Shadow of a Doubt (Tangled Ivy Book 2) (5 page)

“Have you ever fired a gun before?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “My grandpa taught me how to fire one, but it’s been a while.” I opened my mouth to tell him about the gun Devon had given me, but decided against it at the last second. I had no idea where that gun had come from and in my haste to leave the apartment the other night, I hadn’t brought it with me.

“Good, so you wouldn’t be opposed to having one on you for protection?”

I shook my head.

“Then let’s go.”

He drove us to a gun shop called Liquor, Guns & Ammo. When he parked, I just looked at Scott and raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

Scott grinned. “Not a combination I’d endorse,” he said, making me laugh.

It took a few minutes to fill out the paperwork and wait for the background check so I could buy a gun, but then I was cleared and we were looking at several different handguns.

“You know the basic premise,” he said. “Point and squeeze the trigger.” He held one of the handguns out to me, butt first. “This is a Glock G19. It’s a nine millimeter, which should stop anything coming at you. How does it feel in your hand?”

It was heavy, but in a good, reassuring way. We tried a few more, but I liked that one the best. Before I could get out my credit card, he’d already given the man his.

“Scott, that’s six hundred dollars,” I said, horrified that he was paying for it.

He shrugged. “You can pay me back later.”

That comment made me remember. I had ten thousand dollars in Scott’s apartment. Yes, I could certainly pay him back.

“Let’s go practice.”

He took me to a firing range since the store itself didn’t have one. Only a couple of other men were there and Scott requested earmuffs for both of us.

In one of the booths farthest away from the other two men, he set both guns on the shelf and adjusted the muffs so one ear was uncovered. I did the same.

He showed me how to load the cartridge into the gun and how to rack the slide. It took several times before I could do it. My hands were smaller and weaker than his and the slide was difficult to move. Finally, I got the hang of it.

“Now there’s no safety on this,” he said. “The safety is the trigger. It won’t just fire if you drop it. You have to pull the trigger.”

I nodded, trying to get used to the feel of this new weapon. The one Devon had left had been smaller and lighter.

“Don’t ever point it at something you don’t want to shoot,” he warned.

“Got it.” I prayed I’d never have to point it at anything at all.

“Okay, let me show you,” he said, picking up the Glock and helping me hold it correctly. His hands were steady and capable, whereas mine felt too small and clumsy.

“Are you sure I’m going to be able to do this?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” he said, moving to stand behind me. “Trust me.”

Scott put his arms over mine as I held the gun up and sighted the target. His body was pressed against my back, which made me a little uncomfortable, but I tried to ignore it. He was just trying to help.

“Now just look along the barrel to your target,” he said. His voice was directly in my uncovered ear. “You want to go for the torso, not the head,” he continued, and I was glad he hadn’t noticed the effect his touch had on me.

“Why?” I asked.

“The torso is a nice big target,” he explained. “The head’s too small. Even if you don’t kill him, a solid hit to the torso will stop him and give you some time.

“When you’re ready, just squeeze the trigger,” he said. “Don’t hold your breath, and don’t close your eyes.”

I took a deep breath, released it, and squeezed the trigger. The gun barked in my hand and a round hole erupted in the second ring of the torso.

“Nice!” Scott said, taking a step back. “Looks like you remember the important part.”

I smiled at his praise. “Thanks.”

“Let’s do a few more,” he suggested.

I sighted the gun and squeezed off several more shots. More holes appeared in the target.

“Good job,” he said. “But let’s try this.” He stepped up behind me again and cupped my elbows, raising my arms to sight the weapon. “You pull a bit to the right. Have you noticed?” I nodded. “You can correct for that. I can show you how.”

His hands were wrapped around mine, but now they loosened their grip, sliding slowly up my arms, the fabric of my sleeves caught in his fingers so his skin touched mine. My throat was suddenly dry and I swallowed. I didn’t like men touching me, though I knew Scott wouldn’t hurt me. Devon was the only one who could breach my defenses. But Scott was helping me and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, though every part of me itched to step away.

