Shattered Blue: A Romantic Thriller

by Jane Taylor Starwood

  TWO

  Shane MacKinnon. She must have thought she was so clever, changing her name, moving across the country to hide out in the mountains of New Mexico. Clever enough to fool the media hounds, but not clever enough to hide from him for long, when the time came to begin the hunt. After he’d found her letter in his father’s effects—which he had enjoyed stealing from his clueless uncle’s house—the rest was almost too easy. Stupid, Shane, sending dear old stepdad your unlisted phone number so he could call you from prison. How sweet. How pathetic.

  He missed the games they used to play. They’d added a little charge, a little electricity to his boring life. Now he was making the opening moves in the end game, and the anticipation thrilled him.

  He recalled her voice on the answering machine and smiled as he imagined how the first inklings of fear would change that voice, force it up a register, add a tremble. The second hang-up had been his real opening gambit: Get her nerves jangling, just a bit. Get her annoyed, wondering, puzzling it over. Now all he needed was her street address.

  Five years of being Shane MacKinnon, without him to keep her on her toes, had undoubtedly lulled his stepsister into complacency. He was about to rip that smug complacency to shreds, and he could hardly wait to see the terrified little girl behind her eyes when she recognized who stood before her, risen from the dead.

  He almost salivated at the thought. But right now he had some detective work to do.

  Shannon had always had pretensions as an artist and had even lucked into some measure of success before she left New York, so it was logical to start with art galleries. He strolled the downtown streets, gazing in gallery windows, going inside to browse, looking for her name on placards.

  Silver City had far more art galleries than he’d imagined such a small, backward town could support. The downtown looked like an old Western movie set, except most of the storefronts were painted in bright Southwestern colors: turquoise and purple and pink. While he supposed some might find the effect charming, he found it merely tacky.

  He looked at the Silver City Artists’ Association brochure in his hand and ticked off another gallery. The next one was right across the street.

  His reflection cast a ghostly image on the glass as he studied the weaving hanging in the window. Natural wool in shades of gray, black and white stretched between curving branches. Unusually shaped seed pods, twisting vines, and the bones of some tiny animal were artfully laced into the open, swirling pattern.

  He mused on the piece for a moment, his head tilted to one side, his lips pursed in thought. The weaving was primitive and sophisticated at the same time, the work of a skilled artisan with a fine-artist’s eye for line and form, contrast and shadow. He’d never seen anything quite like it.

  With growing conviction, he read the artist’s name on the placard: Shane MacKinnon. He smiled.

  Before going inside, he glanced at his reflection, admiring the neatly clipped, dark-brown beard and horn-rim glasses. Brown contact lenses disguised his distinctive gray eyes. He looked like Clark Kent with facial hair.

  Not that the yokels in this one-horse town would be likely to recognize him even without the disguise. The streets of Manhattan were a different matter. There, his pale hair and eyes and patrician good looks had always stood out from the crowd.

  As much as he was going to enjoy finishing his game with Shannon, he looked forward to the day when he could return to his tropical hideaway with all that lovely money, shave the beard, throw away the contacts and horn-rims, and enjoy the lavish lifestyle he had earned and deserved.

  Still smiling, Jordan Ripley walked into the gallery.

  THREE

  Shane sang along with her favorite Bonnie Raitt CD all the way to Silver City. As she followed the lyrics about finding love in the nick of time, she tried to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that asked if she still had time to find love, make a family. In quiet moments she had to admit that, as much as she treasured her solitude, there was part of her that wanted more. Lately that part had been growing stronger, disturbing her dreams. Sometimes she awoke in the middle of the night longing for something, someone, lost in the mists of sleep, forever out of reach.

  But she didn’t want to think about that now, so when Bonnie started singing about the road being her middle name, Shane threw herself into it at the top of her lungs, crushing thoughts of love and longing under the wheels of her trusty old Ranger.

  Twenty minutes later she was parking in front of Silver Linings. She paused when she saw the big, splashy, Georgia O’Keeffe-style painting in the front window, then went inside.

