In His Shadow (Tangled Ivy Book 1) (6 page)

“Shall I test that theory?” Devon asked.

It took me a moment to get his joke, and when I did, I could feel a blush stain my cheeks.

“How delightful you look when you’re embarrassed,” he said, his lips turning up in a flirting grin that made my toes curl.

“I thought you weren’t interested,” I replied with a raised eyebrow, remembering only too well my mortification when he’d said I was a “broken soul” and left me naked and alone.

“I could say the same for you,” he replied. “Did you decide I wasn’t so horrendous after all?”

“Maybe,” I hedged. “Though I have to say I generally don’t like it when a man walks out on me.”

Devon leaned forward, resting his arms on the marble counter. “Maybe I was a bit hasty,” he said.

I felt a surge of joy at that, but I needed the answer to a question. I leaned forward, too. “Are you a criminal?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Does my answer affect yours?” he whispered back.

“It should.”

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question,” he said, his lips still twisted in a half smile.

“And you’re avoiding mine,” I retorted.

Gunshots startled a shriek from me, and I jumped back. Three men with masks and guns had entered the bank and now surrounded the handful of customers in the lobby. Phil, our security guard, went to draw his gun but another shot rang out and he dropped to the floor. He didn’t move. One of the armed men threw the locks on the door to keep people out. A woman screamed.

“Oh my God,” I breathed in horror.

“Everybody get down on the ground!” one of the gunmen yelled, but no one moved. He fired two shots in the air, startling people out of their shocked immobility. Customers began dropping to the floor, facedown.

One of the men ran to the teller booths, pointing his gun at me and Marcia. “Out of the booth!” he yelled. Then he turned his gun on Devon, who I just realized hadn’t lain on the floor like everyone else. “Get down!”

Devon was slow in complying, his body stiff with tension. The look on his face was hard and ice-cold, and it sent a shiver down my spine. Surely this couldn’t be the same man I’d just been flirting with? This was the man I’d seen in the alley, the man who’d shot someone dead.

I followed Marcia to the door, and she had to punch in her code twice to unlock it, her hands were shaking so badly. The armed robber was waiting for us on the other side.

“You,” he said, motioning to Marcia. “On the floor.
You”—now he looked at me—
“
get
the keys to the safe deposit boxes.”

I gave a jerky nod, then headed for the back office. Another gunman was back there already, herding employees out into the lobby. I passed my boss, whose strained expression looked terrified.

It was when I was heading back to the lobby, keys in hand and gunman at my back, that I heard the sirens.

“Fuck,” growled the man behind me. “Hey, we got company,” he called to his partners once we’d reached the lobby.

“No shit,” the man who appeared to be the leader replied. “Get her over here.”

The man gave me a rough shove from behind and I stumbled, nearly falling. I gasped in surprise, my heart racing with fear and adrenaline. Regaining my footing, I hurried toward the leader, who stood in front of the door that led downstairs to the safe deposit boxes. I glanced at where Devon lay on the floor. He was watching the man behind me, his gaze narrow and calculating.

The safe deposit boxes were down a half flight of stairs and behind an iron cage. Two of the men followed me down while one remained behind in the lobby. I heard a phone begin to ring.

“That’ll be the cops,” the leader growled to his partner. He pulled off his mask. “I told you not to let them hit the panic button.”

“I didn’t see who did it,” his partner said, pulling his mask off as well. “Could’ve been this bitch, for all I know.” He turned his malevolent gaze on me.

They were both older than I’d thought, perhaps late twenties to early thirties, with lean builds that spoke of time spent working out. The leader had a scar down his cheek, a jagged white line that made his cruel face even more terrifying.

“Let’s go,” he said to me, taking my arm and pushing me toward the cage. “We need in box 928.”

I knew as soon as he said the number that I was in trouble. “But, I-I can’t get in that box,” I stammered.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the leader said. “You’re holding keys. Now open the box.”

“But that box is in our high-security range,” I said. “All the nine hundreds are.”

His hand shot out and grabbed me around the throat, shoving me against the wall so hard my head cracked against the hard surface. I cried out in fear and pain, then found I couldn’t breathe.

“Bitch, you’d better not be lying,” he snarled, his hand tightening around my throat.

He tossed me aside like a rag doll, and I fell hard against the bars of the cage and then to the floor, the keys flying from my hand. My vision was blurry and edged in black. I blinked rapidly to clear it. I was shaking like a leaf and gulping down air as I got unsteadily back to my feet. Both men were watching me, identical sneers on their faces.

“How do we get in the box?” the leader asked.

“Th-the high-security boxes have passcodes that change every hour,” I explained. “The owner of the box has a fob that has the passcode, then the bank manager has a corresponding code where they unlock the box together.”

“Show me.”

I bent and picked up the keys just as a gunshot sounded from the lobby. Both the guys jerked toward the sound. The leader turned to his partner.

“Stay with her and get that cage open,” he ordered. “We’ll blow the box.” He ran up the stairs.

“You heard what he said. Get the cage open.”

I fumbled with the keys, finally shoving the right one into the lock and twisting it open. The man with me got on the mini walkie-talkie attached to his belt, pushing the button and talking into it.

“What’s going on out there?” he asked. He released the button in a hiss of static, but there was only silence. After a moment, he repeated the question.

Suddenly, a body flew through the air from the stairwell, crashing to the floor at our feet. It was the leader and he looked extremely dead, his sightless eyes staring and his neck at an odd angle.

Both the robber and I were frozen in shock for a moment, then he lunged at me. I screamed and fell back, trying to get away, but he caught my sleeve. The fragile silk tore, then he had me. His arm wrapped around my neck and he yanked my body in front of his as a shield just as someone appeared at the foot of the stairs.

