Shattered Blue: A Romantic Thriller

by Jane Taylor Starwood

  Matt deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers, and Shane responded in kind. Her knees trembled as she pressed her body against his. Suddenly she wasn’t tired at all; she was full of energy and eager for him. Taking his hand, she led him up the stairs to her bedroom. This would be the first time they made love in her room, in her bed. It felt like a milestone.

  When they walked into her room, Shane turned on the bedside lamp. The sheet tacked over the big window caught her eye and she laughed.

  Matt looked at the sheet, then at Shane, and pictured the view from his hill. He grinned.

  “What?” he said. “You thought I was peeping in your bedroom?”

  “Well, were you?”

  He ran his hands behind her waist and pulled her close. “I was sorely tempted,” he said, “but no, I didn’t. That would be creepy.”

  “And you’re not a creep?”

  Matt laughed. “I hope not. Did you think I was a creep?”

  She leaned back, looked into his eyes, smiled. “I hoped not,” she said, “but you did have those binoculars. Admit it, you were watching me.”

  “Oh, I was watching you all right, just not in your bedroom. I had to draw the line somewhere. And I was counting on getting a better view in the future. A closeup, three-D view.”

  Shane pulled her T-shirt over her head, dropped it on the floor. “Like this?”

  Matt grinned. “Even closer.”

  She unhooked her bra and let it fall. “Like this?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Matt said. He ducked his head and took a rigid nipple into his mouth.

  Shane gasped as the shock, the heat, flashed from her breast to her core. Closing her eyes, she arched her back, feeling his hands caressing her burning skin.

  Clothes. Too many clothes. Shane opened her eyes and pulled at Matt’s T-shirt until he peeled it over his head, then they were undoing each other’s jeans, pulling them down and off, and they were skin to skin. Matt swept her into his arms and laid her on the bed.

  Shane felt the mattress sink beneath their weight, and then Matt was over her, inside her, surrounded and consumed and joined with her.

  In that instant she gave herself up, let go of every sorrow, every hurt, every constriction of her heart, every limit, every fear. She lost herself in him, poured herself into him as he poured himself into her. And as their joined bodies created them anew, as their love forged them into this miraculous, dual being, this double soul, Shane felt her old self, the wounded child that dwelled within her, disappear into the brilliant blaze of their love.

  Shane awoke in the middle of the night and lay still for a moment, listening to Matt’s deep, even breathing. Pale light shone through the sheet over the window. Shane eased out of bed and drew the sheet aside. A full moon rode high in the black sky, a bright star beside it. Venus, she thought. The goddess of love.

  She heard the mattress creak and then Matt was behind her, sliding his arms around her waist, warm and strong. They looked up at the moon together. Shane’s gaze was drawn to the ruins of his half-built house on the top of the hill, stark and exposed in the moonlight.

  She sighed and he drew her closer, laying a soft kiss on her shoulder. “When do you want to start on the new blueprints?” he said.

  “New blueprints?”

  “I think, if you’re going to live in a house, you should have a say in the design.”

  She turned and wove her arms around his neck. “I’ve always wanted to live in a real hacienda, with a central courtyard.”

  He smiled down at her. “Done,” he said.

  “And a fountain in the middle.”

  “Done and done.”

  “And three—no, four—bedrooms.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows. “Expecting a lot of company, are we?”

  “Yes,” she said, “eventually. Soon.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Shane laughed. “No, you idiot. It’s too early to tell. But I’m working on it,” she said, nudging him back toward the bed.

  THIRTY-NINE

  On Friday, just after three in the afternoon, Shane tucked in the last bit of weft on the last weaving. Her sense of triumph was short-lived though; they had to leave by four-fifteen and there was a lot to do before then. They’d promised Beth they’d bring the finished pieces to the gallery by five and help her hang them before the reception began at six. They still had to wrap the four pieces, pack them in Matt’s truck, and then shower and dress. They’d already decided to take both trucks, since the weavings took up so much room.

