Shattered Blue: A Romantic Thriller

by Jane Taylor Starwood

  Then she froze with her hand on the switch, staring at a row of broken bottle necks, still twined in wire along the eaves, pointing jagged fingers toward the ground. She lowered her gaze to the flagstones and her heart jolted painfully.

  In the middle of the patio, amid glittering shards of blue, lay a cat-shaped heap of gray fur. Blood still oozed from the gaping wound in her pet’s throat. In the bright light, the blood looked too red to be real, but she knew it was.

  Shane doubled over, holding her stomach, gasping for breath, fighting to fill her lungs, to stave off the panic. She knew this was not the work of a teenage vandal. She knew who had done this. How could she have let herself believe he was dead?

  Behind her she heard the kitchen door closing. She turned to face him, drawing on her outrage and her love for Matt to give her courage.

  He stood there, just inside the kitchen door, smiling at her. He was clean-shaven. His hair was as fair and fine as she remembered. And his eyes were gray. Cold, pitiless gray.

  “Hello, Shannon,” he said. His tone was conversational, friendly. “I thought I’d drop by to thank you for keeping that diamond safe for me.”

  He was completely mad, she knew that. Hadn’t she always known it, really? Jordan Ripley had been born without human feeling, without the ability to love, without mercy. She knew now, beyond any doubt, that he had killed Tyler. She had suspected as much, but she hadn’t allowed herself to believe it, because then she would have to acknowledge her part in it, and that was too painful to contemplate.

  Jordan had murdered his own brother, his identical twin, because of her. Because Tyler—good, kind Tyler—had beaten him, humiliated him, spoiled his game and sent him away.

  And now Jordan was back to finish it. To terrorize her, to rape her and kill her.

  She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. She reached deep and found a core of steel.

  “Winger was wearing your jacket,” she said. “How did that happen, Jordan? A moment of weakness?”

  His eyes narrowed in anger. “That idiot thought he could beat me at my own game.”

  Shane laughed coldly. “And he almost got away with it. If it hadn’t been for the flood—”

  “Shut up! He’s of no consequence. I made the plan. I have the diamond, and that fool is dead.”

  “You were going to kill him anyway, weren’t you.”

  Jordan smiled. “You always were a clever girl. But cleverness won’t save you, Shannon. Nothing can save you. No one is coming to your rescue, not this time.”

  His words chilled her to the bone. “What have you done to Matt?” she said.

  She was terrified that he would answer her, and terrified that he wouldn’t. She held her breath, waiting.

  Jordan laughed. “He’s hard to kill, that one. I haven’t done a thing to him yet. At this very moment, your hero is rushing to the aid of three other damsels in distress, far, far away.”

  Shane frowned. What was he talking about?

  “Oh, don’t worry, sister dear. The others are safe; I didn’t touch a single hair on their pretty heads. It was just a ruse to get your hero out of the way. You remember that word, don’t you? A very clever ruse, if I do say so myself.”

  Thank God. Matt was far away, unhurt. She stayed where she was while Jordan advanced on her, crossing the distance between them in slow, deliberate strides. She mentally measured the distance to the patio door behind her: mere inches. Was it locked? She couldn’t remember.

  “By the time your lover finally arrives,” Jordan was saying, “your raped and butchered body will be reposing in your bed, waiting for him. He’ll bend over you, weeping for his lost love. He’ll take your still-warm body into his arms. And it will be the last thing he ever does.”

  Shane’s legs trembled; she grabbed the back of the couch to keep from falling.

  Jordan’s relentless voice droned on. “It will be just like a fairytale, only the handsome prince’s kiss won’t awaken the beautiful princess.” He grinned. “And then it turns positively Shakespearean, I’m afraid. Buckets of blood. Dead lovers sprawled across the bed. The curtain falls. And the only player left to take a bow is yours truly.”

  He was right in front of her now, leering into her face, his eyes fixed on hers. “Game over, Shannon.”

