts.

Then Matt had ended up in jail, and A.J. had wound up sheriff.

Strange how the world went around.

“Matt’s staying next door. I screamed and he came to check on me,” Ivy answered for him.

“You two are here together?” A.J. asked in an incredulous voice.

“No,” Matt cut in before Ivy could bother. A.J. scowled. “We don’t want trouble around here, Mahoney.”

Matt shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Who says I’m here to cause trouble?”

“Why else would you have come back?”

Matt grinned. “To see my old friends, of course.”

A.J. didn’t take the bait. “When did you get to town?”

“Tonight,” Matt said, meeting A.J.’s glare head-on. “Just a few hours ago.”

“You’re here one day and now this?”

A.J. gestured toward the bloody writing, then shifted on the balls of his feet. “Do you have any idea who did this, ma’am?”

Ivy shook her head. “No…”

“Why would someone want to hurt you?” A.J. asked.

“I don’t know,” Ivy said quietly.

A.J. hesitated, then turned on that charming smile. The ladies’ man was back. “If you don’t tell me the truth, I can’t help you.”

A heartbeat of silence stretched through the room. The question stood in the air—should she confess the truth about her identity? Could she trust the sheriff to keep her secret?

Could he help her if she didn’t?

Matt refrained from offering advice. He didn’t trust anyone in this town. Including her.

And A.J. wanted Ivy. That much was evident, at least to him. But he couldn’t tell her that. After all, her personal life was none of his business.

“My real name is Ivy Stanton,” she said. “I came here under the pen name I use in my magazine.”

Realization quickly flared in A.J.’s eyes. “I see. So no one else in Kudzu Hollow knows who you really are?”

“Not that I know of. And I’d like to keep it that way for a while.”

“Probably wise. It’s a small town. Gossip spreads fast.”

Matt grimaced. And friendships died quickly. A.J. frowned. “How long have you been in town, Miss Stanton?”

“About a week.”

He gestured around the cabin. “Is there anything missing?”

Ivy bit her lip. “I…I haven’t really checked.”

“Look around and see.” A.J. strode back to the door and checked the lock, while Ivy began to search the room. “There’s no sign of forced entry. Did you leave the cabin unlocked?”

“No.”

Matt assessed the cabin, too, watching A.J. Essentially, the rental unit consisted of one big room, sparsely furnished. An iron bed dominated the center, with an old-fashioned quilt in green and rose covering it. A simple pine dresser sat in one corner, a desk in the opposite. A breakfast bar separated the small kitchen nook from the den. Across from the bed a small sitting area held a sofa and chair situated around a ceiling-high stone fireplace. Built-in bookshelves held a few paperback novels, a small TV set and a stereo. The floors were made of heart of pine, the walls the same, making the room dark and cozy. Except the “present” Ivy had received had destroyed the relaxing atmosphere.

“I don’t see anything missing,” she said after checking the closet.

A.J. took a quick run through the cabin. “The window’s open in the bathroom. My guess is that’s how the guy got in and out.”

Ivy sighed. “I…I don’t know if this is related or not, but in town earlier, a car sideswiped me after I left the diner. I…thought it was just some teenagers, or maybe a drunk leaving the bar.”

Matt’s instincts roared to life. Twice in one night, something strange had happened to Ivy. Someone definitely knew her identity, and didn’t want her here.

A.J. gently stroked her arm as if to comfort her. “Are you all right? Were you hurt?”

Ivy pulled away. “I’m fine, but the driver damaged my car.”

“Did you get the make of the vehicle or see anyone inside?” A.J. asked.

“No, it all happened so fast. The windows were tinted, and it was raining,” Ivy whispered. “I did file a report with your deputy for insurance purposes.”

“So you had to give your name?” Matt asked.

Ivy twitched, shifting uncomfortably, but nodded.

Matt gestured toward the wall, irritated that A.J. was so close to Ivy, although he had no idea why it irked him so. “Are you going to collect blood samples to have tested?”

A.J.’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. And I’ll take some pictures, too.”

“Do you send them away to a crime lab?” Matt asked.

A.J. grunted. “Are you questioning my abilities as a law enforcement agent, Matt?”

“No,” he replied. “But proper testing is crucial. After all, faulty DNA evidence sent me to jail.”

“Is that right?” A.J. asked with an eyebrow raise.

Matt’s cold gaze met his former friend’s. “If you don’t believe me, you can look at the transcripts. And hell, test my damn blood. It won’t match that smear on the wall.”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

Matt glared at him. Was this the way he’d be treated the rest of his life?

