Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  And there wasn’t a big likelihood of that happening.

  With a new name and the money Virna had left her, Shay had disappeared.

  Disappeared … and moved to Alaska. Connecting Shay Morgan to the young woman who’d testified against Jethro Abernathy, who’d helped lock him away, wouldn’t be as easy as doing a name search online, or trying to follow the social security numbers.

  She was safe here. Safe, as long as she didn’t draw attention to herself. She was as far away from the deserts of Phoenix as she could get.

  And she tried to forget. Why shouldn’t she forget? She’d forgotten so much of her life. The early years of her life, right up until the night she’d met Virna, were nothing but a black void. Virna was the first clear memory she had. If she could forget whatever had happened before then, why not forget about him?

  Working her way through college, writing her nightmares down on paper, she’d tried to forget. Forgetting wasn’t happening … but she’d managed to purge the nightmares enough so that she could sleep. Most days, the diary was enough, and she’d found escape, relief, and an odd form of therapy through her fiction writing.

  As long as she was able to get those dragons out, put them down on paper or on the computer, she didn’t lie awake at night, choking on screams.

  It was a fucking weird twist of fate that she actually had people paying her to write those books—the therapy she needed to stay sane. Those books, many of them at least, stemmed from her nightmares, created by her inner dragons, and she used them to haunt the dreams of others.

  It was a bizarre trade-off, she figured.

  Lowering her hands, Shay stared out the window into the darkness of the early morning. It was almost seven, but the blackness of the sky made it look like midnight.

  Lost in the silence of the room, she thought back to the way she’d spent the past day. Somebody was trying to steal her life. All of the hard work. All of the anguish. Her dragons.

  A faint sneer curled her lip.

  If somebody wanted to take that past, maybe it wouldn’t bother her so much. But if whoever was doing this realized just what it had cost Shay to create those stories, maybe that person wouldn’t be so eager to try and claim credit.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her voice was a harsh slap in the quiet of the room.

  Her heart started to thud against her rib cage in slow, heavy beats as she realized the truth of those words. It didn’t matter. Her past, brutal as it was, ugly as it was, had made her. She had survived it. Another child might not have and if that was the sacrifice it required … so fucking be it.

  She’d earned this life—this uneasy peace that really wasn’t so very peaceful. But it was what she had, and it was hers, damn it. Shane Neil was hers, this place was hers, this life was hers, and whoever was trying to masquerade as her was in for a rude fucking awakening if he or she thought Shay would just take it.

  Mentally bracing herself, she eased herself out of bed.

  First things first—get the dream in her diary. Then she’d see if any progress had been made getting that Facebook page down.

  And if not, she was going to bring down unholy hell.

  After that … she was going back to Earth’s End, and back to Winter’s End. She’d talk to Elliot and find out what in the world was going on with those damn books.

  Grimacing, she realized she was going to do what he’d wanted her to do from the very beginning. She was going to open up to him. Because there was no other way he’d understand just why it was so important for her to know everything he could possibly tell her about the person who’d claimed to be the author of her damn books.

  MyDiary.net/slayingmydragons

  The dreams keep getting weirder. More real. More complete. And I’m not forgetting them the way I used to. They are staying with me, clear and solid in my head. I hate it.

  I dreamt about the closet. There was a baby crying … again. The girl, whispering.

  And then it changed and it was the day I met Virna. I remember her talking to me, and offering me doughnuts. I wanted a powdered sugar one, but she talked me into trying chocolate ones …

  One hour, one chocolate doughnut, and two cups of coffee later, the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me!” Darcy’s bright, cheerful voice was almost like a nail in her ear. Two cups of coffee still wasn’t enough to face a perky person.

  Hell, ten cups couldn’t make perky manageable.

  Still, this was Darcy. Forcing herself to smile, she said, “Hey, it’s you.”

  “So what are you up to today?”

  “Right now, I’m topping off my coffee.” Shay studied the bottom of her cup and rose to her feet.

  “You’ve probably had more than you need already.” Darcy sighed. “Think you’ll get any work done today? You’ve been having trouble with your book since the wreck.”

  Shay rolled her eyes as she shuffled into the kitchen. Yes, she was aware that she hadn’t written much in a while. Shit, she hadn’t been out of the hospital that long. “I dunno. I’m having these issues …” Sighing, she poured her coffee.

  It would be good to talk about it, she supposed. If anybody would understand, it would be Darcy. That was what friends were for, right?

  After adding cream and sugar, she headed back to her office. She might as well tackle email while she talked to Darcy. They needed to discuss how to handle things until the impersonator problem was cleared up but until they had that worked out, Shay would much rather be the one declining any and all invitations.

  A few minutes later, she finished summing things up and sat there, staring at her computer and waiting for a response.

  Silence greeted her.

  “Darcy?”

  “I’m here,” Darcy said quietly. “This … well, this is weird. You’re serious about all of this?”

  “Yes.” Shay pinched the bridge of her nose and said, “Somebody is pretending to be me.”