Devon.

He held a gun with both hands and had discarded his coat. I could see a thin trickle of blood trailing from his mouth, but his hands were rock steady.

“Trying to be a hero, buddy?” the man said to Devon. “You’re just going to end up dead.”

“Like your mates, you mean?” Devon replied. “Not bloody likely.”

The guy pressed the barrel of his gun to my temple. “Take one more step and I’ll—”

A shot rang out and suddenly, I was free. Warm blood spattered and the body of the man slowly slid down the cage bars to the floor. Looking down, I saw the entry hole for the bullet in the center of his forehead, the exit wound much larger in the back.

I couldn’t breathe. I raised a shaking hand to my face, swiping my cheek. My hand came away
bloody. His blood was on me.

“Ivy, are you all right?”

Devon’s hand was on my arm. I looked at him and slowly blinked.

“There’s blood on me,” I said through lips gone numb.

Reaching into his suit, Devon produced his pocket square and began to gently clean my face. I stared at him, my mind slow to process what had happened. Assiduously, he wiped my cheek, forehead, and neck, slowly removing the blood. Finally, he finished and looked me in the eye.

“There,” he said with a soft smile. “That’s better?”

I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded. Reaching down, Devon took my hand and led me past the dead bodies, up the stairs into the lobby.

Things were chaotic and a blur as the cops came in and the customers began giving their statements. Devon led me to one of the leather chairs in the waiting area and sat me down. I stared at my hands folded in my lap. They were still shaking.

Devon took off his jacket and slung it over my shoulders. An EMT took my blood pressure and shined a light in my eyes.

“She’s in shock,” he said to Devon, “but she’ll be all right.” He stood and moved on to someone else. The police were everywhere, questioning everyone, and Devon had to leave my side to talk with them. Before long, I heard someone say my name. Looking up, I saw Special Agent Lane.

“Miss Mason,” he said, sitting down beside me. “It’s rare for a coincidence like this. First you’re at Galler’s residence the night he was murdered. Today you’re at an attempted robbery.” He didn’t say it in a mean or suspicious way. It was more like an observation, so I didn’t bother trying to scrounge up a reply.

Someone brought me a cup of water before disappearing back into the crowd. I felt Lane’s eyes on my shaking hand as I took a careful sip. I watched as two men carried a black body bag up the stairs to the lobby and out the door.

The last time I’d seen a body bag flashed through my mind. Tears stung my eyes and I had to set aside my water before I spilled it. I braced my elbows on my knees, covering my face with my hands as tears leaked from my eyes. I felt too close to coming apart.

“Miss Mason, are you—”

“Ivy!”

Logan’s voice cut through the cacophony around me, interrupting whatever Lane had been about to say, and a moment later, he was there.

“Ivy, thank God you’re okay,” he said, crouching down in front of me. Gently grasping my arms, he pulled them away from my tear-streaked face. He took one look at me and knew.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home.” He helped me to my feet and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him, grateful he was there. Logan knew me. He understood.

Logan replaced Devon’s suit jacket with his own, handing the garment to Lane, who automatically took it. “Thanks, buddy,” he said, barely glancing at Lane before leading me away. I didn’t bother correcting him on exactly who the jacket belonged to.

Logan drove me home, sitting me on my bed before removing my shoes and torn dress. He put me into the shower where I finished getting the blood off me, then he dressed me as carefully as one would a child, dragging a T-shirt over my head and helping me into a pair of soft, flannel pants.

When I was finally clean and comfortable, Logan sat with me on the couch, holding me in his arms and tucking a blanket around me. I settled against his chest with a sigh.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. I didn’t know what I’d do without Logan. He was my rock and always had been.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

Haltingly, I told him about the robbers. How they’d come in and shot Phil, then made everyone get down. Then how they’d singled me out to unlock the safe deposit boxes. When I got to the part about Devon, I hesitated.

“One of the customers must’ve been some kind of cop or something,” I said, not quite lying. Devon wasn’t a cop, but he was . . . something. “He somehow took out the guy in the lobby, then the other one went to find his partner and he got him, too. The last one he shot while I was there.
The robber
. . .
he’d
been using me as a
shield
. . .
but
the guy . . . he didn’t even hesitate. He just . . . shot him. Right in the head.”

“Holy shit,” Logan breathed. I looked up at him and his eyes were wide. “He shot the guy
while
he was using you as a shield? Fucking moron! What if he’d missed by an inch? You could be dead right now.” Logan’s expression had shifted from shocked to pissed. His arms tightened around me and I felt him press his lips to the top of my head.

“I guess he was sure he wouldn’t miss,” I said, though inwardly I wondered if Devon had even cared if he hit me or not. The thought made me shiver. Logan felt it and squeezed me. “Then I saw the body bags and remembered when they pulled my mom out of the fire . . . and I just lost it.”

“Well, I don’t know about you,” he said after a moment, “but all this excitement has made me hungry. What do you say to ordering a pizza? I’ll even spring for the cheesy breadsticks you like. And after that, I’ll pump you full of Xanax and put you to bed.”

I smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

Two hours later, belly pleasantly full, I was crawling into bed. I sighed when my head hit the pillow, and thanks to the Xanax, was asleep faster than I would have believed possible after the day I’d had.

It was a hot and sunny July Sunday afternoon. I could feel the warm breeze against my face as I rode my bike, cooling the sweat on my brow. It was late afternoon and Mom had said not to come home until dark, but the traveling carnival was packing to leave and there had been nothing left to do in town.