Last Kiss Goodbye (15 page)

Matt nodded and pulled her closer, toying with her hair as she nestled against him. If she could identify the killer, this whole mess would end, and Ivy could return to Chattanooga. Then he could make a life for himself, be somebody.

But as he held her in his arms and closed his eyes, he imagined life without Ivy, and the emptiness threatened to consume him.

With that realization, the familiar bitterness assaulted him. Who was he kidding? He might be out of prison, supposedly free now. But people still remembered him as bad-boy Mahoney. Some would always think he was guilty. Others would know that he’d been in jail and realize he’d done bad things while incarcerated. Even his own mother hated him.

Hell, he’d never be free of his past.

Ivy moaned softly and whispered his name in the darkness, then lifted a hand to brush her fingers gently against his cheek. Unable to help himself, he imagined a different world. Then he rolled toward her, inhaled her sweetness, buried his head in her hair and pretended that Ivy was his to keep. At least until morning.

ARTHUR BOLES LEFT Talulah’s more satisfied than any man had a right to be. Tonight hadn’t been fun—hell, it had been damn near exhilarating. Talulah had slapped him on the ass and told him to stop brooding and talking and give her a good time. His mouth watered just thinking about sliding into her hot wet pussy and watching her cheeks flame as he pounded into her.

He tried not to think about the fact that she was a whore and that she’d gotten paid to do it. All he wanted was to remember her hot lips sucking his dick until come had flowed down her mouth like warm milk. Then she’d lapped it up and climbed on top of him and taken him for the ride of his life.

She was special. At least to him. Hell, she kept him satisfied in a way no other woman ever had.

He tightened his belt, climbed into his Mercedes and headed toward his place for supplies, but adrenaline still surged through him from the past hour. The tawdry sex had done wonders for his nerves. Helped to calm his rattled cage. Helped him decide.

He’d known what he had to do all along, from the very moment Mahoney had been released. And with that Stanton girl back in town, too…

God help him, he just prayed he hadn’t waited too long.

Yes, he’d played it damn smart by coming to Talulah’s tonight. She would provide him with the perfect alibi.

One not even his own son would dare to question.

Five minutes later, he’d stopped by his estate, loaded the trunk with supplies and headed toward Cliff’s Cabins. Thankfully, the rain died, or else his plan might not work. Still, the wet pavement slowed him down as he wound around the mountain. The road was quiet tonight, the wind’s whistle a lullaby, the lack of cars another good sign. Falling rocks tumbled down the embankment, three big stones bouncing off the side of his car. He cursed, hating the damage they’d do to his paint job. But a few tiny dents would be easy to fix and were a small hazard to pay compared to the price of not taking care of business tonight.

Tearing open a cigar with his teeth, he pressed the cigarette lighter, then puffed on the tip of his favorite Cuban brand until the tobacco lit up and the pungent taste filled his mouth. Five minutes later, he swerved into the drive for Cliff’s Cabins, parked beneath an overhang and climbed out. Wet leaves fluttered down into his hair as he opened the trunk and grabbed the can of gasoline. Tonight he would end this ordeal once and for all. Cliff’s Cabins had been built so long ago that hopefully, even wet, the logs would go up in seconds. Before Mahoney and Ivy Stanton knew it, they would be nothing but names in tomorrow’s obituaries.

A final goodbye that would end the saga that had started fifteen years ago in this town.

Two kids who’d stumbled into the middle of something they didn’t understand.

Two kids who had to die so he could protect the truth.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Kill them he must.

CHAPTER TWELVE

TOMMY DROVE TOWARD his friend Trash’s house like a bat out of hell. Shit, he’d barely escaped that wolf alive. Where had the beast come from? And why hadn’t it chased after that stupid woman instead of him?

He glanced down, shuddering at the sight of his shredded sweatshirt, and could still picture the wolf’s teeth embedded in the black material. Then the damn thing had chomped at his tennis shoes. Tommy wiggled his foot, and pain shot through his big toe. One second longer and it would have been his entire foot in the animal’s mouth. His goddamn foot—food for a freaking wolf!

