Last Kiss Goodbye

Rattled, Ivy checked the street and sidewalks for strangers, but here everyone was a stranger. A lone figure clad in a black hooded sweatshirt stood beneath the awning of the pub, smoking a cigarette. Was he watching her?

She pulled onto Main Street, then drove through town, slowing as the rain intensified. Bright lights nearly blinded her from behind as a car suddenly raced up on her tail. She tensed, checking the mirror, and glanced around the darkened street. In Chattanooga, she sometimes sensed she was being followed, but had finally chalked her uneasiness up to Miss Nellie’s constant paranoia.

Here no one knew her real identity. At least she didn’t think so.

Just to be safe, she turned down a side street, then another, driving as if she’d entered a maze. Finally, the headlights disappeared, and she sighed in relief. Through the blurred, foggy windshield, she checked the storefronts as she passed, choosing several to photograph for her scrapbook layout. The dollar store, arts and crafts store and antique shop would be perfect for the spread. Halloween ghosts, skeletons, spiders, ghouls and goblins filled the windows. A few Thanksgiving pieces also appeared. And through the glass, a nearly life-size Santa was lit up, waving.

The old familiar grief clawed at her throat, and she headed out of town toward the cabin.

A car appeared behind her again, then moved closer, so fast and close that its bumper skimmed hers. Ivy gasped, grappling for control of the Jetta, then sped up. Instead of slowing, the driver gunned his engine, swerved around her, then sideswiped her car, knocking her into a spin. Tires squealed and the car skidded, metal scraping metal as she hit the guardrail and careened toward the embankment.

MATT DOWNSHIFTED as he drove the slick, winding road toward Cliff’s Cabins. Next to the trailer park, a new subdivision of log homes had been built on the mountainside. The primitive landscaping, natural pine islands and spacious backyards looked inviting against the ridges. So far the new development was the only hint of progress in the sleepy town.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel as his last night in town flashed though his mind. Ivy had been terrified of him, of her father. How would she react when he confronted her? Would she cower away from him as if he were an animal? Scream and run? Call him a murderer?

The sign for the cabins dangled precariously from a lopsided wooden pole, blowing in the wind, and he veered onto the unpaved road that led to the rental units. A mile from the turn-off, he parked in the graveled lot, hurried inside the office and retrieved the key. The frail man at the desk glanced up at him over bifocals, but said nothing. Either he was so old or blind he didn’t recognize Matt, or he didn’t care. Back in his SUV, Matt backed up and circled the cabins, his gaze tracking the numbers: 32A—his; 32B—Ivy Stanton’s.

He parked, sat and stared at the cabin through the fog, his heart racing with anticipation. Should he knock on her door tonight? Force a confrontation?

An engine suddenly rumbled down the drive, and he glanced in the rearview mirror, as bright lights pierced the night. A black Jetta swerved, spitting gravel, then lurched to a stop in front of 32B. The lights flickered off, and he had to blink to adjust his vision. A woman gripped the steering wheel, then leaned her head forward, her shoulders shaking. He frowned. Something was wrong. The driver’s side of the car had been dented.

He swallowed, debating whether to offer her help, but the door swung open and the breath froze in his lungs. Ivy Stanton.

As if she’d gathered her control, she climbed out, the wind whipping a long denim skirt around her ankles, the rain beating at her face as she braced herself against the elements and ran toward the cabin. His gaze skimmed over her profile, his gut clenching. She was petite, maybe five-three, and slender. Cornsilk blond hair cascaded down her back and shoulders and shifted upward, caught in the breeze, the wet strands clinging to her cheeks just as they had fifteen years ago. And just as he remembered her as a child, she was pale-skinned and delicate. But instead of a small child, she’d morphed into a beautiful woman. And so damn sexy. Soaked, her cotton top clung to curves that begged for a man’s hands. Her nipples tightened beneath the thin fabric, highlighted by the lightning.

It had been a long damn time since he’d been with a woman.

Although he had had invitations from some of his prison buddies’ sisters and friends. Another strange group of prison groupies, women infatuated by inmates, wrote them letters, offering conjugal visits. He’d even succumbed to his basic needs and accepted a few offers.

But that raw sex had left him unsatisfied and feeling dirty.

Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d know what to do with a real woman, a nice one….

Matt cursed. Confronting Ivy was first on his list, being attracted to her, dead last.

As if she suddenly sensed his presence, halfway to the cabin, she pivoted in the darkness, her eyelashes fluttering over cheeks made rosy from the chill of the storm. Their gazes locked, and the eyes that had bewitched him as a child completely mesmerized him now. In them, he saw fear, pain and an emptiness that he felt mirrored in his own troubled soul.

Hell.

His body hardened again, the need to protect her as he had years ago building inside him, as intense as the thunder roaring above. But this time he ignored it.

The bitter memory of being dragged to the jail and imprisoned for her parents’ murders surfaced, stifling the lust mounting in his loins, and he jerked his gaze away.

She suddenly broke into a sprint, unlocked the cabin and slammed the door shut. Had she recognized him? Known he’d come here after her? Was she as frightened of him as she had been that night he’d rescued her?

He muttered a curse, telling himself it didn’t matter.

Ivy Stanton had been trouble fifteen years ago. A needy little kid. He’d been nice to her and look what had happened. He’d ended up in jail, his life destroyed.

But she wasn’t a needy little girl anymore. No, dammit, she was a stunning woman, one who had messed with his libido in ten seconds flat. Which meant she would be more trouble than before. No telling what would happen if he got involved with her now.

He glanced down at the clothes he’d bought at Wal-Mart. Even though they were clean, he reeked of foul prison odors. Dirt, sweat and the stench of urine permeated his soul.

His resolve clicked back in, obliterating any sympathy he had for Ivy. He didn’t give a damn why she’d returned, or that his body craved a woman right now, that it had reacted to her. It was time she told the truth about that night.

And before he left this hellhole of a town, he’d make sure she did—no matter what it cost either one of them.

HE STOOD BY THE STREAM in back of Cliff’s Cabins, his all-weather coat tucked around him, rain dripping from the brim of his hat, gushing down as hard and fast as the icy water rushing over the rocks. Kudzu climbed along the embankment, killing wildflowers, crawling toward the pines like snakes. The rain would only make the plant grow faster. Faster and faster until it claimed everything in sight.

This damn rain brought all the problems again—the violence, the worry, the memories….

It had all started the night of the Stanton slayings.

And now little Ivy Stanton was back.

He should have killed her fifteen years ago. Had been furious at his slip in judgment in letting her go. Had waited each day with his heart in his throat, afraid she’d remember.

Had slept only the nights he’d talked to Nellie and learned she hadn’t.

But now she’d returned. And so had that Mahoney boy.

Holy Mother of God. He’d done everything in his power to see that he stayed in jail. And Nellie and he had done everything possible to make sure Ivy’s mind remained a blank. That she never contacted Mahoney.

But what would happen if she saw the ex-con in town?

Or him?

He scratched his chin and glanced back at Ivy’s cabin. He could almost see the bluish-green tint surrounding the kudzu that the locals claimed were spirits. Almost hear the voices of the ghosts crying out in the night.

But the Appalachian folktales didn’t worry him. The dead were already gone. Lost forever. Let them walk the grounds and haunt the town.

The live ones still posed the problem.

He flicked his lighter, lit the cigarette, cupping his hand around the flame so the wind didn’t blow it out until he’d inhaled a few drags. Smoke curled toward the sky, a halo of hazy white against the night.

Damn shame to have to kill a pretty girl like Ivy.

But he’d do anything to protect his secrets. If he didn’t, things would spiral out of control again. He was sure of it.

What would Ivy think when she saw the message he’d left inside her cabin?

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest as he pictured her horrified face. Her childhood image had taunted him for years. Had threatened to ruin his life.

But little Ivy Stanton wasn’t a child anymore. That meant he could kill her this time. He wouldn’t freeze up and let guilt rule his actions.

And Matt Mahoney would be the perfect person to pin the crime on. After all, the ex-con had a rap sheet. A motive. And no one in Kudzu Hollow would be surprised that the joint had only made him meaner.

Yes, they’d be glad to rid themselves of Mahoney.

Then Kudzu Hollow could go back to normal.

As normal as it could get.

After all, he couldn’t control the rain. And when it came, fate played its own nasty game and filled the town with evil.

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