  “What do you mean, somebody is pretending to have written your books?”

  Sighing, Shay skimmed another email—hello, we would like to link our blog to yours … delete. “Darcy, I mean just what I said. Somebody went into the bookstore in Earth’s End and signed the damn books. Pretended to be me. Acted like they had a fucking right to sign my books.” Damn it, the more she thought about it, the angrier she got—and she still needed to get into town and talk to Elliot.

  She shot a look at the clock; it was ticking close to noon.

  But here she was, on the phone with Darcy. Fighting with email, Facebook, WordPress, Twitter.

  Clicking on another email, she barely made it through two lines before her head wanted to explode.

  Dear Mr. Morgan

  We’re contacting you to see if you would like to come to our store for a signing. We’re located in Portland …

  It wasn’t the Mr. that set her off, either. Portland. Bookstore. Come in for a signing. Shit. Another one. People actually wanted her to come in for actual signings.

  That so couldn’t happen. Shay would freak out before she even made it out the damn door.

  She groaned and dropped down to thump her head on the desk. Hard. Several times.

  “Shay? What’s that noise?”

  “I’m hitting my head on the desk.”

  “Ah … you just got out of the hospital after you hit your head in a car crash. Should you be banging your head?” Darcy asked worriedly. “I mean, you were in a coma.”

  “I came out of the coma, too, thanks.” A headache started to bloom, but she was pretty sure it was stress related.

  “Well, still, that’s not a good thing to do. You know, you’re worrying about this too much,” Darcy said. “I mean, you deal with weird shit all the time. Just get to work on the book and this will work out. I’ll handle the email and everything, and maybe I can figure out what’s going on for you. You’d feel better if you weren’t messing with it anyway.”

  “No.” Shay scowled. “I’d feel bett
er if none of this was happening.”

  But that wasn’t possible, so the next best alternative was to find answers—do something.

  So far, all she’d done was send out complaints, and she hadn’t gotten one damn answer. That was stopping. Today.

  There was one person who had some sort of answer. Elliot Winter.

  He would have met the Shane imposter.

  He was a nut for those books. It had always given Shay a dull rush of pride, even as it made her nervous and uncomfortable. He liked her books. Elliot liked her books, damn it.

  He’d know something about the person who’d signed them—so why in the hell was she sitting here chatting instead of getting on the road?

  “I need to go, Darcy.”

  “Hey, wait!”

  “I can’t.” Shutting down her desktop, Shay eased back from the computer and turned around. “I need to go to Earth’s End. So far, I’m not having any luck shutting things down on this end and I’m going to go crazy if I don’t find some sort of answers. Anna must be out of town or something and she isn’t answering me—nobody will be at the publisher’s until Monday. I’ve got to talk to somebody. So Elliot is it.”

  “Elliot?” Darcy asked warily.

  Grimly, Shay smiled. “Yeah. That guy I used to date. This faker signed books at his store. He’ll know something, or have remembered something about the imposter. That’s just Elliot for you. He remembers things. I’m going into town to pick his brain.”

  “You’re driving down there?”

  “Too cold to walk,” Shay pointed out, glancing outside. The sun was up. It would be up until around three or so and then it would set—the days were short and cold, very cold. She didn’t have to go outside to know that. It was January, for crying out loud. “Plus, it’s thirty minutes away.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you walk, silly,” Darcy said, laughing. “But you shouldn’t go now. You need to be resting and taking it easy.”

  “I’ve done enough of that.” If she stayed here, she was just going to brood, and steam, and brood some more. At least if she went to Elliot’s, she’d feel like she was doing something. “I’ll talk to you later, Darcy.”

  “But—”

  Dropping the phone into the cradle, Shay stared outside at her truck.

  She hadn’t driven since the accident.

  She’d been in her car—a beautiful Dodge Charger. Or it had been beautiful. It now resembled a tin can. Swallowing, she rubbed a hand over her chest, vaguely recalling the way it had felt right before she’d passed out. Pain. Lots of it.

  For a minute, the fear almost kept her trapped.

  But then she threw it off. “What are you going to do … never drive again?” she muttered.

  Like that was an option.

  Some days the nightmares were so bad, she had to leave the house just to escape them. She couldn’t run fast enough to get away from herself. She could barely drive fast enough.

  Besides, if the nightmares from what had been done to her all of those years ago weren’t enough to paralyze her in terror, then she sure as hell wasn’t going to let a fucking car wreck do it.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  “WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

  At the sound of his sister’s irate voice, Elliot closed his eyes and just remained where he was, sprawled on the floor, straightening out the mess the Danver kids had left when their parents had finally vacated the store.

  Considering how pissed off she sounded, he knew he wasn’t in any mood to tangle with her.

  They’d already tangled over the Danver kids. She’d wanted to tear into the mom and dad the second they’d stepped foot in the store. The last time the kids had been there, they’d left bubble gum inside books and one had thrown a board book down a toilet.

  Elliot had decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.