  It was a quarter to four by the time she hurried out of the steamy bathroom—they’d taken separate showers, so they wouldn’t be tempted to delay themselves even more. The door of her second bedroom was still closed. She heard Matt whistling in there, and it made her smile. He couldn’t carry a tune, but she loved to hear him sounding so happy. As for her, she’d never been happier. Her face was stuck in smile mode.

  She’d known what she was going to wear the minute Beth told her about the reception. No mystery there; it was the only dressy outfit she’d kept from her former life. Shannon Malone had owned a room full of designer clothes and at least a hundred pairs of ridiculously expensive shoes. Shane MacKinnon owned a dresser full of jeans and T-shirts, and every shoe she owned fit on the floor of her small closet.

  But she’d always loved the way she looked in the little black dress laid out on her bed. It was a classic, a sleeveless sheath that fit her like a second skin. It had a straight neckline and the hem stopped a few inches shy of her knees. Sexy, but well within the bounds of good taste.

  She’d kept a pair of shoes that went perfectly with the dress. They were strappy, shiny black, with four-inch stiletto heels. She just hoped she remembered how to walk in them. It was probably like riding a bike, she told herself: once learned, never forgotten. At least she hoped so, or she was about to fall flat on her face at her own reception.

  Shane reached into the back of her underwear drawer for her one and only black lace bra and matching panties and put them on, then pulled on her one pair of pantyhose. As she straightened the elastic, she tried and failed to recall the last time she’d worn these. Probably before she left New York.

  She slipped the dress over her head, zipped it up the back, adjusted the snug bodice and smoothed the skirt over her hips. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and strapped on the heels. She stood up and turned toward her free-standing, full-length mirror. It was coated in a thin layer of dust and draped with the sheet from the window, which she’d pulled down yesterday.

  Shane smiled, picturing Matt’s playful leer when she’d told him he could peep at her anytime he liked. That flooded her with memories of last night in bed, sending a delicious shiver along her skin. Better not go there, she scolded herself. We’re in a hurry, remember?

  She snatched the sheet off the mirror to puddle on the floor, and studied her reflection. Hmmm. Not bad. Not bad at all. The little black dress was even more flattering that she recalled. Her workouts had paid off in a tightly toned body with gentle, feminine curves.

  Pleased with herself, she picked up her hairbrush and started arranging her hair into a French twist. When that was done to her satisfaction, she completed the look with a pair of dangly silver and onyx earrings, a light touch of lipstick and a whisk of mascara.

  There. She was ready. Now what was taking Matt so long?

  She’d started toward the door of the guest room when it opened and Matt stepped out. Shane stopped in her tracks and stared at him. She’d known he would look great, but the man walking toward her looked better than great. In a dark blue, open-necked dress shirt, slim black trousers and black dress shoes, he looked liked he’d just walked off the cover of GQ.

  “Wow,” she said. “You certainly clean up well.”

  He stared back at her, and she watched him take her in from her sleek hair to her strappy sandals and back again.

  “Holy cow,” he said, smilin
g at her with a look in his eyes that made her want to strip naked and jump him. He came toward her slowly, still smiling that smile.

  “I’ve got nothing on you, baby,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she said, holding out her hands to ward him off. “We’re already late.”

  He was right in front of her now. “You are, without a doubt, the sexiest, most gorgeous woman on God’s green Earth,” he said, “and I want more than anything to take you to bed right now.”

  Shane gazed up at him, noticing how the deep blue of his shirt set off the deep brown of his eyes. Were they really that late? He dipped his head and laid a gentle kiss on her lips. Her knees went watery.

  “But,” he said, all brisk business, “I’ll have to take a raincheck on that. Let’s go.”

  Shane shook herself to clear the sensual languor he induced in her, then she laughed and started down the stairs. Raincheck, indeed, she thought, smiling to herself. I’ll give him a raincheck, all right. Just wait until we get back home. He won’t know what hit him.

