Shadow of a Doubt (Tangled Ivy Book 2) Page 7

  It felt odd, and yet . . . “Thank you,” I said. Was it right for me to be thanking the man who’d murdered my stepbrother? Probably not. But what Jace had done to me wasn’t right either. It felt like justice.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Did you think to maybe ask me first?” I asked.

  “Now why would I do that?”

  I shrugged. “I dunno. I just thought maybe . . . you should’ve, I guess. Maybe.”

  “And what would you have said?” he countered. “You would’ve told me not to because your conscience wouldn’t have allowed you to sign his death warrant.”

  “He was an evil man,” I said. “He deserved to die.”

  “I agree, but you wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself,” he said. “So I made the decision.”

  “What about your conscience?” I asked.

  “That’s simple, darling,” he said. “I don’t have one.”

  I didn’t know if I could argue. I didn’t know Devon very well, but I knew he could kill a man quicker than I could take a breath and not blink an eye afterward.

  “Why are you so loyal to them?” I asked. I wanted to say “the Shadow,” but I knew Devon didn’t like me to talk about the secret spy organization he worked for.

  “They gave my life meaning and purpose,” he said.

  “They?”

  He hesitated. “Vega. Vega recruited me into the Shadow.”

  I remembered the older woman who’d shown up in the hospital when I’d been caught and beaten in an effort to get Devon to talk. She’d been anything but warm and fuzzy.

  “She found you?” I repeated. “And then what?”

  “She took me under her wing. Trained me. Helped me. Gave me a place, skills, and weapons to fight for my country. I could avenge my family.”

  It was hard for me to view the menacing woman who’d very nearly threatened me with the picture Devon painted of a nurturing type. It seemed incongruous with her character, but I’d been on pain medication at the time, so maybe she wasn’t so bad.

  “So are you loyal to the job?” I asked. “Or her?”

  Before Devon could answer, I heard my phone buzz. Wondering if it was Scott or, God forbid, Clive, I stretched down to the floor and dug in my purse to unearth my cell. The number was blocked and my gut churned with renewed dread as I answered it. I hadn’t thought about Clive all day.

  “Ivy?”

  My mouth dropped open in surprise. “Logan? Is that you?”

  “Ivy, yeah, it’s me. Please . . . help me.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  What is it? What’s wrong?” The questions came tumbling out in a rush.

  “I—” But he was cut off.

  “Good evening, Ivy,” Clive said. “I trust you’re having a nice night?”

  “Clive,” I choked out. “Why is Logan with you?”

  “I wanted to get to know more about you,” he replied. “How better than to spend some quality time with your bestie?”

  The phone was suddenly plucked from my hand.

  “I believe I’m the one you’re looking for, mate,” Devon said, switching the phone to speaker-mode.

  “Well, look who’s come back to town!” Clive crowed. “You see, Ivy, I told you he’d come back for you. So predictable, aren’t you, Clay?”

  “If I was predictable, you would’ve found me by now,” Devon retorted. “What do you want with Logan? I’m the one you’re after.”

  “Yes, but it’s been so much fun, tormenting your sweet Ivy, I decided to up the ante, so to speak.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You always think you’re so clever,” Clive said. “Saint Devon, who can do no wrong. But your cleverness didn’t help my Anna, did it? Instead, you saved your girl and let my wife die.” Bitter accusation rang in his voice now. “Ivy should be dead. Not Anna.”

  “Clive, that’s not what happened—”

  “I don’t care what you think happened,” Clive cut him off. “Anna’s dead and she’s not coming back. Someone has to pay for that. I’ve decided it’s you, Clay.”

  “Where’s Logan?” Devon asked, apparently deciding it wasn’t worth arguing with Clive any longer.

  “He’s someplace quite pure, and most likely will be there for an eternity, God rest his soul.”

  I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand.

  “Can you be more specific?” Devon bit out.