He shuddered again, feeling sick. And if it hadn’t eaten or mauled him to death, didn’t wolves carry rabies or some shit like that?

The buzz he’d had from the pot had worn off, and his throat was so dry it felt as if he’d swallowed a half ton of gravel. His head pounded and his stomach growled. The only thing worse than the munchies without food was the d.t.’s, and the way his hands were shaking he was sure he had both. He needed another hit—bad.

But no…there was something worse. His head was clearing, and he remembered mouthing off to Trash about offing his mother. He slapped his hand over his forehead. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What kind of moron was he? What if Trash talked?

He’d watched enough
Law & Order
to know how the system worked. If that bitch from the woods told that asshole sheriff about their cult, and the sheriff found out Trash was involved, and the sheriff put pressure on Trash or offered him a deal…

God, why hadn’t Tommy kept his damn mouth shut?

Panic clawed at him as he swung his Jeep toward Trash’s street. He had to talk to his friend. Make sure he kept quiet.

Shaking like a leaf in the wind, he peered through the dark, saw Trash’s new truck in the driveway and threw the Jeep into Park. What if Trash’s mother was home?

She might smell the weed.

Sweat poured down his back, but he took a deep breath, opened a pack of Juicy Fruit and crammed a piece in his mouth. Jamming his ball cap over his eyes, he lumbered out, holding the side of the Jeep to steady himself before he climbed the steps. The garage light was on. Trash couldn’t have been home long. The others had all scattered, too, like ants being chased from an anthill.

He checked the garage, but Trash’s mother’s car was not inside. A good sign. Now talk to Trash. Make sure he kept quiet.

Legs wobbling, Tommy climbed the steps, knocked and waited. A second later, Trash opened the door. Soot and black paint still darkened his face and hands, and his clothes reeked of dope and the campfire.

“Your mom’s not home?” Tommy asked. Trash was munching on a bag of barbecue potato chips.

“She’s out with her girlfriends.”

And Trash’s dad had run off years ago.

“Come on in, man,” Trash said. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me earlier.”

Nerves pinged in Tommy’s chest like bowling pins crashing and toppling down. “That’s why I’m here.”

He needed to coax his pal outside. Lure him somewhere. Tommy had a baseball bat in his car.

“Listen,” Trash said, eyes still wired from the crack he’d snorted before Tommy had shown up. “You said it felt good to kill your mother?”

“You can’t go talking about that,” he exclaimed. “No one can know.”

Trash gave him the coldest look Tommy had ever seen, as if the devil had jumped into his skin. “Then you have to do something for me.”

“What?” Hell, he’d do anything.

“Help me kill my old lady.” Trash’s eyes lit up. He was wired now. “It’ll be fun.”

Tommy’s mouth gaped. “You’re serious?”

“As shit.” Trash yanked him down the hall, then opened the basement door and rushed down the dark stairs. “Come on, we’ll make a plan. Then we’ll hide and wait until she gets home. And tonight, it’s bye-bye, Mommy.” Trash snapped his fingers. “We can even cut off some of her hair and use it in one of the rituals.”

Tommy grinned. Maybe this was his way out. After all, if Trash killed his own mama he wouldn’t rat
him
out. The first killing had come easy. What was one more?

MURDERED BODIES, BUG-EATEN SKIN, old women buried in the kudzu—when would it end?

A.J. staggered into his apartment and opened the cabinet, hoping he had another bottle of bourbon inside, but shit, no. He’d finished it off the night before. And Buck had actually thrown him out tonight, told him he’d call his daddy if he didn’t call it a night.

Fucking loser bartender shouldn’t be able to tell the sheriff what to do. A.J. would make sure the guy received a few extra parking tickets. Hell, he’d can his liquor license, but no sense cutting off his own nose to spite his face.

The buzz of alcohol from the Ole Peculiar still surged through his veins. He collapsed on the sofa and closed his eyes, but in his mind, he saw that bug-infested, half-eaten body, bones rotting in the dirt. He’d had to do something to banish that image. A.J. had never had a weak stomach, but over the years he’d developed an aversion to corpses. Probably because he’d seen so damn many in this town. Every time he turned around someone was killed.