  “Wait,” Matt said behind her. “Do you have the key?”

  She turned to look up at him. “The key to the Ranger?”

  He was grinning at her. “The key to my chastity belt.”

  Laughing, Shane said, “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Come on, we have to go.”

  But Matt stood his ground. “Where is it?”

  “Matt—”

  “Humor me, okay?”

  “All right, if you say so. It’s on top of my dresser.”

  He took the stairs two at a time and was back in seconds, handing her the little key. “Put it in your purse,” he said.

  Shane looked at the tiny golden key. “What’s this about?”

  “Just put in in your purse,” he said, still grinning. “You’ll find out later.”

  Shane shook her head as she dropped the key into her evening bag, wondering what he was up to. Whatever it was, she didn’t have time to think about it. The kitchen clock said four-twenty-two; they were running behind schedule.

  As her Ranger rumbled across the repaired bridge in front of Big Red, Shane felt another wave of contentment wash over her. That had been happening a lot lately; she was starting to get used to it.

  They arrived at Silver Linings Gallery at ten minutes past five. Matt found a parking place near the door; Shane had to park several spaces down the block. Beth held the door open for them and they carried the new pieces inside.

  Twenty minutes later, the last piece had been hung to Beth’s satisfaction. She stood back and dusted her hands together, smiling up at the weaving.

  “Gorgeous,” Beth said. “Simply gorgeous. If we don’t sell most of these tonight, I’ll eat my hat.”

  Shane stood in the middle of the gallery with Matt at her side. She had to admit that seeing a dozen of her weavings at once was impressive. Matt draped an arm around her shoulders.

  “Happy?” he said.

  She smiled up at him. “Very.”

  “I know something that’ll make you even happier,” he said, nodding toward the door.

  Shane looked up to see her grandmother coming in, followed by a young woman who looked so much like Matt that she had to be his sister, and an adorable little girl who could only be his niece. Shane’s hands flew to her mouth and tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, “Gram! You’re here!”

  Gram opened her arms and Shane walked into them and hugged her tight. “I can’t believe you’re actually here,” she said.

  Gram laughed as she wiped tears from her eyes. “It was all Matt’s doing,” she said. “He arranged for Jenna and Steffie to pick me up on their way from Los Angeles, and even reserved rooms for us here in town. We’ve had a grand time getting to know each other.”

  She kept an arm around her grandmother’s shoulders as she turned and looked at Matt. He was watching them with one arm around Jenna and the other around Steffie. The love she felt for him at that moment was almost more than she could hold; her heart felt too big for her chest. If she’d let herself, she could’ve burst out bawling, but she couldn’t do that, because the reception was going to begin in a few minutes and the gallery would be full of people. At least she hoped it would. She wiped the tears carefully from the corners of her eyes so her mascara wouldn’t run and make her look like a demented raccoon.

  “Shane,” Matt said, “I want you to meet my sister, Jenna, and my niece, Steffie.”

  Shane gazed into Jenna’s brown eyes and saw so much of Matt there that she felt she already knew her. She held out her hand, but Jenna drew her into her arms and hugged her close.

  “Shane,” Jenna said, “it’s so wonderful to meet you.”

  “You, too,” Shane said, giving her an extra squeeze before she let her go. She looked forward to getting to know Jenna. She had a feeling they were going to be the best of friends.

  Then Shane bent down to Steffie’s level. The child regarded her with the sweetest smile she’d ever seen. “Hi, Steffie,” she said, “I’m Shane. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “Can I hug you, too?” Steffie asked.

  Delighted, Shane opened her arms and held Steffie tight, thinking how right this child’s arms felt around her neck. What a sweetheart, she thought. I want one just like her. Or two, or maybe even three.

  When she straightened up, Matt was gazing at her with smiling eyes, and she swore he was thinking the same thing.