  His smug self-assurance slashed through the fear that bound her and she lunged at him, shoving him so hard that he fell back, sprawling on the floor. His surprised grunt barely registered as she turned and slammed the patio door open. Not locked.

  She was almost through the opening when she felt a hard grip on her ankle. She tried to kick free, but he was too strong. As she fell forward, she threw her hands out to break her fall and bits of glass dug into her palms, her knees, a thousand fire ants stinging her at once.

  And then a terrible pain bloomed at the back of her skull. For an instant the world went red, and then—nothing.

  As he raced toward the airport, thinking about Jenna, Steffie and Susan tied up in the back of a van, Matt couldn’t stop worrying about Shane. She’d be arriving home about now, wondering why he wasn’t close behind her. Would she try to call him? If she did, should he answer? What would he say? Would he be able to keep the panic out of his voice, lie to her, tell her everything was all right?

  She thought Jordan was dead. Really, finally, dead. How was he supposed to tell her he was still out there, still after her?

  But at the moment, he wasn’t, and that bothered him. Jordan had suddenly switched tactics and gone after their families. Why?

  And he had the diamond, so why was he so keen on extorting more money from Matt? Why take the risk of staying in the country?

  Matt sifted Jordan’s words for clues. What was it he’d said? He wanted to take everything from him.

  Everything.

  Shane was everything.

  Fear shot down Matt’s spine. He pulled onto the shoulder and slammed on the brakes. He stabbed 411 into his satphone, had the automated system dial the number it found.

  “Silver City Hotel.”

  “Jenna Tyler’s room. It’s an emergency.”

  One ring, two, three.

  Come on, come on!

  “Hello?”

  Jenna’s voice. His sister’s sweet voice.

  “Jenna. Thank God. Where are Steffie and Susan?”

  “Matt? What’s wrong?”

  “Where are they?” He pulled back onto the highway and raced across the median.

  “Steffie’s right here and Susan’s in her own room.”

  “Are you sure Susan’s in her room?”

  “Yes, I just said goodnight to her. What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

  “Get Susan into your room and lock the door. Call the police and tell them there’s been a threat against you. Don’t let anyone else in. I’ll call as soon as I can.”

  “All right, but I don’t understand. What threat?”

  “Jenna, listen. Was your cell stolen?”

  “How did you know? Somebody broke into my car while we were in the gallery. I reported it to the police, but—”

  “Get Susan. Lock the door. Call the police. Promise me.”

  “I promise, but—”

  He cut the connection and called 911, racing east, racing toward Shane.

  FORTY-TWO

  Shane floated up out of the darkness. The first thing she became aware of was the pain in her head. She didn’t want to open her eyes, because she knew the light would hurt them.

  Then she felt the stinging pain on the palms of her hands, the soles of her feet, her knees. She started to flex her fingers, then stopped because it hurt too much. What had happened? She couldn’t remember anything beyond walking into her house, turning on the lights, kicking off her shoes.

  She was lying on something soft. A bed. She was lying on a bed. Her bed, in her room. And someone was sitting on the bed next to her. She could feel the sag in the mattress, hear someone breathing.

  Matt?

  Then she began to
remember.

  No, not Matt.

  It came back to her swiftly now: The shattered bottles, the bloody gray fur, the blow from behind.

  She forced her eyes open, hoping she didn’t have a concussion. That would make it harder to fight him. And she was going to fight him. She was going to fight him with everything she had.

  She felt strength flowing back into her, but she lay very still. Let him think he’d weakened her; let him think she was his for the taking.

  She knew she had to use her mind as well as her body. He was smart, but she was smarter. And she had more to live for. What did Jordan have? Money? Expensive things? They were nothing compared to what she had with Matt. She would not give that up. Not to Jordan. Not to anyone.

  She steeled herself, waiting for his next move. She knew he would try to terrorize her slowly, the way he always used to. He wanted to watch her eyes fill with fear, with tears, with pleading. She knew exactly what he wanted, but how could she turn his own game against him?