Ivy Stanton’s face flashed in his head, the sight of her pale cheeks as she’d described her attack, and his gut clenched. For her, he’d wanted to be a hero tonight. For the first time in a long time, he wished he could erase his past. Forget what had happened fifteen years ago.

Hadn’t he paid enough penance for that night already?

Matt had already moved in on Ivy, though. A.J. had seen the look in his old friend’s eyes—not just lust, either, like he’d have expected. But as if Matt actually cared about the woman.

Matt was an ex-con. What would a woman see in that? Not a future…

He closed his eyes again, imagining Matt going back to jail where he belonged, and Ivy turning to him for help. He’d be her savior.

That is, unless she remembered more…

Then, hell, what would he do? Call his daddy for help again?

His head rolled back, and exhaustion weighted his limbs. Seconds later, he fell into a fitful sleep. The years rolled away and he was at Red Row.

Lily had been the most beautiful of the hookers. Hell, today guys would call her a M.I.L.F.—a Mother I’d Like to Fuck.

She was just as beautiful naked as he’d thought she’d be, just as talented and sexy. His body burned just dreaming about her.

But then everything went blank.

He jerked awake, the telephone cutting into the stale silence in the room. He rubbed at his bleary face and frowned. Hell, what now?

He yanked up the phone. “Sheriff Boles.” He leaned his head back, hoped he hadn’t slurred his words.

“Sheriff, this is Lady Bella Rue.”

A moan rumbled from his mouth. “What do you want?”

“There’s something sinister happening tonight,” she said in that spooky voice that grated on his nerves. “Danger is in the air. Another killing will take place. Maybe more than one.”

He mentally called her a thousand names. “And where is this killing going to take place?”

“I…I can’t be sure, but you must do something to prevent it.”

Yeah, yeah. Like he could stop all this evil. “All right. Who’s going to be murdered? And who’s doing the killing?”

A long silence stretched out. “I can’t tell you that, but I feel it in my bones. I see the darkness, hear the cries of death and terror—”

A.J. severed the line. The old kook needed to get a life or have her visions come through more clearly. A location, name, anything would help, not just these cryptic messages.

The telephone trilled again, and he picked it up, ready to tell her off. But a man’s voice brought him up short.

“Sheriff, this is the medical examiner.”

A.J. sat up straighter, blinking to focus. “What is it?”

“We identified that body you found near the river. You won’t believe who it was.”

A.J. swallowed. He had no earthly idea. “Who?”

“Jerry Mahoney.”

A.J.’s buzz morphed into an adrenaline rush. Everyone thought that Matt’s father had run off years ago. No one had reported him dead.

No wonder. Because someone had killed him.

Had Matt done away with his father?

A.J. scrubbed his hand over his chin, hung up, then stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. This new information might solve his problems. Arresting Matt for killing his daddy would prevent him from snooping around and teaming up with Ivy.

Seconds later, A.J. ran out the door and called his father, to tell him how they could stop Mahoney in a way that didn’t include violence. He had to make one more stop before Matt’s. He’d drop by and inform Mrs. Mahoney that he’d found her old man.

He wondered if she’d cry over the bastard’s body or if she’d throw a party.

IVY STARTED IT. FIRST JUST a lazy kiss on the neck. Next, her lips had brushed his chin. Then his scar. Then her fingers had tiptoed across his chest, plucking at his buttons.

Matt lay perfectly still, pretending sleep. Trying to resist. Praying she’d stop and fall asleep.

Praying she wouldn’t.

Sugary-sweet touches floated across the hair dusting his torso. Her lips pressed into his throat. She whispered his name so softly it sounded like notes on a piano. And slowly, ever so erotically, her tongue found his ear.

He moaned silently. Or maybe it was out loud—who could tell? His heart beat like a drumroll, out of control. Sighing her name, he grabbed her hands to stop their torture, then rolled to face her. She lay on her side, a sultry smile on her lips as she looked into his eyes. He read the longing. The tenderness. The trust. And his heart shattered.

“I thought you were asleep,” she whispered.