  Beth was ringing up a sale. She looked up and smiled at Shane.

  “There you are. Be with you in a sec.”

  Shane leaned against the counter, glancing around the gallery until the customer left.

  “Hey, Beth.”

  “Hey, hon. Hug.”

  Shane went gratefully into her friend’s ample arms. “Where did you move the weaving you had in the window?” she asked.

  “I didn’t,” Beth replied with an impish smile. “It walked out the door an hour ago.”

  “You sold it?”

  “I did. Here you go,” Beth said, handing her a fat envelope. “This covers your three sales in May and today’s. You’re about to become my best-selling artist.”

  Shane peeked at the neat stack of cash, then stashed the envelope deep inside her worn leather shoulder bag.

  “Thanks, Beth. This will buy a lot of kibble. I might even splurge on a new pair of Levis and some decent wine.”

  “To share?”

  Shane laughed. “Of course. Who bought the piece in the window? The customer you told me about on the phone?”

  “No, this was somebody new, not from around here. Back East, I’d guess. A long, tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed hunk with a neat beard and sexy horn rims. He walked in, plunked down the cash, and walked out with it. Didn’t even want it wrapped.”

  “Did you check the bills with your counterfeit pen?”

  Beth smiled. “Of course. Good as gold.”

  “All right then. Wow. I guess the enchiladas are on me.”

  “You bet your sweet ass they are. And since it’s Friday, I think I’ll rack up a margarita or two on your tab and take the rest of the day off. Just let me tell Jessie to come up front.”

  Shane hugged her shoulder bag closer and shook her head in amazement. You never knew how any given day was going to turn out. Of course, this one wasn’t over yet, but she was sure nothing could spoil it now.

  Reasonably sure. What could go wrong? All at once Nana’s voice whispered in her ear: Always expect the worst. Then, if it doesn’t happen, you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

  Leave it to a Pisces like her maternal grandmother to hold that cheery philosophy. Not that Shane put much stock in astrology, but sometimes, she had to admit, it hit the money spot. She was a classic Libra in many ways, given to artistic pursuits and the love of balance, a natural optimist. The circumstances of her former life had knocked her off balance, but she’d bounced back in the long run, hadn’t she? Made a new life, a new home, a new career as a not-quite-starving artist. She’d even found a best friend in Beth, someone she could laugh with, talk to about anything.

  Anything but the truth about her past. Once or twice in the last few months she’d been on the verge of telling Beth the whole sordid story, but something always held her back. One day she’d spill it all, every shameful secret. She knew Beth would understand and keep her confidence. She just wasn’t ready yet.

  In October Shane would turn thirty. Surely that was a milestone; something momentous should be done to mark it. Maybe her birthday would be the trigger that released her to reveal the past, if only to Beth. Coax it out of the shadows and let the hot New Mexico sun cauterize all the old wounds.

  “Dollar for your thoughts.”

  Shane raised her eyebrows at Beth as they started across the street. When Beth shrugged, her blue eyes shone like
the splashy, silver-and-turquoise squash-blossom necklace she always wore.

  “Inflation, honey, don’t blame me,” Beth said. “So, what were you thinking about behind that Mona Lisa smile?”

  Shane shook her head. “I’ll tell you later.” A flash of color caught her eye. “Oh, no.”

  “What?”

  “That big red pickup.”

  “Dusty, but nice. So?”

  “It’s my new neighbor’s.”

  Beth grinned. “The Hilltop Intruder? Oh, goody, you can introduce me. I hear Matthew Brennan is a real hunk.”

  Shane frowned. “Where did you hear that? I haven’t even seen him up close yet.”

  “Susie sees him at the gym.”

  “He works out there?”

  “Nope, just showers and shaves. Susie says he comes in looking like a scruffy bear and leaves looking like heaven in blue jeans. Lots of muscles in all the right places. Oh, yeah, and he bought a tent and sleeping bag and some other camping gear at Walmart.”

  “How do you know this stuff?”

