Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  For a moment, he was distracted. He wanted to lean in and trace the path her tongue had taken with his own. Focus, Winter. Flipping the book open, he looked at the flowing, flowery script on the title page, giving himself a minute before he looked back at Shay. “So what’s up?”

  “I want to know about the person who signed it.”

  Elliot cocked a brow at her. “Okay … although I’m curious why the sudden interest. I’d tried to get you to read these for years. Why the change of mind now?”

  Shay closed her eyes.

  Elliot had always been good at realizing when things were about to go to hell—five seconds before it happened. It was a weird feeling. A tension of sorts, something that lingered in the air and all but choked the oxygen out of it in some bizarre way.

  This was one of those moments—everything was about to go straight to hell and he knew it. Adrenaline slammed into him and his heart raced along at about two hundred beats a minute, or at least it seemed that way. He had to work to keep his breathing level as he watched Shay, as he waited.

  And then she opened her eyes and said quietly, “I need to know about whoever signed this book, Elliot. Because whoever did it is a fucking liar. Whoever did it isn’t Shane Neil. I am.”

  I am—

  Shay had thought it would be hard to say that.

  She’d thought she would have to force herself to admit something she’d kept such a closely guarded secret.

  Oh, yeah, sure. A few people knew, but only two of them knew her in real life, knew the real Shay. Darcy knew and Shay’s adopted sister Angie knew.

  That was just about it.

  The rest of them, none of them really knew her—not in person. Her agent, her editor—neither of them had met her in real life. All of their contact had been online, through email. Shay had never met any of them out in the real world—no conventions, no signings, no business lunches. Not a one of them knew what she really looked like.

  None of them really knew her.

  But Elliot did.

  He knew her better than Darcy did. Better than anybody, probably even better than her sister … she hadn’t seen Angie in years and while Angie knew the girl she’d been, Elliot knew who she was now.

  And nobody had ever made the impact on her life that he had; what he thought about this mattered in a way she couldn’t describe. Swallowing, she dared a quick look at him but saw that he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the book he held.

  A lock of hair fell into his eyes, shielding his gaze from her. Seconds ticked away into minutes, and finally, she said softly, “Elliot?”

  A harsh sigh escaped him and he stood up.

  “Yeah?”

  She managed not to flinch at the abrupt sound of his voice, but just barely. It was enough to make her heart bleed, though. He didn’t believe her. She could tell, just by the way he sounded, just by the tension in his voice and the rigid set of his shoulders.

  Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

  You can do this.

  And there was no doubt that she could. She’d gotten through hell. She could get through this without letting him see how he’d hurt her.

  Swallowing, she shifted around until she had her legs beneath her before she started to get up. She still had to grab hold of things to stand—her strength was coming back, but it was slow.

  A hand came around her arm, gently. A blush stung her cheeks and she would have pulled away if she could have figured out a graceful way to do it. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

  “You’re not.” He dropped a kiss onto her head and stroked a hand down her back. “It’s okay to need a hand every now and then, Shay.”

  She shrugged and turned away the second he let go of her arm. Coming here had been a waste of time, she realized.

  Okay to need somebody? She resisted the urge to laugh. She’d come here because she did need somebody. She’d needed him. But he hadn’t even realized it.

  Hunching her shoulders, she turned away, staring at the brightly decorated kids’ area of the store, trying to figure out what to say, what to ask—

  “What’s the deal here, Shay?”

  “I told you. I’m Shane Neil.”

  She heard another heavy sigh come from him. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

  “Hell, why would I lie about it?” With a harsh laugh, she nodded at the book he still held. It hung from one long-fingered hand and she could see, faintly, how the light glinted off the red foil of the title font. She’d been so excited when she’d heard about what they were doing with the cover of that book—it was the kind of cover that authors hoped for, prayed for, and it was hers. And damn it, somebody else was trying to claim it. Trying to take it over. “You just believed it from somebody else easily enough, didn’t you?”

  “Shit, she came in here with an advance reader’s copy and bookmarks. Those don’t exactly fall off of trees, Shay.”

  Something stilled inside her. Bookmarks … and an ARC—that was something. “It’s not that hard to get your hands on bookmarks, Elliot,” she said softly. “I can show you ten different sites where you order them and have them shipped right to the doorstep. All they need is the artwork—they don’t care if it’s the author or not. They just need the art, and the money.”

  She came in here with an advance reader’s copy …

  She …

  Narrowing her eyes, she studied him closely. “She? It was a woman who came in?”

  “Yes.” With a pointed stare, he said, “But then again, so are you.”

  Ignoring that, she said, “And you weren’t surprised by her showing up out of the blue?”

  “Actually, I was pretty damn surprised. But she had the ARC. She had the bookmarks. What was I going to do, tell her to leave and come back with some sort of written proof? She wanted to sign the damn books!” He looked down at the book he held and then swore, tossing it down by the pile on the floor before turning away to pace.

