Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (45 page)

Her breath slipped out on a little sigh.  “He won’t come back again.”

No.  Neither of them would.

“Sometimes,” Ivy said. “The killers don’t stop…they keep coming…”

Until death.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck.  He inhaled her scent. He
felt
her. Ivy…

Safe. Alive.

The best miracle of his life.

Epilogue

There weren’t a lot of people at the cemetery. The news crews had already came and left. They’d gotten their thirty second video to show on TV that night. 

Ivy stood away from the graves. Two graves, side by side.  Her gaze lingered on those graves as she thought about the tragedy that had been caused by the men beneath that dirt.

Cameron Wilde and a man who had actually turned out to be Cameron’s cousin, Julian Abbott.  Julian had been a New Orleans native. From what Bennett had learned, Julian had been in trouble with the law for years, but his wealthy family had smoothed over much of that drama.

And Cameron…

I never saw the truth.
How could she have been so blind?

“Ivy.” 

Her eyes closed and she shivered. Bennett said her name like no other. Softly, sensually, and, most importantly, with love.

His hands closed around her shoulders.  “The cops in New Orleans finished searching Julian’s estate there. They found a diary that he’d been keeping. He and Cameron—shit, baby, there were more victims. Victims dating back—”

“Back to the day I made my ‘mistake’ with Cameron,” she said, pain twisting through her.

Bennett turned her in his arms. “You didn’t do a damn thing.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Cameron did it. He’s the one who started it all—Julian wrote that Cameron made the first kill. They were drinking in New Orleans. Cameron was at one of the parades over in the Big Easy with his cousin. They saw a woman who was perfect. Cameron slept with her, then he found a Mardi Gras mask at Julian’s place. He found that mask, put it on…”

And she’d died.

“After that…” Bennett exhaled. “Julian wrote that it became a game for them. All about power and the thrill. Sometimes, they’d hunt in Mobile. Sometimes in New Orleans.  But Cameron tried to set up rules, and Julian didn’t like to follow orders. Hell, from what I can tell, he just liked to kill. So he chose different targets. He…hell, Ivy, he fits the pattern of a psychopath.  The only person Julian seemed to care about was Cameron, only Cameron never told him
why
they were only supposed to kill brunettes. He never told him about you, not until the end.”

She shivered. “He…Julian lost control, didn’t he?”

“I think he felt like Cameron had been holding back on him. Keeping a secret—
keeping you secret—
only there weren’t supposed to be any secrets between them.”

Such a twisted pair.
“When I saw Julian kill Evette—”

“Cameron set that up.  He told Julian when to kill that woman. Told him your float number, told him what side you’d be on. The fucking bastard
wanted
you to see it happen, but I don’t think he realized just what chain of events that would set in motion.”

A chain of events that led to murder.

“He didn’t know you’d jump off that float to save her.  Cameron didn’t know that Julian would get a good look at you, that he’d start stalking you because he’d realized how much you meant to his cousin…and to their game.”  Bennett’s gaze slipped to the graves. The funeral home had put one spray of flowers on each grave. No other flowers were at the scene.  “But their game is over, and they can’t hurt anyone now.”

No, they couldn’t.

“I didn’t want that on you.” His forehead sagged forward and pressed to hers. “I didn’t want you killing Cameron. You should have let me do it.”

She’d known he planned that.  She’d also known… “Bennett, I carry my own darkness.” She put her hand on his chest. “Cameron stabbed you. He wanted
you
dead.” She’d shot that bullet not just for herself, but for Bennett. For Hugh. “You’re not the only one who knows how to protect the people you love.”

His hand covered hers. “I
do
love you. I never stopped.”

Neither had she.

His head lifted. He stared down at her with a tender gaze.  He’d been patched up, she’d been patched up, and her brother—Hugh was slowly healing.  Julian
had
tried to kill him. He’d stabbed her brother five times, but Hugh had survived.

We’re all survivors.

They’d survived the madness.  They’d beat the monsters.

This time.

“You have to admit,” Ivy murmured, “I’m not the worst partner in the world, am I?” She had rather saved the day. At least, she thought so.

Bennett’s gaze dropped to her lips. “Not the worst. The damn best…the only one I ever want.”

She smiled at him. “Good answer.”

Bennett pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I want to do everything right with you this time.”  He tucked her hand under his elbow and they walked away from that cemetery. From the monsters that would never hurt anyone again. “Every damn thing. I want you to know what you mean to me.”

Ivy just shook her head. They didn’t speak again until they were out of that cemetery. Until they were away from the ghosts. 

The sun streamed down on them.  Bright and warm. 

She tilted her head back, just enjoying the moment. Happy to be alive.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Ivy finally said.  “All you have to do…just keep loving me, Bennett. Love me.”

Always.

And she would love him.

Through the good times. The bad. Through whatever hell came their way.

No more fear. No more secrets.

Partners.

THE END

A Note From the Author

I was thrilled to be included in this anthology—it is for such a worthwhile cause, and I have long been a supporter of the great work that Brenda Novak does in order to raise money for diabetes research.

Thank you for reading the anthology.  Thank you for your donation! I hope that you enjoyed all of the tales in this set. 

My contribution to SWEET DREAMS was the romantic suspense tale, UNTIL DEATH. I grew up in Mobile, Alabama, and Mardi Gras was always a city-wide event that swept everyone away in a wave of excitement. I’ve always loved Mardi Gras (only without serial killers!), and it was great to have the opportunity to write about a city so near to my heart.  