  Beth shrugged. “It’s a small town. You know my Susie’s a personal trainer at the gym, and my nephew Melvin’s a checker at Walmart. Easy.”

  “Sure, easy for you. Did you find out what the hell he thinks he’s doing building his damn house on my hill?”

  “Technically, Shane, it’s not your hill.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Shane stopped outside the door of the café and Beth gave her a sideways look.

  “Want to go somewhere else?”

  Shane took a deep breath. “No. I’ll be damned if I’ll let him steal my enchiladas along with my view.”

  She yanked the door open and marched inside with Beth close on her heels.

  When the door banged shut, Matt glanced up from his plate and did a classic double take. His new neighbor, clad in black Levi’s, a black T-shirt and hiking boots, stood just inside the door, glaring around the café. That old romantic-movie cliché clobbered him between the eyes: You’re beautiful when you’re angry. She really was. Fierce and beautiful.

  Damn. One close-up glimpse and she had him drooling. And that was a real bitch, because the only thing he knew about Shane MacKinnon, beyond her name and the powerful pull he was feeling right now, was that she apparently despised him. Matt’s mouth quirked up in a wry half-smile as he ducked his head and tucked into his huevos rancheros. She must have seen his truck outside. This was going to be interesting.

  Shane was still surveying the room when Beth touched her arm. “That’s him by the window. Dark curly hair, white T-shirt.”

  Shane glanced across the room, seeking the man who fit Beth’s description. When their eyes met, just for an instant, she felt a tiny electric shock, a mini-jolt, shiver through her. She studiously ignored it.

  “How do you know that’s him?” she hissed.

  “Susie’s rapturous description,” Beth answered. “And I Googled him.”

  “You did not.” Shane’s heart was beating too fast.

  The waitress seated them near the door and left menus. Beth smiled slyly across the table, kept her voice low.

  “He’s an architect, a senior partner in some big L.A. firm that designs and builds mansions for the rich and famous.” Beth snuck another look at the object of her gossip. “He really is a hunk, isn’t he?”

  “Is he? I hadn’t noticed,” Shane lied, telling herself that little jolt was nothing but anger. That’s all it could possibly be, anger at the disruption of her peace.

  “I thought you were having your usual,” Beth said.

  Shane flicked a glance at her, then ducked her head again. “I am.”

  “Then why are you studying the menu like there’s going to be a test? What’s up with you, Shane?”

  Shane drew a breath, let it out slowly, settled her features into a bland smile. “I’m hungry, that’s all. We’re going to have a nice lunch, which I’m going to enjoy immensely. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me that Juanita’s enchiladas won’t fix.”

  Beth smiled broadly and glanced across the room again. “Okay, if you say so. Do you want to know what else I found out about your handsome new neighbor, who at this very moment is pretending not to ogle you?”

  “No, I do not, thank you very much. And he is not ogling me, Beth.”

  “Oh, please. I know a stealth ogle when I see one. Hah! Got a smile. Shane, seriously, he’s interested. I can tell these things.”

  Shane felt a flush creeping up her neck and cursed herself for acting like an idiotic schoolgirl. “Beth, can we please talk about something else? I’m not interested in that, that—interloper.”

  “Come on, I’ll bet you’re way overdue for some good, hearty interloping. God knows I am.”

  Shane couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. “Stop it already, will you?”

  “Susie says he doesn’t flirt with the women at the gym,” Beth continued. “And believe me, if I know my Susie, she’s tried all the tricks in the book.”

  “There you go,” Shane said. “He’s gay.”

  Beth rolled her eyes. “The way he keeps looking at you? Not a chance.”

  Shane snuck a look at Matthew Brennan; her heart actually gave a little stutter. This was nuts. She was way too sensible for it to be real. From the corner of her eye she saw him stand up and walk over to the cash register, bill in hand. He was taller than she’d thought and he moved with the easy, ambling gait of a man comfortable in his body and accustomed to physical labor. How that squared with being a high-priced L.A. architect she couldn’t figure.

