Shadow of a Doubt (Tangled Ivy Book 2) (14 page)

I gave him a quick glare, then turned back to where Devon was climbing the stairs to the porch. He was hooking his glasses on the front of the deep navy polo shirt he wore. Though he was dressed more casually in khaki pants and the polo, the short sleeves of the shirt still stretched to accommodate the girth of his biceps.

“Where did you go?” I asked, nervously shoving my hands into the back pockets of my jeans.

“Into town,” Devon said, ignoring Logan completely.

“Why?”

“Had to pick up a few things.”

And that seemed to be as much information as he was going to give me. I rolled my eyes. Fine. Whatever. I wasn’t about to stand out there and play twenty questions with him.

“I’m going to help Grams,” I said, before turning on my heel and walking away, leaving both men on the porch. They could bond. I snorted at the thought.

“Hey, honey,” Grams said as I entered the kitchen. She was elbow-deep in flour.

“Need some help?” I asked. Grams was well aware that cooking wasn’t a talent I possessed, but she’d never criticized me for it.

“You could peel those apples for me,” she said, nodding to a bag of Granny Smiths. “Thought I’d make a pie today.”

Grams’s pies were legendary, and I was quick to obey, peeling and slicing the apples as we chatted. She made her own dough, of course, and I watched as she cut in the shortening before rolling it out.

“I like Devon,” she said out of the blue. “And he seems to like you an awful lot, too.”

She was still rolling out the crust. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while,” I said, noncommittal.

“Well, if you brought him home, it must be serious,” she replied. “He’s certainly old enough to be wanting to get married and settle down.”

Best nip that thought in the bud. “He travels a lot with his job,” I said. “I’m not sure he’s looking for a wife.”

She glanced over at me. “Honey, that’s what they all say.”

I laughed at her dry observation. She was probably right. Grams usually was.

“He was a big help to your grandpa this morning,” she said.

My ears perked up. “Really?”

She nodded. “A load of feed came in and he didn’t wait to be asked, just rolled up his sleeves, set aside his coffee, and helped unload. Dirty, heavy work, but he didn’t complain.” She paused. “I believe your grandpa may have had a little chat with him while they worked.”

Oh no. Lord only knew what my grandpa had said. I decided I didn’t want to know.

“Do you love him?” she asked, setting the crust carefully in the pie dish.

I hesitated, but there was no sense lying to her. “Yeah. Yeah, I
do. But . . . he doesn’t love me.” It pained me to say the words out loud, but sometimes the truth is hard to hear.

Grams just shook her head. “Ivy, I’ve been around a long time. I may not have lived in a big city or traveled the world, but people are the same everywhere. That man loves you, and don’t you doubt it. He may not have said it, but he watches you like the rooster watches for the sunrise, as if his next breath depends on you being there.”

Okay,
that
was an unexpected observation. “Really?” I asked, afraid to hope that maybe, just maybe, she might be right.

Turning fully to me, she smiled. “Really.”

I couldn’t help the wide smile that stretched across my face. She reached over and patted my hand. “Don’t you worry, honey. Everything’ll turn out all right. It usually does.”

I hoped she was right, though deep down I had my doubts.

It was late afternoon and the rain had begun when Grams got the call.

“Honey,” she said to me as I finished chopping the ingredients for a salad for dinner. I couldn’t cook, but I could peel, chop, slice, and dice just fine. “Grandpa and I have to go help the Worells tonight.” The Worell family had been friends of ours since Grams and Grandpa had gotten married.

“They’re having trouble with their sump pump,” she said. “Their basement is flooding.”

I frowned. “Isn’t Danny home?” Danny was their grown son and usually helped his dad with things like that.

“No, he went to Wichita this weekend,” she replied. “I’m going to ride along so your grandpa doesn’t have to drive over there by himself. We shouldn’t be long. I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” That would leave me alone with Devon and Logan, which sucked, but there was nothing I could do about it. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to play referee for another one of their snide arguments.