If you’d like to stay updated on my releases and sales, please join my newsletter list at www.cynthiaeden.com/newsletter/. You can also check out my Facebook page at www.facebook.com/cynthiaedenfanpage. I love to post giveaways over at Facebook!

Again, thank you for reading SWEET DREAMS.

Best,

Cynthia Eden

http://www.cynthiaeden.com/

About Cynthia Eden

Award-winning author Cynthia Eden writes dark tales of paranormal romance and romantic suspense. She is a New York Times, USA Today, Digital Book World, and IndieReader best-seller. Cynthia is also a three-time finalist for the RITA® award. Since she began writing full-time in 2005, Cynthia has written over fifty novels and novellas.

Cynthia is a southern girl who loves horror movies, chocolate, and happy endings. More information about Cynthia and her books may be found at:
http://www.cynthiaeden.com
or on her Facebook page at:
http://www.facebook.com/cynthiaedenfanpage
.  Cynthia is also on Twitter at
http://www.twitter.com/cynthiaeden
.

A Taylor Jackson Novel

by J.T. Ellison

For Joan Huston,

who championed this book way back when,

and assured me it stood the test of time.

And, as always, for Randy.

Prologue

Taylor picked up her portable phone for the tenth time in ten minutes. She hit redial, heard the call connect and start ringing, then clicked the
off
button and returned the phone to her lap. Once she made this call, there was no going back. Being right wouldn’t make her the golden girl. If she were wrong…well, she didn’t want to think about what could happen. Losing her job would be the least of her worries.

Damned if she did. Damned if she didn’t.

She set the phone on the pool table and went down the stairs of her small two-story cabin. In the kitchen, she opened the door to the refrigerator and pulled out a Diet Coke. She laughed to herself. Like more caffeine would give her the courage to make the call. She should try a shot of whiskey. That always worked in the movies.

She snapped open the tab and stood staring out of her kitchen window. It had been dark for hours—the moon gone and the inky blackness outside her window impenetrable—but in an hour the skies would lighten. She would have to make a decision by then.

She turned away from the window and heard a loud crack. The lights went out. She jumped a mile, then giggled nervously, a hand to her chest to stop the sudden pounding.
Silly girl
, she thought.
The lights go out all the time. There was a Nashville Electric Service crew on the corner when you drove in earlier; they must have messed up the line, and a power surge caused the lights to blow
.
It happens every time NES works on the lines. Now stop it. You’re a grown woman. You’re not afraid of the dark
.

She reached into her junk drawer and groped for a flashlight. Thumbing the switch, she cursed softly when the light didn’t shine. Batteries, where were the batteries?

She froze when she heard the noise and immediately went on alert, all of her senses going into overdrive. She strained her ears, trying to hear it again. Yes, there it was. A soft scrape off the back porch. She took a deep breath and sidled out of the kitchen, keeping close to the wall, moving lightly toward the back door. She brought her hand to her side and found nothing.
Damn it.
She’d left her gun upstairs. 

The tinkling of breaking glass brought her up short. The French doors leading into the backyard had been breached. It was too late to head upstairs and get the gun. She would have to walk right through the living room to get to the stairs. Whoever had just broken through her back door was not going to let her stroll on by. She started edging back toward the kitchen, holding her breath, as if that would help her not make any noise.

She didn’t see the fist, only felt it crack against her jaw. Her eyes swelled with tears and before she could react, the fist connected again. She spun and hit the wall face first. The impact knocked her breath out. Her lips cut on the edge of her teeth; she tasted blood. The intruder grabbed her as she started to slide down the wall. Yanked her to her feet and put his hands around her throat, squeezing hard.

Now she knew exactly where her attacker was, and she fought back with everything she had. She struggled against him, quickly realizing she was in trouble. He was stronger than her, bigger than her. And he was there to kill.

She went limp, lolled bonelessly against him, surprising him with the sudden weight. He released one arm in response, and she took that moment to whirl around and shove with all her might. It created some space between them, enabling her to slip out of his grasp. She turned quickly but crashed into the slate end table. He was all over her. They struggled their way into the living room. She began to plan. Kicked away again.

Her attacker lunged after her. She used the sturdy side table to brace herself and whipped out her left arm in a perfect jab, aiming lower than where she suspected his chin would be. She connected perfectly and heard him grunt in pain. Spitting blood out of her mouth in satisfaction, she followed the punch with a kick to his in the stomach, heard the whoosh of his breath as it left his body. He fell hard against the wall. She spun away and leapt to the stairs. He jumped up to pursue her, but she was quicker. She pounded up the stairs as fast as she could, rounding the corner into the hall just as her attacker reached the landing. The gun was in its holster, on the bookshelf next to the pool table, right where she had left it when she’d gone downstairs for the soda. She was getting careless. She should never have taken it off her hip. With everything that was happening, she shouldn’t have taken for granted that she was safe in her own home.

Her hand closed around the handle of the gun. She pulled the Glock from it
s holster
, whipped around to face the door as the man came tearing through it. She didn’t stop to think about the repercussions, simply reacted. Her hand rose by instinct, and she put a bullet right between his eyes. His momentum carried him forward a few paces. He was only five feet from her, eyes gone blank in death when he dropped with a thud.