  And then it came to her, while he was staring down at her, his lips curled into that grotesque smile. It was as clear as his cold gray eyes: his Achilles heel. Her stepbrother’s need to dominate her, to bend her to his will, was insatiable.

  He was obsessed with her.

  Look what he’d done: He’d risked everything to come back and finish his game. He had the diamond. His accomplice was out of the way; with that phone call to Gram, he’d sent the FBI chasing a phantom on the road to Albuquerque. Everyone believed he was dead. He could have gotten away. He could have gone back to wherever he’d been all those years and lived in luxury for the rest of his life.

  But now that he’d found her again, he couldn’t stay away from her. In some sick, twisted way, he needed her. And that meant he would keep her alive until the last minute.

  She would use his obsession against him. She would pretend, she would lure, she would lull, she would do whatever she had to, and she would stay alive until she got her chance.

  He wanted Shakespearean? She’d give him Shakespearean.

  Jordan loomed over her and a flash of light blinded her momentarily. The knife. Shane felt her newfound courage faltering, felt herself falling back through the years, into the body of that little girl.

  No.

  She closed her eyes, pictured Matt’s face, Gram’s face, and felt her strength returning. She would not let Jordan terrify her again. She might fail tonight, she might die, but she would not be his whimpering victim.

  Opening her eyes, she braved the flashing glare of the hunting knife he held above her face. She willed her body to lie still as she stared straight into his eyes. With a thrill of triumph, she saw the surprise in the gray eyes that stared back at her.

  Neither of them spoke a word, but they both knew the final moves in the game were at hand, and that Shane had just altered the rules. She could see the dawn of awareness in his eyes: She was no longer a mere pawn to toy with as he pleased.

  On the other hand, he still had the knife.

  She watched his eyes grow cold again as he passed from surprise back to arrogance. Shane ached to attack, but she held herself still. She could read him now: As long as he held the knife, it was her only advantage. She would watch, and wait, and hold herself in check until her time came.

  Had it been a mistake to challenge him, even silently? He would be wary of her now. Could she backtrack, make him believe the defiance in her eyes had been only a spark of bravado? She could try.

  Shane opened her eyes wide, fixing them on the knife, feigning terror, and then she squeezed her eyes shut and forced a tremor through her body.

  As soon as she heard Jordan’s throaty, triumphant laughter, she knew she had succeeded. She had bested him at his own game. She was playing the player. It was all she could do to keep from smiling.

  “Not so brave after all, little sister?” he said.

  Shane kept her eyes closed as she felt him leaning closer, felt him pull the high neck of her dress away from her body. She couldn’t help it; her eyes came open. Had she been wrong about his need to terrorize her first? Was he going to kill her now? Slit her throat like he did her poor cat’s?

  Before she had a chance to react, Jordan slid the tip of his knife under the neckline of her dress and slit it open all the way down the front. She felt a chill as the air washed across her bare skin, but she also felt a thrill of relief. She’d guessed right. He was determined to terrorize her before he killed her.

  She kept very still as he cut off her pantyhose, and then she lay bared to him in her black lace bra and panties. She felt his gaze like a sickness on her skin, as if something slimy caressed her, but he hadn’t touched her yet. He wanted to look at her, and she let him, saving her strength for the end game.

  She was using his words now: the end game. She had to think like him, anticipate his moves, in order to defeat him. She had to keep making him believe she was still his pawn, to use as he wished. She forced out another whimper and heard him chuckle in response.

  “Lie still, Shannon, and maybe I’ll go easy on your lover. Maybe I’ll let him die quickly. If you fight me, it will go hard for him. Do you understand?”

  Shane nodded. She had to squeeze her eyes shut to keep her rage from blazing at him, clamp down on her muscles to keep from lunging at him.

  His hands started to roam her body. His palms were smooth and cool until they began to warm on her skin. His caresses began as slow, feather-light touches on her arms, her throat, her thighs. And then his touch grew harder and harder, until he was hurting her with his strong, cruel fingers, pinching and kneading and prodding. He was breathing faster, deeper, beginning to pant.