  She tried to keep her eyes off him while he paid his tab, then walked back to the table and left what appeared to be a generous tip, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. The way he looked, the way he moved, stirred something inside her that hadn’t been stirred in a very long time. And that irritated the hell out of her. If there was any stirring to be done, she wanted to decide who held the spoon.

  Shane was scowling, pretending to study the menu again, when a shadow fell across her. She wanted it to be the waitress, but she knew it wasn’t. Where the hell was the waitress? Shane refused to look up until Beth kicked her foot.

  And there he was in all his glory: charmingly crooked grin, warm brown eyes set off by outrageously charming smile lines, dark hair curling charmingly over a broad forehead. Who the hell did he think he was fooling with his charming, rugged loner act? A hotshot architect from L.A. Why didn’t he go buy some pricey California hill and leave her New Mexico hills alone?

  That’s what she wanted to tell him, but something was wrong with her tongue. It felt huge and dry in her mouth. Oh, damn, this was bad. And ridiculous. She had to snap out of it.

  “Ms. MacKinnon? Excuse me for barging in like this, but I wanted to introduce myself.” His voice was warm and deep and drowsy, like a summer day. He offered Shane his hand. “Matt Brennan. Your new neighbor.”

  Shane stared at him, trying to regain her equilibrium, until Beth nudged her foot again. Shane glared daggers at her friend, then grasped Matthew Brennan’s extended hand. It was dry and callused, his grip somehow both firm and gentle. She ended the handshake as quickly as politeness allowed and was irritated when her hand felt bereft.

  “I know who you are, Mr. Brennan,” she managed to say.

  “And you’ve already decided not to like me. Shouldn’t you hold off judgment until you get to know me better?”

  That humiliating schoolgirl flush crept up her neck again. “I neither like nor dislike you,” she said. “You’re right, I don’t know you, and I have no intention of getting to know you better.”

  The grin disappeared. His intense, dark-eyed gaze bored right through her as she fought to keep her own gaze even with his.

  “But you don’t like where I’m building my house,” he said.

  “It’s a big country, with a lot of hills.”

  “So why did I choose that one?”

  “Yes. Why did you?”

  He let a few
beats tick by before he answered, then that crooked grin came creeping slowly back. That wicked, impossibly charming grin.

  “I like the view,” he said. “See you around, neighbor.”

  Then he was gone, the screen door slapping shut behind him.

  Matt walked to his truck, shaking his head in amusement. Shane MacKinnon was a piece of work. He’d gone inside thinking it might be time to end his long dry spell, find out if that flirty waitress meant what her eyes had been telling him for weeks. But his encounter with Shane had knocked all thoughts of the waitress right out of his head—and every other portion of his anatomy. Not only was Shane MacKinnon the sexiest woman he’d come across in a long time; now that he’d seen her up close, there was something about her that seemed familiar, as if he’d seen her somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where. Maybe a picture in the L.A. Times? Not likely. Whatever; it didn’t matter.

  He wasn’t done with his new neighbor, that much he knew for sure. A beautiful, sexy woman who clearly had no idea how beautiful and sexy she was? Now, that was irresistible. And just as clearly, she was already under his skin. Way, way under. He smiled wryly as he climbed into his truck and headed for the lumber yard. Whatever transpired between them—and he was sure something would—it was going to be a bumpy ride.

  Beth gave Shane’s foot one last kick under the table.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Du-uh! You didn’t introduce me!”

  “I’m sorry, okay? He— I— Damn! What’s the matter with me?”

  Beth reached across and patted her hand. “Poor baby. How long has it been?”

  Shane frowned at her. “How long has what been?”

  “Don’t be dense. Since you had wild, pull-out-all-the-stops-and-the-hell-with-the-consequences sex, of course.”

  Shane heard a giggle, looked up at the missing waitress and felt her face flame as she ducked behind the menu once more. She wasn’t about to admit that, at the relatively advanced age of twenty-nine, she’d never even flirted around the edges of that kind of sex.