  “I’m afraid not. I’ll give him back his phone, though, so he can be sure to say his final words. Ivy, dear, do be kind to him. You may be fucking Clay, but Logan’s quite in love with you. Make his last moments on this earth mean something. See you around . . . Ivy.”

  My pulse was pounding, the bitter taste of fear in my mouth. I heard a scraping sound, like concrete against concrete, then silence.

  “Logan?” I asked.

  “Ives . . .” His voice echoed and I could tell the phone was on speaker-mode there, too.

  “Logan, where are you?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s a blindfold. I-I think I’m in a coffin or something.”

  “Oh God,” I breathed. “Can you get out?”

  “My arms . . . they’re tied with zip ties,” he said. “I can’t really move. He just tossed the phone in here and then I heard him shut the lid.”

  Devon was already up and out of the bed, yanking on his clothes. I hurried to copy him. All I could think about was that Logan was somewhere enclosed, which meant he’d die of asphyxiation.

  “Tell me everything you remember,” Devon ordered. He was holstering his gun as I slipped on my shoes.

  “I was heading home,” Logan said. “This car pulled up next to me. I glanced over and the passenger window was down. Next thing I know, I’m out cold and waking up bound, blindfolded, and in this thing.”

  “Can you hear any sounds?” Devon asked, grabbing the phone and my hand before heading out the door.

  “Not now. It . . . it’s really quiet.”

  I could hear the fear in Logan’s voice. He was keeping it controlled, but underneath the calm I could feel his panic lurking.

  “Did you hear anything before?”

  “I don’t—wait, yeah, there was something, but . . .” He hesitated.

  “What?” Devon prompted.

  “It’s weird, but I thought I heard . . . singing.”

  Devon was pulling open the car door, but paused just briefly, his face creasing in a frown.

  “What kind of singing?”

  “Like . . . lots of people. Nice music. But it was faint and far away.”

  “I need you to get your arms free,” Devon said, starting the car. He stomped on the gas and the car shot down the street.

  “I can’t. They’re zip tied. I told you that.”

  “If we can’t find you, you’ll run out of air in about an hour. It’s already been almost ten minutes. Are your arms in front of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then turn your elbows out and yank them apart. You’re a strong man, Logan. You can do this.”

  Logan had less than an hour to live, the air he breathed becoming slowly poisoned by carbon dioxide as the oxygen depleted. My fingernails dug into the seat as I held on, my mind painting a picture of Logan alone, dying in the dark, and all because of me.

  “I can’t,” Logan said.

  “You can,” Devon insisted, his voice loud and commanding. “Try again. This is your life we’re talking about. Break the damn ties.”

  I heard a scuffing sound, then a couple of grunts, then a loud thump.

  “I did it!” Logan sounded elated, but breathless.

  “Good. Well done,” Devon said, taking a corner at breakneck speed. I didn’t even know where he was going, but he was going full tilt to get there. “Can you move the lid?”

  I waited, praying. But after a moment Logan said, “No. I can’t. It’s . . . it’s concrete.”

  The blood drained from my face. Logan was imprisoned in concrete. He cou
ldn’t move something like that.

  “There’s other stuff in here, but I can’t tell what it is,” he said. “I feel cloth . . . and sharp things, some are smooth.” He paused. “I think they’re bones.”

  Logan got very quiet as we all processed this information. I looked at Devon, but his jaw was locked tight and he was concentrating on driving, so I didn’t say anything.

  “Ives . . .”

  “Yeah, Logan?”

  “I-I miss you.”

  My heart nearly broke at those words, and tears leaked from my eyes. “I miss you, too,” I said, “but you shouldn’t talk. You-you’re wasting your air.”

  “If I’m going to die, then I want to tell you,” he said.

  “Tell me what?”

  “That I love you.”

  I sniffed, swiping at my cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. My best friend could not be minutes from dying a horrible death somewhere in the city. “I know you do,” I replied. “I love you, too.”

  “No, not like that,” Logan said. “I’m in love with you. I have been for . . . well, for forever, I guess.”

  I stared at the phone, unable to process this.

