Shadow of a Doubt (Tangled Ivy Book 2) (12 page)

“So. Devon, wasn’t it?” Grandpa asked in his “old-school” voice, the kind that he used when teaching Sunday School and that was guaranteed to cow even the most unruly ten-year-old boy into obedience.

“Yes, sir,” Devon replied.

“And what do you do for a living, young man?”

This should be interesting.

“I work for the government,” Devon replied easily, helping himself to another serving of potatoes. “The British government.”

Grandpa frowned. “So you’re not American?” Devon’s cultured accent was quite distinct from the sharp vowels and consonants of my grandpa’s Midwestern accent, but I guess he’d just assumed Devon was American regardless of how he spoke.

“No, sir.”

“Are you a Christian?”

“Protestant Church of England.”

“Protestant. Well, that’s all right then.”

I hid a smile. Thank God he hadn’t said he was Catholic.

“And what do you do for the government?” my grandpa continued.

“Grandpa, you don’t have to quiz Devon like this,” I interjected.

“Of course I do,” Grandpa said. “Now hush and let me get to know your beau.”

Oh, Lord. I wanted to slide from my chair and disappear under the table, but couldn’t. If I didn’t keep him in check, who knew if he’d be asking Devon about his “intentions” in the next few minutes? Which would just be mortifying.

“I work in foreign relations,” Devon said, which I thought was a nice euphemism for “spy.”

“That requires a lot of travel?” Grandpa asked.

“It does.”

“Not real good for a family,” Grandpa observed.

Devon hesitated, then gave a bland smile. “Perhaps not.”

“Hmm.” Grandpa was frowning and it seemed Grams sensed my dismay at the turn of the conversation, because she stood and started collecting empty plates.

“Ivy, you want to help me with these?”

I obeyed, jumping to my feet to help. I noticed Logan had a satisfied look on his face, so I stepped on his foot.

“Ow!”

I gave him a look. “You can help clean up, you know,” I reminded him. He’d eaten enough meals here to no longer receive guest status. He grimaced at me, but started helping clear the table.

“I can help, too,” Devon said quietly to me, getting to his feet. He’d discarded his jacket in the car, which was good because a full suit was way too overdressed for lunch at Gram’s. But even so, his slacks, dress shirt, and leather shoes probably cost more than the table we’d eaten on. He looked very out of place, but seemed at ease. An odd dichotomy.

“It’s okay,” I said to him. “Grams won’t approve of you clearing plates.”

“Logan is helping.” He sounded disgruntled as he cast a jaundiced glare at Logan’s retreating back.

“Yes, but Logan’s family. You’re a guest and you’re a man. No way will she let you help.” Grams was old-fashioned like that. “Just wait for me. We won’t be long.”

Grandpa was already heading back into the fields and I heard the slam of the screen door. I guessed he was done quizzing Devon, for the moment, at least.

After doing dishes, I found Devon sitting on the front porch swing. I sat down next to him. His arm was stretched along the back, but he moved it to my shoulders, drawing me closer to his side.

“Where’s Logan?” he asked.

“Grams has him cornered, giving him what-for about his love life and how he should settle down and stop being a tomcat.”

Devon laughed lightly. His fingers traced circles on my shoulder, bared by the sleeveless summer dress he’d bought me. His touch made me shiver, which he felt, because he traced a light path down my arm and back up.

“Do you think Clive will come tonight?” I asked.

“No. Too soon. Tomorrow night, perhaps.”

I nodded. Didn’t speak. The late afternoon was beautiful, the sunshine bright and cheery. The weather neither too warm nor too cold. Bees buzzed and I could hear birds singing. It was the perfect country spring day. Devon gently pushed the swing, causing us to sway slowly back and forth.

“Why don’t you come home?” he asked.

And suddenly, the day seemed a lot darker.

I swallowed before answering. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“You’ve told me things before,” he reminded me. I didn’t answer. “Is it because of Jace?” he prodded.

“Shh!” I quickly glanced to make sure Grams wasn’t around. “Don’t talk about it,” I told him in a low voice.

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because they don’t know.”

Devon’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You mean you’ve never told them what he did to you?”

I shook my head. “It was hard enough when my mom died. She was their only daughter. Then Jace and I came to live here, until he crashed his car and went to jail.”

“I see.”

And I knew he did. I’d been upfront with him about what Jace had done to me. Devon knew all my secrets. Almost. An image of the journal sheets with the vaccine formula flitted through my head. Why I was keeping them instead of destroying them, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I didn’t trust that Devon could keep me safe forever and someday, those sheets might be my only bargaining chip.

“Scott’s been texting me,” I confessed.

That got his attention. So much so that he stopped the swing.

“What has he been texting?”

“He wants to know where I am. Says the FBI is offering protective custody.” I paused. “That I don’t need you in order to be safe.”

Devon snorted. “The protective custody of the FBI will be like having a spotlight on you. And they never offer something for nothing. Did he say what they want?”

“All that I know about the virus and vaccine.”

I didn’t tell him that Scott had sent personal notes as well, wanting to know if I was all right, telling me he’d come get me if I wanted out of Devon’s shadow, that I should consider what Devon was getting from this and how I would be wise not to trust him. I hadn’t replied to much, other than to tell him I was okay, but he persisted in texting every few hours. He’d also found the money I left, and though I told him it was for his car, he just said he’d keep it for me and I could have it when I came back.
If
I came back.