Every time a crime took place, no matter how petty, the cops would suspect him first.

IVY DIDN’T UNDERSTAND the dynamics, but tension simmered in the air as the sheriff retrieved his camera and a crime scene kit from the car. Tension between her and Matt. And between him and the sheriff.

“I’m going to call the owner of the cabins,” Matt said. “He should know about this.”

“She’ll need another room,” A.J. said. “This is a crime scene now.”

Ivy nodded. Still shaken, she slumped into the rocking chair in the corner and watched as the sheriff photographed the wall, then took a sample of the blood, and dusted the wall, doorknobs, the bathroom windowsill, even the phone for fingerprints.

Matt remained silent, having perched on one of the bar stools as if he intended to supervise A.J.’s investigation. Miss Nellie’s warning echoed back: Don’t go to Kudzu Hollow. It’s too dangerous.

It was dangerous only if someone still had secrets. If the person who’d really killed her parents had gotten away with it and didn’t want her back.

Which meant Matt was innocent, as the judge had decreed.

Ivy massaged her temple where a headache pulsed. Finally, just as the sheriff finished the fingerprinting, Cliff appeared. He looked haggard and upset at the sight of the blood on the wall. When he saw the chicken’s head, he staggered on his feet. Matt caught him.

“Are you okay?” Matt asked.

Ivy fanned the man’s face and rushed to get him a glass of water.

“I ain’t had no trouble out here before,” Cliff said in a weak voice. “What’s going on now?”

“I don’t know,” Sheriff Boles replied. “Some prankster kids may have vandalized the room just to stir up trouble. You know how this weather affects them.”

The old man nodded. “I should have moved away from here when my Gertie died. But I couldn’t bear to leave her.”

“Cliff, I need to move to another cabin,” Ivy said.

“Good Lord, yes. I wouldn’t feel right you staying here.” He rubbed a freckled hand over his chin, but his color was improving. “I’ll get a cleaning crew to take care of this mess.” He stood, composing himself. “Let me unlock the cabin on the other side of Mr. Mahoney. I’ll leave the key inside.”

Ivy thanked him and walked him to the door, worried about the man’s health. He was too old for such a shock, but he assured her that he was fine as he toddled outside.

Sheriff Boles’s cell phone jangled, and he flipped it open. “Boles here.” He hesitated. “Yeah. Jesus. I’ll be right there.”

The sheriff stopped beside Ivy and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Call me if anything else strange happens, Ivy. That’s what I’m here for, to protect the citizens.” He removed a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “My home phone number’s on there as well as my cell.”

“Thanks, Sheriff. I appreciate your concern.”

Matt followed the sheriff to the door with a frown. “What’s wrong, A.J.? What was that call about?”

A.J. hesitated. “It’s started again.”

“What’s started again?” Ivy asked.

“The trouble. A fight broke out with some teens in front of one of the gas stations. And there’s been a murder out near the junkyard.” The sheriff leveled his gaze at Matt, an insinuation in his eyes. “You weren’t out there earlier, were you?”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “I dropped by to see my mother, but that’s the only place I stopped.”

“And how did it go? Was she glad to see you, Matt?”

His shoulders stiffened. “Yeah, she welcomed me with open arms.” Sarcasm laced his voice and anguish radiated from him, stirring Ivy’s compassion.

The sheriff stared at Matt for a long minute, eyes locked. “You didn’t have a run-in with anyone else while you were out there?”

Matt’s expression turned lethal. “No. Who was murdered?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge the victim’s identity. We have to notify the next of kin.” Sheriff Boles turned back to Ivy with a smile. “Like I said, call me if you have any more problems, Miss Stanton, day or night. And if I were you, I’d keep my doors locked.” He tugged his hat lower on his head, then opened the door, the wind hurling rain inside. “In fact, if I were the two of you, I’d get out of town. There’s nothing for either one of you here anymore. Nothing but trouble.”

Ivy barely suppressed a shudder. In the next second, she wondered if his comment had been a threat instead of a warning.

AS SOON AS A.J. LEFT, A strained silence engulfed the room. The air was charged with tension, the accusations A.J. had posed lingering, leaving the rancid smell of suspicion. Did A.J. really think Matt had committed murder the first night he was back? What had happened to make his buddy distrust him?

“I can’t believe someone knows who I am,” Ivy said in a strained voice. “But that is blood, isn’t it?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Yes, what did you think it was?”