  He’d been in the wrong—as evidenced by the thirty or forty dollars’ worth of destroyed merchandise surrounding him.

  Bunch of hooligans. He honestly didn’t mind if parents wanted to bring their kids in to just browse—very often browsing led to buying. And a bookstore couldn’t exactly stay in business if people didn’t buy. But who in the hell was going to buy the books that those kids had trashed?

  After he’d pointed that out to the parents, they’d gotten rather insulted and informed him, “We’ll just take our business elsewhere.”

  He’d then felt the need to mention, “You don’t exactly do any business here anyway, so that’s just fine.”

  They hadn’t approved.

  Lorna had barely managed to keep the I told you so quiet until they’d taken their five kids out of the store. Once the bell jangled shut behind them, though, she’d whirled around and laid into him as if the kids had destroyed bricks of solid gold.

  Elliot was a wise man. He knew when to advance … and when to retreat.

  He’d retreated into the aisles to clean up the mess; he was perfectly happy to stay right there until she cooled off.

  Tuning out the low murmur of voices coming from the front, he picked up a scrap of paper and stared at it glumly. Hell, didn’t those idiots bother to teach their kids that books were for reading? Not for tearing up? He could have understood if any of the kids had been under five or so, but the youngest Danver kid was about seven or eight.

  Hearing a soft footstep behind him, he said, “Give me a second to clear the mess up—sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Need punched through him a second before the recognition hit. His body, his heart … those parts of him remembered Shay just a little better than his mind did. He looked up in time to see her easing her way down to the floor, a wary look on her face.

  The bruises were still there—those faint shadows of color lingering on her pale, soft skin. He’d seen them yesterday and it had been like a kick to the gut. She didn’t look much better today—tired, strained, and in pain.

  Yet she still looked amazingly beautiful.

  And she smelled so damn good. Like the first snow, springtime, and citrus, all wrapped up together. Sitting as close as she was, he had that scent flooding his head now, making it hard to think. For weeks after he’d broken up with her, he’d caught the faintest ghost of her scent on his jackets. Now he was surrounded by it again and it was torture.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, tearing his gaze away from her and forcing his attention back to the mangled remains of children’s books.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said softly. She reached out and touched one of the books, her fingers brushing against the cracked spine. “Man, somebody had fun back here.”

  “The Danver family was in.”

  “Ahhhh. That would explain it.” She gathered up the books around her.

  “I can get them.” Hearing the terse sound of his own voice, he sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Sorry. I’m in a bitch of a mood. But I’ll take care of the mess. You should be back home, taking it easy, anyway.”

  “Handing you three or four books isn’t going to slow my recovery any, I promise you, Elliot.” She smiled at him.

  The dimple in her cheek winked and his heart stuttered in his chest. That dimple had always gotten to him. Damn it, how could she still get to him like this? Hadn’t he decided he was better off without the complication of Shay Morgan?

  Shit. Clearing his throat, he focused his attention back on the books in front of him, stacking the books that he wouldn’t have to trash in one pile and the rest in another. “So how is that recovery going? You going to need physical therapy or anything?”

  “No. I was lucky. If it hadn’t been for the coma and the head injuries, I probably would have been able to go home within a few days, but those complicated things. I ended up with pneumonia in ICU, but that’s not as bad as the other stuff.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her shrug. “It could have been a lot worse.”

  “It sounds like it was bad enough.” He held up a ha
nd and ticked the problems off on his fingers. “Coma. Head injuries. Pneumonia. Any of those could have been bad, just on their own. But all three? You should be taking it easy. So why aren’t you resting?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve rested. Two weeks, flat on my back.” Her fingers toyed with the folds of her long denim skirt, twisting them, smoothing them out. Twist, smooth, twist, smooth … over and over … He wanted to reach over and catch her hands in his, hold them and get her to tell him what was wrong.

  That wasn’t going to happen. So he focused on the obvious.

  She was nervous about something. Very nervous. She wasn’t looking at him and she was fidgeting.

  Elliot had learned to read people pretty damn well. It had come in handy during his years in the army and in the years since he’d bought the bookstore.

  Reading Shay wasn’t always easy because she was about as open as a closed book, but right now, she was nervous as hell.

  Shifting around, he faced her and waited her out.

  She shot a quick look at him, her eyes bouncing around to land somewhere in the vicinity of his chin before moving to linger on his right shoulder as she said, “Besides, I need to ask you a question.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  She paused in her endless twisting and folding of her skirt to reach for a book by her side. Seeing the copy of the book she held, his curiosity stirred. He’d almost forgotten about it. “I heard you’d picked one up. What made you change your mind about trying these?” he asked, reaching for the copy of Death Sigh. It was one of the store’s copies. He recognized his store’s autographed copy sticker.

  Her fingers uncurled from the book slowly as he tugged it out of her grasp, but it struck him that she was reluctant to let it go. From under his lashes, he watched her.

  “I didn’t exactly change my mind,” she said quietly. Her tongue stroked across her lower lip.