A moment went by as I tried to figure out what to do, but then his lips brushed my neck and I couldn’t stop my involuntary response as I jerked away from him. My face heated in embarrassment at my not-so-subtle rejection.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “You said compensate, right?” I quickly sighted the gun and squeezed the trigger. A hole erupted dead center in the black torso.

Scott didn’t say anything, and I was too much of a coward to turn around. Instead, I ejected the chambered cartridge and fiddled with the gun.

“Ivy,” Scott said. “I was out of line. I’m sorry.”

My head jerked up and our gazes collided. Now I felt even worse. “It’s not your fault,” I said. “It’s mine. You’re nice, and I really like you. But I can’t . . .” I shrugged helplessly, unable to put into words that I belonged to someone else. “Are you still going to help me?”

He frowned. “Of course I am. We’re friends, right? And friends help friends. Even if there are no ‘benefits.’ ”

He winked, which made me laugh a little, and the tension was broken.

Scott had me put the Glock in my purse along with a spare box of ammunition before we left. As we were driving back to his place, he said, “Hey, I’m hungry. How does Chinese sound?” I readily agreed.

A few minutes later, we pulled up to a restaurant with a sign that simply read “Chinese” and we headed inside.

“Can you order me beef and broccoli?” I asked. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

“Sure,” Scott replied, stepping up to the counter.

There was a window in the ladies’ room and I stared at it for a moment. I could leave, if I wanted. Scott was in danger now because of me. What if Clive came after me and Scott was hurt or even killed? How could I live with the guilt?

In the end, I was too afraid to leave. Shame made me want to cringe at my cowardice, but I couldn’t make myself leave the only person who might be able to keep me safe.

Scott was waiting patiently for me when I returned, the steaming plates of Chinese food on the table where he’d sat. I slid onto the chair opposite him.

“Beef and broccoli, at your service,” he teased.

“Thanks,” I said, picking up a fork and taking a bite. I eyed him thoughtfully as I chewed. “Don’t you have to go back to work or something?” I asked.

He grimaced a little. “Clive is someone on our radar,” he said. “Finding him again would be a good thing.”

Understanding dawned. “I see. So since Clive is after
me
, then I’m kind of like . . . bait.”

Scott looked apologetic. “I know that sounds—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted him. “I came to you, remember?”

There was an awkward silence after that, and Scott finally said, “Ivy, it’s not just that Clive is important to us. It’s also . . . you. It’s personal . . . you’re personal . . . to me. That’s why I’m protecting you myself. And I would even if Clive wasn’t of interest to the FBI.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you do that?” I asked, genuinely confused. “Why put your life on the line for someone you barely know? Even for a nice guy, that’s asking too much.”

His eyes were warm and steady on mine. “What can I say? You bring out my chivalrous side. Not to mention that,” he leaned closer, his grin widening, “it’s kind of my job.”

I was disappointed at the teasing rather than a serious response, but I let it go. Yes, he was an FBI agent, but even I knew they didn’t take personal protection to this length. Perhaps Scott realized I was upset because the rest of the meal passed in stilted silence.

Outside, the sun was setting, the last rays blinding enough for me to slip on the set of aviator sunglasses in my purse. But we’d only taken a few steps on the sidewalk when Scott grabbed my elbow and pulled me to a halt.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice lower and a much more serious expression on his face. “You want to know why I’m doing this?”

I nodded, tipping my head back to look at him. He was so close our bodies were touching, and he still had his hand wrapped around my arm.

“The truth is, I think about you all the time, Ivy. I think about the first time I saw you, how scared you were when I told you the truth about Devon, how lost you seemed when I found you in Paris . . .” His voice trailed away as he studied me, a pained look on his face. He lifted a hand and brushed my hair back from where the breeze was stirring tendrils by my ear. “It kills me to see you unhappy and afraid. Tragic and innocent and so beautiful it hurts. I know you don’t feel the same, and I don’t want to pressure you. But if you need me, then I’m going to be here for you.”