“I…wasn’t sure.” She paused, heat staining her cheeks. “I…don’t see red anymore. The color red. Not since that night.”

The reality of her words slammed into him. He’d heard she’d been traumatized, had blacked out her memories. But she’d blocked out colors, as well? Maybe that explained her drab clothing. A woman like her should be dressed in pretty bright colors, not denim or brown.

His earlier need to seek vengeance against her vanished, shame replacing his anger. “Let’s get you moved. Go ahead and pack your things.”

Ivy licked her lips. “You don’t have to come with me, Matt.”

He banked his own emotions. “I want to make sure you get safely situated inside.”

Her gaze locked with his, fear still lingering. But something else—a different kind of emotion—flickered in her eyes. Regret? Surprise? Gratitude?

She didn’t want to be alone. Any fool could see that. Although she was desperately trying to put up a brave front, she was terrified. Who could blame her? The bloody message on the wall and dead animal turned his stomach, and he’d seen worse shit in the pen. Things he would never discuss.

That stupid macho part of him wanted to rescue her again. Wipe the fear off her face. Hold her until she stopped shaking.

They reached for her suitcase at the same time. Her hand touched his, sending a shard of desire straight through him. She had the softest skin he’d ever felt. The most tender touch. And those hands were fine-boned, with long slender fingers. He wanted to twine her fingers in his, bring them to his lips, kiss the soft pads of each one, then feel them on his skin. Stroking. Teasing. Touching. Loving.

Yes, she had the hands of an angel.

But those hands shouldn’t be touched by a man’s dirty ones.

Not by his hands, especially. Hands that had done things he wasn’t proud of.

Hands that had shaken the devil’s more than once—hands that knew what it was like to murder.

THE DEVIL HAD GOTTEN INTO him. That was the only explanation.

Tommy Werth stared at his hands, turning the palms over to study the bruises and scratches, remembering the first time he’d taken the notion to kill.

The idea had started in his mind years ago, but he’d put it on hold, like a phone call he didn’t want to answer. But the urge had grown stronger lately, that phone ringing incessantly, urging him to follow through. So often that the need had finally possessed him, possessed his body, as if someone else’s soul had slipped inside him.

Whispering the things he had to do. Telling him it was all right. Urging him to choke his mama. That she deserved it.

Suggesting ways he could pull it off and not get caught.

Leave her out in the old junkyard. Hide her beneath the kudzu with the other ghosts of people long gone. Let the snakes and rats destroy any evidence he might have left behind.

So that’s what he’d done.

Squeezed the breath out of her. Watched her eyes pop wide open in shock and terror.

He’d let her know that he was in charge now. That her reign as dictator had ended. He no longer had to listen to her mind-numbing chatter. To her bitching and ranting. Calling him weak. Ridiculing him because he had stupid allergies. Hoarding money from him while she blew all their cash on stupid garage sale finds, and that home shopping channel where she bought those ridiculous little trinkets. Ceramic kitty cats and frogs to sit around and collect dust. Hell, he’d dump them all in the trash tomorrow.

Yes, he was free now. Free from his mother.

A laugh rumbled in his chest as he let himself inside the house. He kicked off his boots, not bothering to wipe the mud off before traipsing across the white linoleum. She wouldn’t be here to fuss at him in the morning.

Or ever again, for that matter.

Adrenaline pumped through him as he grabbed a beer from the fridge, opened it and took a long swig. She couldn’t tell him not to drink anymore, either. Or what to eat or where to go or who he could hang out with.

No, he was free of the old witch. Finally.

He yanked his T-shirt over his head as he walked to the den, tossed it on the sofa and turned on the tube, settling the remote on MTV. The loud, heavy metal music rocked through him as the cold beer settled in his belly.

His mother’s face floated into his mind again, and he smiled, adrenaline surging through him as he remembered the sight of her panicked expression. The first moment she realized he was going to kill her. Then the sound of her last breath, whistling out with her life, growing weaker, more feeble. The rain dripping down her cheeks like teardrops. The kudzu vine he’d wrapped around her neck until he’d choked the life from her.

She would never scream at him again. Or call him a worthless ass or cuss him for being lazy and stupid. Because he had outsmarted her.

Yes, he had just kissed his mother goodbye, along with all his problems.

He cranked up the TV volume a little louder and strummed his imaginary electric guitar, keeping perfect time with the rhythm. Tomorrow he’d call his buddies and arrange a party to celebrate. Tell Trash to bring over some pot.