At least Scott was a realist, I supposed.

“Did you text him back?”

“A little,” I admitted.

“You realize he’s one of those men who want to save you,” Devon said bluntly.

I looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Some men love to be the knight in shining armor and a tragic female is irresistible to them.” He glanced at me. “One as beautiful as you, even more so.”

I didn’t answer. I’d already realized that what Scott felt for me was based on my unfortunate past and what he saw in my life now. And who was I kidding? My life was messed up. I had issues with a capital “I,” not the least of which were my feelings for Devon. Was it any wonder that Scott and Logan were constantly trying to “save” me? Until now—until Devon had stepped into my life—I hadn’t seen it.

“Is that why you like me?” I asked.

The corner of Devon’s mouth lifted. “I don’t see you as a tragic, fragile flower, darling. You’re much more of a steel magnolia to me.”

I liked that. I didn’t
feel
tragic or fragile, though I’d been blinded to the extent of how dysfunctional my relationships were with men before I’d met Devon. He treated me the way I thought a man should treat a woman, and it had opened my eyes.

To my relief, Devon seemed to be entirely at ease with my grandparents and being in a rambling farmhouse. Things didn’t get awkward again until after dinner when Grams started sorting out the sleeping situation.

“. . . and Logan, you can have Jace’s old room. Ivy, you have your room. And Devon, I can fix up the couch in the den for you,” she said, bustling around with an armful of sheets and blankets.

Wow. Okay, I really didn’t want to have Devon sleep on a couch.
“Grams, Devon can share my room,” I said, even though I felt my face get hot. Devon was indeed the first man I’d ever brought home, besides Logan. This was a new situation for me.

She gave me a look. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Is there a ring on your finger that I missed? Honey, men don’t buy the cow if the milk’s for free. He’ll sleep on the couch.” She disappeared into the den.

Logan glanced at Devon. “I think Grams just cockblocked you . . .
mate
,” he smirked.

“And I’m pretty sure she called me a cow,” I mused.

Devon didn’t have a chance to reply before Grams returned. His only response was a slight twitching of his lips as he assured her that the couch was fine and wished everyone a good evening.

“He sure has pretty manners,” Grams said, staring at the closed door to the den.

“Manners are only skin-deep,” Logan retorted with more force than necessary. Grams gave him a look and he flushed. “I’m going to bed, too,” he said. “’Night.”

“’Night, Logan,” I replied. He hugged me and Grams, then headed upstairs.

“Your grandpa’s already sawin’ logs,” Grams said with a sigh. “I’d better join him. You let me know if you need anything, you hear?” She kissed me on the cheek and bustled off to bed.

I turned off the remaining lights, delaying the inevitable. I didn’t want to go upstairs, had avoided my room for the entire day. I debated sleeping on the couch in the TV room, but decided that then I’d have to answer uncomfortable questions from Grams, and I didn’t want to do that.

I climbed the stairs slowly, each step feeling as though I was wading through quicksand. My room was at the far end of the hall, the closed door staring silently at me. I passed by Logan’s room, noticing it was dark underneath his door. He must already be in bed asleep.

My door creaked ever so slightly when I opened it, and I shuddered. That sound had been a foreboding one when I’d heard it in the dead of night. I broke out in a cold sweat, hesitating on the threshold.

Gathering my courage, I took a deep breath. Jace was dead. He would never hurt me again. But that thought didn’t ease the breakneck speed of my pulse. Stepping into the room, I let my eyes adjust to the darkness.

And saw a man sitting on the bed.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

I
would have screamed, but in the next instant, a lamp flicked on and I saw it was Devon. I stood, staring at him in disbelief.

“How did you get in here?” I asked, my voice breathless. “You were just downstairs. I saw you go into the den.”

“The window,” he said, casually tipping his head toward the glass casement.

I stared. “You
climbed
up to my room?”

“How else was I to bypass Grams?”

Normally, I would have laughed, but my anxiety was still such that it was hard to clear my head. My eyes were drawn to the bed, then quickly skittered away. Avoiding it, I sat down at the small antique vanity my grandpa had painted white. The bench was padded pink velvet and I absently picked up the hairbrush. Drawing its bristles through my hair, I brushed the long strands until they gleamed.

I stopped thinking, instead becoming immersed in my nighttime ritual. I’d done the same things every night before bed when I’d lived here, until they were a compulsion. Opening my makeup case, I began doing my face, taking great care to get my eyeliner just
right. The blush was a light dusting of pink on my cheeks, my eye shadow a blend of grays and deep blue. It wasn’t until I was tracing my lips with liner that Devon spoke.

“What are you doing, darling?” he asked.

I started at the sound of his voice. I’d forgotten he was even there. He was watching me with a bemused expression.

“Putting on my makeup,” I said. I thought it was pretty obvious what I was doing.

“Why? You’re going to bed. You take
off
your makeup before going to bed, not put it on.”

Our gazes met in the mirror’s reflection. I gave a tentative shrug. “It’s what I do.”

“But why?”

I carefully used a brush to add lipstick to my lips. “It makes me feel better.”

“You don’t do this in St. Louis,” he said.

“No.”

“But you do here.”

I didn’t answer. I’d put a little too much on and now had to use a tissue to blot some of the color. There. Perfect. I turned around.

“How do I look?” I asked.