“I thought
you
were.”

She smiled. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“And you think I could with you kissing me like that?”

She laughed, the first happy sound he’d ever heard from her, and his throat closed. Ivy was the type of woman who should always be laughing. Who should be happy.

But he couldn’t give her joy. He had found the strength somehow to turn away from her before. He needed that resolve now.

But it deserted him, and he felt as weak as a newborn kitten. Starved for another kiss.

She seemed to sense the change, and her eyes turned molten. Desire and need flickered, as well as determination, a heady combination that sent heat bolting through him.

He cradled her face in his hands, stroked her hair from her cheek. The reservations he’d had earlier still whispered in his head, but he shut them out, like closing the door on an unwanted guest.

Even if he didn’t deserve pleasure, Ivy did. He wouldn’t deny her.

Still, he struggled to be a stand-up guy. “Ivy…we shouldn’t do this.”

“It’s just us right now, Matt. No past. No tomorrow.”

No ugly ghosts hiding in the closet to haunt them.

But there were still secrets….

Emotions thickened his throat so he couldn’t speak, but words weren’t necessary. All he needed was to touch Ivy.

Praying he wouldn’t hurt her, he traced a finger along her cheek, loving the smooth silkiness of her skin. He lowered his head and pulled her up to him, claiming her mouth with his own. Hunger surged through his bloodstream, the yearning so powerful he sighed into her mouth and thrust his tongue between her lips to taste her. She met his need with her own, deepening the kiss and spearing her hands along his shoulder blades. Downward they roamed, massaging his muscles, coaxing his response, urging him to move faster, to make love to her.

When she pushed at his shirt, he hissed between his teeth, then sat up and tore off the garment and flung it to the floor. His eyes met hers, and he saw his own passion reflected in the depths. Then he lowered his fingers to pluck at her nightshirt, slowly unbuttoning the pearl buttons, inhaling sharply as her bare breasts came into view. Seconds later, he cupped and kneaded her mounds, licking and kissing the soft peaks, biting at the rigid points until she writhed against him.

“God, Matt…I never knew I could feel like this.”

“Like what, Ivy?”

“Like I’d die if I didn’t get closer to a man. The burn, the ache. I want you so badly it hurts,” she whispered.

Her soft admission fueled his hunger, and he peeled off the gown until she lay naked beside him. His breath caught in his chest, and he could only stare at the beauty beside him.

“Matt?”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Please let me look.”

A pure feminine smile curved her mouth, and she tenderly tunneled her fingers through his hair. “I want to see you, too.”

“Later,” he growled. For now, he drank in the sight of her breasts, heavy and full, glistening with moisture from his mouth. His eyes traced the curve of her hips, down to the thatch of yellow-blond curls at her thighs, and need flared so hot inside him that he thought he might burst. Slowly he lowered his head, licked and tasted her breasts, then traced a fiery path of kisses down her belly.

She threw her head back, moaned and clutched at his arms. “Matt, please…”

“Shh, baby, we’ve got all night. I don’t want to hurry.” He raised his head and looked at her as he spread her legs with his hands. “I’ve waited all my life for this.”

Her cheeks flushed, and he pressed a quick kiss to her mouth, then pulled back and lowered his head to the heart of her. Ivy arched and groaned, fingers tightening around the sheets as he lifted her hips with his hands and plunged his tongue inside her. In. Out. A flick of his tongue across her damp center. Then he sucked her clit into his mouth and she went wild, bucking and crying out in pleasure as her body spasmed in ecstasy. His own desire and hunger heightened by her reaction, he plunged his tongue inside her again, using it as he would his sex, tasting her release and feeling the tremors of her body as she hugged him.

“Oh, Matt,” Ivy whimpered. “I…want you.” She yanked at his arms. “Here. Let me touch you, feel you, look at you.”

Her softly muttered plea almost pushed him over the edge.

But he had only meant to give her pleasure. Not take his own.

She reached for his belt and his sex hardened, pulsing to be inside her. Her fingers brushed his belly, and he sucked in a breath and felt the first notch of his belt come undone just as his sanity and resolve shattered.