  “I just thought, you know, that you should know,” he said.

  “Logan—” I didn’t know what I was going to say, but it didn’t matter because Devon cut me off.

  “Save your breath,” he said to Logan. “If you are where I think you are, we’re almost there. It’d be a shame to miss being rescued within moments because you weren’t conserving your oxygen.” His tone was flat and he didn’t look at me.

  Logan didn’t talk again, but I could hear him breathing. It was growing labored and raspy and I gripped the phone so hard that metal cut into my palm.

  We pulled to a screeching halt and I looked out the window. We were in front of the Cathedral Basilica, one of the oldest churches in St. Louis. Devon vaulted out and I followed.

  “Logan, hold on,” I said, running after Devon.

  I barely had time to take in the soaring ceiling and the mosaics covering the walls. The pews were empty as we raced by, me blindly following Devon to the back of the rectory then through a door and down a long, winding staircase. A heavy, wooden door blocked our path at the bottom, but Devon pushed it open. We emerged into a cold basement with portraits on the walls of people I didn’t know—Catholic priests maybe, or past popes.

  Devon had skidded to a halt, looking around.

  “Now what?” I asked. “Is he here?” I couldn’t keep the panic and fear out of my voice. What if Devon was wrong? What if this wasn’t where Clive had taken Logan? We’d be too late to go anywhere else.

  Devon didn’t answer, but spied something. Another, smaller, wooden door tucked around a corner. This one was locked and it took precious seconds to get it open.

  “Logan? Are you still there?” I called into the phone, but there was no answer. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whispered, and maybe it was a prayer, too. We had to find him. I didn’t know what I would do without Logan.

  Devon flipped on a light switch, and a naked bulb dangling from the ceiling lit up. The room was large, the floor was packed earth, and it was at least thirty degrees cooler in there. I shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

  A dozen or more marble crypts filled the room, each one decorated in lavish fashion with a painting on the lid and sides.

  “Is Logan in one of these?” I asked.

  Devon nodded. “I think so.”

  But which one? Logan was no longer responding to try to help us, which meant time was almost out, if it wasn’t gone altogether. I stared helplessly at the crypts, knowing we didn’t have time to lift the lids on all of them.

  Devon was studying the floor and I followed his gaze. There was a very slight impression of a shoe a few feet from the door. Devon cautiously followed it, until we ended up in front of a crypt nestled in the middle.

  “Best guess, darling,” Devon murmured to me, grabbing a crowbar that was leaning against the wall.

  I watched, praying constantly, as it took what felt like forever for Devon to move the heavy lid. Logan had to be in there, he had to be alive, because the alternative was . . . unthinkable.

  With a mighty heave, Devon finally moved the lid a few precious inches, then pushed again and the lid slid aside, falling to the floor with a resounding crash. I barely noticed, dropping the phone as I rushed forward.

  “Logan!”

  He was inside, but his eyes were closed and he didn’t respond to his name.

  Devon tapped hard on Logan’s cheeks with the flat of his palm. “Come on, old boy, wake up,” he said.

  Tears were falling fast now, but my eyes were glued to Logan. I felt close to losing it. He had to wake up. He had to.

  Suddenly, Logan sucked in a breath of air, his eyes popping open.

  “There, that’s better,” Devon said, taking a step back.

  I flew at Logan, who was struggling to sit up. Cupping his face in my hands, I made him look at me.

  “Logan, are you all right?” I asked anxiously. “Please tell me you’re all right.”

  He focused on me. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I’m okay. Just help me get out of here.”

  Devon stepped forward and helped Logan out. Logan’s shirt was torn and dirty from being inside the crypt. Glancing into the space, I saw the bones he’d felt in the dark. Someone else had been buried inside there, the tattered red velvet cloths now in disarray and the bones scattered. It had nearly become Logan’s burying place, too. I shuddered.

  Hands were on my shoulders, turning me around, then Logan was pulling me into his arms, wrapping me tightly against him. I started crying in earnest now, ugly sobs I couldn’t control.