I was stunned at all this and stared wordlessly at him, my mouth agape. I was glad my sunglasses were still on so he couldn’t see the shock that had to be showing in my eyes. Tragic? Was that how he saw me? How . . . demoralizing. I’d survived so much—my
stepbrother, my stepfather, international terrorists—and because of how I looked, he’d classified me as helpless. Yet another reason my looks were more often a curse rather than a blessing.

I couldn’t even begin to process how I felt about his confession, though I felt like I should say something to him as he stood there, waiting for my response.

“Scott? Is that you?”

Scott turned around at the voice coming from behind him, and I saw a woman standing several feet away. Petite and brunette, she was cute with a pixie haircut and pretty brown eyes. She was smiling, but when she saw me, her smile quickly faded.

“Oh. I-I didn’t realize you were with someone,” she stammered.

“Um, no, it’s fine,” Scott said, stepping away slightly. His hand slid down my arm to capture my fingers in his. “How are you, Jess?”

“Good. I’m good,” Jess replied, her gaze dropping to our joined hands. I saw her swallow. I tried to subtly ease my hand from Scott’s, but he tightened his grip.

“This is my friend, Ivy,” Scott said. I moved forward to shake her hand. “Ivy, this is Jessica.” He didn’t provide any further information, but I wasn’t stupid. She had to be an ex.

“Nice to meet you, Jessica,” I said with a smile. Her answering smile was forced as her gaze took me in from my oversized sunglasses to the tips of my knee-high black suede boots. I quickly took off the glasses so I wouldn’t seem rude, and her smile turned into a grimace.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she said weakly. I could read the defeat on her face and it made me feel awful. She seemed sweet and was adorable, her petite stature one I envied, as was her curvy figure. She was that girl-next-door pretty that I wished I was.

There was an awkward silence. “So, how’s work going?” Scott asked.

“It’s fine. Same as always,” she replied politely, her earlier obvious pleasure at seeing Scott now gone. “You?”

“Yeah, the same,” Scott said, just as polite. I was really starting to feel out of place, not to mention embarrassed about the things Scott had been saying to me right before his ex-girlfriend had shown up.

“So how did you two meet?” she asked, and I recognized the look on her face. She wanted to know, but also didn’t.

“Work,” was Scott’s succinct reply. “Listen, we gotta go, but it was good seeing you, Jess. Take care, okay?” He stepped forward and gave her a brief hug and I swore she paled a little. I wanted to kick Scott. Men were so clueless sometimes. I was sure he
thought
he was being nice, but I also doubted Jessica would want to smell my perfume on Scott.

Her voice was faint as we headed for Scott’s car. “Yeah, bye.”

I didn’t say anything until we’d driven away. Jessica had watched us go, her expression resolute.

“She seemed really sweet,” I said. “Your ex?”

Scott glanced at me, surprise etched on his features. “How’d you know?”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? I’m a woman. We always know.”

“Jess and I met when I first moved here. We dated for almost a year. We broke up right after Thanksgiving.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It was getting serious and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. Didn’t want to lead her on, so I broke it off.”

And had met me almost immediately after. Hello, rebound. No wonder he’d gotten so interested in me so fast.

Guilt swelled and I wanted to say something, especially after all he’d said to me before Jessica had shown up, but before I could, something slammed into us from behind.

“What the hell—?”

Scott glanced in the rearview mirror, his words cutting off. I grabbed onto the car door, twisting in my seat to look out the back. A huge pickup truck was behind us, the lights glaringly bright through the back window. The truck slammed into us again, harder this time. The car swerved wildly, then everything was spinning out of control. The world flipped upside down with the sound of rending metal and the screech of tires.