“There’s a chicken pot pie in the fridge for dinner,” she said. “Just bake it at three-fifty for forty-five minutes. No longer.”

“Got it.”

I followed her to the door. Grandpa was already in the truck and Grams hurried through the rain to the passenger door.

“We’ll be back later,” Grandpa called to us. He pointed a crooked finger at Devon. “Remember what we talked about, son.”

Devon just nodded at the warning and I watched the taillights disappear down the long gravel drive.

It was abnormally dark and I cast a practiced glance up at the foreboding sky. Clouds swirled in an angry turmoil above me. I was accustomed to spring storms. This was Kansas, after all. Tornados in the spring were as common as hay fever. But it hadn’t been hot enough today to produce anything like that. Just a bad thunderstorm.

Back inside, I saw Devon had followed me into the kitchen. He’d made himself scarce today and I hadn’t gone looking for him. Now, though, it was obvious what he’d been doing and why he’d gone into town.

There were two double-barrel shotguns and three handguns laid out on the kitchen table, along with their assorted ammunition.

“What’s all this?” I asked, my eyes wide. Logan chose that moment to enter the kitchen as well.

“Preparation,” Devon said. “Clive will likely come tonight. He might bring reinforcements. I would.”

“But the weather—” I began.

“Will help him,” Devon interrupted. “It’ll be much harder to see or hear him coming.” He turned to Logan. “Can you shoot a gun or rifle?”

Logan had grown up on a farm in Kansas. Guns were a staple. He nodded. “Yeah. Both.”

Devon handed him one shotgun and one of the handguns. “Take
ammunition,” he said. “Make sure they’re both loaded and ready to go. You take the back of the house, top rear bedroom window.”

I thought Logan might argue, but he didn’t. Taking the weapons, he checked them both, loading two shells into the shotgun’s barrel before locking it back into place with a loud click. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end at the sound. He gave me a long look before heading upstairs.

“What if Grams and Grandpa come back?” I asked.

“They won’t. Not until morning,” Devon replied.

“How do you know that?”

He glanced at me. “Because I made sure of it. Sid at the gun shop was quite chatty about the people around here. Turns out the Worells have been having sump pump issues for a while. Good thing your grandpa’s a longtime friend who’d help him out when a big storm rolls in and it breaks down completely.”

My jaw was agape. “You broke the Worells’ sump pump to get my grandparents out of here for the evening?”

“Did you have a better idea to keep them out of harm’s way?” he asked.

Well . . . no.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked.

“You’re going in the storm cellar,” Devon said. “It’s the safest place for you until this is over.”

I was already shaking my head. “No. You and Logan aren’t going to be putting your lives on the line while I hide.”

He didn’t even bother looking at me as he filled his pockets with ammunition. “You don’t have a choice,” he said.

“I most certainly do. You can’t force me, Devon. You won’t like the results.”

Now he looked at me. “You’ll do as you’re told,” he said, his voice like steel. “Or would you rather be a distraction for me, or for Logan, that could get us killed?”

That shut me up. No, I didn’t want to do anything that could distract them. “Can’t I help in some way?” I asked. “Give you ammunition or something?” Our eyes met. “Please don’t put me down there. Alone. Worrying about you.”

Devon’s jaw clenched tight. A beat passed.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “But if I tell you to go hide, you must swear to me that you’ll do it. No questions asked.”

“I swear,” I agreed quickly. I had to think my presence could help, not hurt, the two men I loved.

“Douse all the lights,” he ordered, and I hurried to obey.

I saw Logan in the rear bedroom and he glanced up at me as I walked by. I didn’t say anything.

Heading back downstairs, I saw that Devon had loaded his weapons as well and had taken a chair close to the open window. The curtains were blowing as the wind and rain came through.

“When will he come?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

I made my way carefully through the darkened dining room and went to grab another chair, but Devon stopped me.

“No,” he said. “The floor is safest.”

I didn’t complain, just sat on the floor at his feet.