  “Shh, Ives, I’m okay,” he murmured.

  I couldn’t even answer him, I was crying too hard. I clung to him, relief so overwhelming coursing through me that it weakened my knees and I was glad Logan was holding me up or I would’ve fallen to the ground.

  “We need to leave,” Devon said.

  Logan gently moved me to the side so he could walk, though I kept hold of him, my face buried against his chest. He maneuvered us up and out of the church. I couldn’t let him go, and when we got back to Devon’s car, I climbed into the backseat with him.

  My sobbing had eased and now my head throbbed and my eyes were swollen. My arms were wrapped around his torso as I huddled close to his side. He had an arm around my shoulders, the other curved into my waist. I closed my eyes and concentrated on memorizing the feel of him, my best friend, who’d nearly died because of my obsession with Devon.

  The car was moving, but I didn’t care where we were going. I just knew I would not be separated from Logan, not for the moment anyway.

  “How’d you know I was there?” Logan asked, his voice a rumble in his chest.

  “Clive loves to play these kinds of games,” Devon replied from the front seat. “He drops little clues. He called me Saint Devon, then he said you were somewhere pure for an eternity. You said you’d heard singing, and the only church around here that has evening services is the Basilica.”

  I’d heard Clive say all those things, too, but I still hadn’t had a clue that Logan was in a church. I tightened my hold on Logan, who did the same to me.

  “Where are you taking us?” Logan asked.

  “We should discuss that,” Devon said, parking the car. Curiosity made me glance up and I saw he’d picked the same all-night diner that he’d taken me to once before. “Let’s have a cup of tea, shall we?”

  Tea was the last thing I wanted—more like a stiff shot of Jack—but I didn’t protest as we got out of the car. Logan took my hand and we followed Devon inside.

  There were few patrons in the diner and a tired-looking waitress led us to a booth. I slid in next to Logan while Devon sat opposite us. She placed water and menus in front of us, then walked away.

  Logan drank his water down immediately.

  I inched closer to him, trying not to dwell on how
close he’d come to dying tonight.

  “I guess I should thank you,” Logan said to Devon. “But seeing as how this wouldn’t have happened to me if you weren’t in Ivy’s life, my gratitude is somewhat diminished. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Devon replied easily. “And you’re welcome.”

  The waitress came back and Devon ordered tea. Logan and I ordered coffee.

  “So what now?” Logan asked, once she’d set our cups down and gone away. “Will that guy come back? Try to kill me again? Or Ivy?”

  I didn’t tell him that Clive had already tried to kill me.

  “Yes, it is a bit of a problem,” Devon admitted. “And I don’t have the time right now to take care of it.”

  “What does that mean?” Logan asked, his eyes narrowing. “ ‘Take care of it?’ ”

  “It means I don’t have time to hunt him down and kill him.” Devon’s bluntness made me wince. “I have to leave. But I obviously can’t leave the two of you here.”

  Have to leave. The words made my heart sink into my stomach. I’d fallen a bit more in love with Devon today and he was leaving again.

  “Yes, you can,” Logan retorted. “We’ll take a few days off. Go somewhere, maybe. Then you can let us know when you have taken care of it.”

  “You’ll be dead within the day,” Devon said flatly. “You do not have the skills to hide from someone like Clive.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Logan shot back.

  “Ivy should go home for a few days.”

  “I don’t have a home,” I said automatically. All my stuff, save for a small suitcase of possessions, was in Devon’s destroyed apartment.

  “I meant home to Kansas,” Devon clarified.

  I stared at him, then started shaking my head. “Uh-uh. No way. I’m not going back there.”

  “There’s got to be another place we can go,” Logan said.

  Devon was studying me, his expression bemused, but I didn’t want to clarify my antipathy for home.

  “It’s in the middle of nowhere and is a place you know well,” Devon replied. “I think that’s where you should go. Also, his next move when he can’t find either of you will be to target Ivy’s grandparents. It would be helpful if we were there first.”