Last Kiss Goodbye. Rita Herron
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.
CHAPTER THREE
IVY SLAMMED THE DOOR to the cabin, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as she slid the curtain aside and peered out the corner of the rain-lashed window. A tree branch scraped the glass, wind rattled the pane and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t seen the driver or the make of the vehicle that had sideswiped her, but she had stopped, and the man who owned the gas station had rushed to check on her. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen anything helpful, either. Still, for insurance purposes, she’d driven to the sheriff’s department, met the deputy and filed a report. He’d muttered something about the weather making teenagers do crazy things. But she wasn’t at all sure teenagers had been driving the car.
And now someone had been sitting in that SUV outside her cabin. Someone who’d been watching her.
Someone who meant her harm.
She’d sensed an aura of anger when she’d met his eyes through the window. Was he the same man who’d intentionally sideswiped her earlier? The person who’d been following her in Chattanooga for the last few weeks? And if so, what did he want? Why would someone wish to hurt her?
Fog coated the windows, the darkness cloaking the room adding to her nervousness. The scents of pine floors, dust and cleaning solution wafted around her, and a spider spun an intricate web in the corner to trap its prey.
Why did Ivy feel that someone might be spinning a web to trap her?
Her chest tightened. She’d varied the routines. Broken the patterns. Ventured to a new place.
And now the ominous threat of danger ate at her nerves.
Hoping the man had gone, she glanced again at the SUV, but it remained. She tried to remember if she’d seen it earlier, maybe in town. It looked black, although with her color blindness she never could be quite sure. The windows were tinted. Nothing else distinguishable.
Shivering, she grabbed the afghan off the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders, trying to warm herself and stop the trembling. What if the man came after her tonight?
A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and she startled, her breath catching. The familiar stirring of another panic attack teetered on the surface, and she forced herself to take steady, deep breaths as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Just because Miss Nellie had filled her head with superstitious stories didn’t mean they were real. And just because a man was parked near her cabin didn’t mean he intended to harm her.
Suddenly, the door of the SUV swung open, and a giant emerged, silhouetted in shadows, rain drenching his face and body. He had to be at least six-four, with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen, dark shaggy hair and stark features that gave him a wolfish look. Another bolt of lightning highlighted his profile, and she gasped at the jagged scar on his left cheek. Matt Mahoney.
She recognized him from the television newscast.
He stalked slowly across the muddy ground, and she gripped the window ledge for support. But a few feet from her cabin, he veered off toward the neighboring one. Her breath gushed out in relief, and she raked her trembling hand through her hair in frantic movements.
He must be staying in the cabin beside her. Dear Lord, did he know she was here? Had he been waiting for her to return, to go inside?
Forcing herself away from the window, she flipped on the lamp, then let out a bloodcurdling scream. Jagged bold letters were scrawled on the wall: Leave Town Or Die.
Although the words looked brown to her, a dark, thick substance smeared the knotty pine walls.
Another shudder rippled through her as the stench enveloped her, and she screamed again in horror. The warning had been written in blood, and a dead chicken lay on the bed below it, its body and feathers bloody and mangled.
MATT FROZE, silently telling himself he’d imagined the scream from the cabin next door, that the shrill sound had been the wind blowing.
But he glanced at Ivy’s cabin, anyway, and a sense of foreboding washed over him. If she had cried out, he was the last person to help her. He had his own agenda this go-around, and it sure as hell didn’t include rescuing her ass again. Even if it was the prettiest piece he’d seen in years.
No, his boots remained firmly planted on the ground.
But his conscience kicked in.
If the real killer still lived in town, he’d be nervous about Ivy’s return. Just as he wouldn’t be thrilled to see him.
What if he was in there now? What if he attacked Ivy….
Muttering a curse, limbs tight with agitation, Matt stalked through the mud to her cabin, then pounded on the door. A mixture of emotions pummeled him—dread, excitement, the need for revenge. After all these years, he’d finally meet her face-to-face, look into those eyes and watch her reaction to him in person. Several tense seconds passed and he knocked again, but Ivy didn’t answer. The pounding storm filled the air with foreboding.
Christ.