My nerves were on a knife’s edge as I wondered what the next few hours would bring. Would Devon be able to spot Clive and his team in time? Or would we be ambushed and overrun, all three of us killed in one night?

Devon must have sensed my anxiety. He reached for me, his hand settling on my shoulder. He was still watching out the window, the faint glow from the dusk-to-dawn light casting his face in stark shadows. I leaned toward him, resting my head against his thigh as he placed his hand on my head.

I knew I shouldn’t talk, shouldn’t distract him, so I stayed silent. Both of us waiting. Devon didn’t seem tense, though. His
body was taut and ready, but he breathed easily and his fingers trailed lightly through my hair, petting me.

It must have been nearly an hour before anything happened. Devon’s hand suddenly stopped in its unceasing trips through the locks of my hair and he sat up straighter.

Then the lights outside went out.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

I didn’t argue, though it felt like I was going to throw up from the sudden rush of panic and fear in my gut. I watched him raise the handgun and sight it, waiting. Several long seconds later, it barked twice in rapid succession, then he was up and moving, shoving my head down so I was flat on the floor. The window exploded, glass flying everywhere and even more rain poured inside.

Devon ran to the window in the kitchen and I watched him through the breezeway. He stood to the side with his back to the wall, then took a deep breath and rotated so he faced out the window. He rapidly squeezed off more shots, then flung himself back as return fire ripped through the spot where he’d just been standing. Bullets embedded themselves in the door of the refrigerator.

I heard more gunshots from upstairs and knew Logan was firing at something. I was thankful that he’d been raised a hunter, so he’d know to find another spot once his shots gave away his location.

There was the sound of splintering wood from the back of the house and I jerked around to look at Devon.

“Stay here,” he said, rushing past me.

Oh God. Someone had entered the house.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

I
cowered under the dining room table, terrified of what was happening. I heard another few shots, then sounds of breaking glass and loud thumps, as though there was fighting. Devon’s shotgun lay on the floor near his chair and I crawled to it. I’d just laid my hand on it when a foot came down on the barrel, holding it in place.

“You won’t be needing that.”

I flung myself onto my back, scurrying away from the man who’d quietly walked through the front door. The lock was gone and I realized he must’ve broken it while Devon was fighting in the back.

The new guy scrutinized me while I stared at him, eyes wide.

“Yep. You’re the girl. Let’s go,” he said. Leaning down, he grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet as easily as he’d pick up a sack of groceries.

I screamed and tried to pull my arm away. “Let me go! Devon!”

“None of that,” he said before slamming a hard fist into my cheek. I reeled, my knees buckling, then found myself slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

In seconds, we were out the door and rain immediately soaked me, which was a good thing because it woke me from the stupor I’d been in.

I thought hard and fast. Devon couldn’t come. Maybe he was hurt. And now I saw I was being taken to an SUV. I was flung inside and I played unconscious. As soon as he slammed the door shut, I was up and over to the other side. Luck was with me and the door opened easily. I began to run.

“Sonofabitch,” the man cursed. “Grab her!”

I hadn’t seen them, but there were two more men outside, taking cover from the house behind my grandpa’s field truck. Both of them began to run after me. I heard another gunshot and saw a flash from an upstairs window. Logan. One of the men following me fell and didn’t get up.

The rain had turned the gravel driveway into a pebbly river, the grass into a field of mud. But I knew this farm like the back of my hand. The driver was chasing me now, too, but I kept going.

Rain filled my eyes and I brushed my hair out of the way so I could see. It was pitch black and I ran through the yard to where the cornfields began, hoping I could lose them inside the rows of stalks. I heard a gunshot, muffled in the pounding rain, and a split second later a searing pain pierced my leg. I’d been hit and it made me fall just as I entered the cornfield. I cried out, my hand going to my leg, but it wasn’t a bad wound, having just nicked me, so I stumbled to my feet. They were closer, just yards away, and I dove into the stalks.