  Just then a commotion at the door caught her attention and she turned to see a man with a serious-looking camera standing in the open door, held at bay by Beth.

  Oh, hell, here they come.

  She hadn’t given much thought to the media since the FBI had chased them away from her house, but she should have known they’d find out about the reception. They’d undoubtedly been swarming all over town, looking under every rock for anything they could find about her life.

  She saw Matt scowl and hurry over to help Beth. Her first instinct was to cower in the corner, but she didn’t. She decided right then that she wasn’t going to hide anymore. She walked toward the door.

  “Get lost,” Matt was saying, “or I’ll put that camera someplace you won’t find comfortable.”

  “Matt, wait,” Shane said. “I’ll talk to them.” At least a dozen more photographers crowded around the door, and a TV van was pulling up across the street.

  Matt turned to look at her. “Are you sure, Shane?” he asked her.

  She pulled herself up to her full height—which, in these shoes, she realized, was pretty impressive. “Yes, I’m sure. They’re not going away, so I might as well get this over with. Besides,” she said, looking at Beth, “all publicity is good publicity, right?”

  Beth grinned back. “Right,” she said. “Go get ’em, Shane.”

  “All right, if you’re sure,” Matt said with a grim smile, “but I’m right here if you need me. I’ve got your back, always.”

  Shane found his hand and squeezed it. “I know,” she said. “That’s why I can do this.”

  She stepped outside and faced the row of cameras, heard them clicking away. With a glance and a smile at Beth, she made sure she was standing just to the side of the large weaving in the window, so they could see it in the background, and then she cleared her throat and held her head high.

  “I’m Shannon Malone, the stepdaughter of Raymond Ripley,” she said. “I’m going to give you some basic information, and when I’m through, you will back off across the street, or you’ll be dealing with the police. You will not block the gallery door, and you will not harass anyone coming in or going out.”

  She paused and took a deep breath. Matt was standing beside her; she took his hand and held it.

  “I’m not going to answer any questions at this time, so listen carefully. For the past few years, I’ve been living here in New Mexico as Shane MacKinnon. That’s my name now. Get it right.” She spelled it for them, then cleared her thr
oat.

  “I can’t believe I have to say this again, but hear me now: I had nothing to do with Ripley Investments. I was not involved in the fraud, as the New York grand jury acknowledged. My life is my own business. Not yours, not anyone else’s.”

  Cameras clicked away and microphones jostled closer.

  “As you know, several days ago there was an incident on my property involving my stepbrother, Jordan Ripley, and an accomplice.”

  At the mention of Jordan’s name, a murmur ran through the crowd. Shane held up her hand, palm out.

  “Wait,” she said. “Yes, Jordan was supposed to have committed suicide five years ago, but obviously he didn’t. I don’t know any more about that than you do. You may have heard some things from other sources about the recent incident.” She hesitated, then went on. “I can neither confirm nor deny any of that.”

  She heard the rumble of dissatisfaction and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but it’s in the hands of the FBI. I can’t say anything more. That’s all.”

  She turned to go back inside, and the photographers and reporters surged toward her, pointing their cameras and microphones. Urgent voices shouted at her—Ms. MacKinnon! Shannon! Shane!—but she ignored them. Matt pushed between her and the pressing crowd. She heard him shouting as she made her way to the gallery door.

  “That’s enough!” he yelled. “You heard her! Back off across the street or we’ll call the police.”

  Then Shane heard Beth’s voice. “It looks like somebody already did.”

  A glance over her shoulder revealed three black-and-whites pulling up, uniformed officers emerging. Matt threw his arm around her and hurried her through the door Beth was holding open. She closed it behind them and Matt took Shane into his arms.

  “Are you all right?” he said.

  “Yes, I’m fine, Matt,” she said. She leaned back in his arms, smiling up at him. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Vultures,” Matt said.

  “They’re just doing their jobs.”