  Shane let her eyelids open until she could see just a little. Where was the knife? She didn’t see it, but both of his hands were on her now. His eyes were closed, a look of ecstasy on his lean, handsome face as he pulled at the edge of her black lace panties.

  She turned her head slightly and saw the knife on the nightstand, its long, broad blade gleaming in the lamplight.

  She waited, breathing softly, separating her mind from what he was doing to her body. Slowly, an inch at a time, she reached toward the knife.

  She almost had it when Jordan looked up and saw what she was doing.

  His head was right above her stomach. He reached for the knife, his face contorted with rage.

  Shane bucked her hips up from the mattress and crossed her legs behind his head, twisting away from the nightstand and the knife, taking him with her, rolling them both toward the far side of the bed.

  Jordan struggled, but her thighs were strong and she held on until he bit her, hard, on the stomach. Crying out in pain, she fell back, and Jordan wrenched himself free. He dove across the mattress and grabbed the knife. Shane kicked out with all her strength. She caught him in the chest and he fell backwards.

  Shane heard Jordan’s body hit the floor as she scrambled off the far side of the bed, next to the wall. She looked wildly around the room for something, anything, to defend herself with. She knew she couldn’t make it past him to the door. He was too quick.

  Jordan came up fast with the knife in his hand and lunged at her, flinging himself across the bed, the knife striking out in a wide arc. Shane dodged away, grabbing at his right arm, going for the knife. She got a grip on his wrist, tried to make him drop it, but he was too strong. He bent her fingers back until she cried out, then he wrenched her hand away and came at her again, backing her into the corner between the bed and the wall, coming across the mattress in a crouch.

  She saw death in his gray eyes, hers and Matt’s. The end of the game.

  No! She could not let him win.

  Shane stepped forward and slid her arms beneath the mattress. With a sudden, powerful heave, she tipped it up. She saw the shock in Jordan’s eyes. She saw the mattress catch the knife and turn it toward him. She pushed with all the strength she had, and the mattress flipped over, carrying Jordan with it.

  Shane heard the nightstand fal
l and slide across the floor, heard the lamp crash and break. Then she heard a muffled cry of pain, a low, drawn-out groan.

  She didn’t hesitate. She ran around the bed frame and fell on the mattress with her full weight. It heaved for a moment, and then it went still. Shane lay there, breathing hard, waiting for any sound, any movement, any sign that Jordan lived. But the mattress was still beneath her, and she heard no sound except the distant wail of sirens.

  Sirens.

  From downstairs came the crash of splintering wood, and then a deep, hoarse, beloved voice calling her name.

  “Shane! Shane!”

  “Matt!” she called back. “Here! I’m up here!” She struggled to her feet and ran down the stairs, only vaguely aware of the stinging pain in the soles of her feet.

  When she reached the foot of the stairs she saw Matt running toward her, his face dark with rage and fear. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  He looked down at her hands, took them in his. “You’re bleeding!”

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing. Scratches.”

  He took her by the shoulders and searched her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Shane nodded, thinking about the bite on her stomach, the cuts on her hands and knees and feet. None of it mattered right now.

  “Where’s Jordan?” he asked.

  Her eyes went wide. “How did you know it was him?”

  Matt didn’t answer. He took off his shirt and draped it around her shoulders.

  “Where is he?” he said.

  “In my bedroom. Matt, I think he’s dead. I think he fell on his knife.” She shoved her arms into the shirtsleeves. She was cold, shivering.

  “Stay here,” he commanded, and then he went to the kitchen and took a butcher knife from the block on the counter and started for the stairs.

  Shane stood there in shock for a moment, listening to the sound of his feet pounding up the stairs, and then she shook herself.

  Stay here? Like hell she would. She ran to the kitchen, grabbed the first knife she put her hand on and followed Matt. For the first time in her life, she wished she owned a gun.