  “The problem with that is that they aren’t her damn books.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection, eyeing the book on the floor. Mine, she thought. They are my damn books.

  “And how in the hell was I supposed to know that?” he growled.

  Shay swallowed. “You weren’t, I guess.”

  Silence stretched out between them, hanging there like a heavy, musty curtain. Shay shivered, but it had nothing to do with cold. The silence grew so weighted, she jumped when Elliot shattered it with his next words.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to think about any of this. It’s just too … it’s too bizarre.”

  “Tell me about it,” she said. Closing her eyes, she tried to level out, reaching for some sense of calm, of peace. It had always eluded her. Always. But she could fake it. She’d been faking elusiveness, distance, for years, right? Once she thought she could look at him without his seeing that he’d hurt her, she opened her eyes and turned to face him. “You kept saying that you just wanted me to open up … to trust you. You just said it’s okay to need a hand. That’s why I’m here, Elliot … I need help. I’m trying to trust you. But you—”

  “Elliot?”

  Lorna appeared at the end of the aisle. Shay stiffened. The look on her face was angry. So very angry.

  “Not now,” Elliot said, his gaze locked on Shay’s face, eyes burning, intensely hot.

  “Yes, damn it. Now. Shay, I’m sorry, but things just went to hell. Elliot, come on.”

  “I said not now,” he bit off.

  “Elliot, damn it!”

  As he continued to stare at her, Shay asked softly, “Just tell me one thing, Elliot. Do you believe me?”

  His eyes clouded. “Shit, Shay. Hell, I don’t know … this is just …”

  “Yeah. It’s just.” Nodding, she edged around him, taking great care to keep as much distance between them as she could. “You think about it, then. Take all the time you need and think about it.”

  Not that it would rea
lly make a difference. She’d done what she could. She’d reached out. She’d tried. And failed. She could always come back, bring her contracts and shit to convince him, but she didn’t see the point. He trusted a total stranger so easily. But not her.

  He caught her arm, tugging her to a stop, but when he tried to ease her closer, Shay leaned away. “Damn it, Shay …”

  “Go on,” she said, staring up at him. “You’ve got a business to run and I’ve got things to do.”

  “We’ll talk about this later.”

  No. We won’t. She’d be damned if she’d try to convince him.

  As he disappeared down the aisle with his sister, Shay lowered her gaze to stare at the book on the floor—her book. The one she’d written—the one she hadn’t signed. Gingerly, she bent over to pick it up. To her satisfaction, her head didn’t start spinning around like a Tilt-A-Whirl—each day was getting a little bit better. Curling her hand around it, she started for the front of the store. The longer she stared at the autographed copy sticker, the more furious she got.

  She’d always had a bit of a thrill seeing her books in a store. Yeah, she’d wondered what it might be like seeing signed copies of her books, but she wasn’t about to leave any sort of sign as to where people might find her. Even changing her name wasn’t enough.

  Nothing was enough.

  Plus, there was the little fact that she completely and utterly freaked out at the thought of putting herself out in public that way. Not just leaving a trail for him to find her, but putting herself out there—having to interact with people. It froze her with fear. Shay didn’t know if she had some warped sort of social anxiety disorder or what, but just the thought of having to face people and claim credit for work she was extremely proud of … talk about a mess of contradictions.

  But she wasn’t letting somebody masquerade as her, either. On her way out of the door, she stopped by the book dump and collected the rest of the books, using a handbasket to carry them all to the register.

  Becca, the part-time employee, stood at the register and smiled in Shay’s direction, but her smile wobbled a little as Shay dumped the books out onto the counter.

  “Ah … you want all of them?” Becca asked.

  “Yes.”

  Becca blinked. “But …”

  “Hey, the books are there to buy, right?” Shay offered what she hoped was a charming smile. She suspected it fell short, but it was the best she could do. “What can I say—you don’t get signed books in here every day, right?”

  “No.” Becca smiled. “That’s for sure. We’re such an out-of-the-way little place, we hardly ever have authors who come in just to sign stock.”

  While Becca finished ringing her up, Shay stood there, shifting from one foot to the other, the pain in her head blooming like an ugly, poisonous rose. She needed to get home and lie down.

  “Hey, are you all right?”

  Absently, she looked up and realized she’d been rubbing her temple and swaying on her feet. Forcing a smile, she nodded. “Yeah, I’ve just got a headache.” She glanced at the total and reached into her purse, pulling out her wallet. Extricating her credit card, she gave it to Becca. As the girl swiped it, Shay looked away, searching for the clock. She’d left her phone in the car and without it, she had no way of telling time. She had a habit of losing watches.

  But instead of finding the clock, she found herself staring at a strangely familiar book.

  The ARC the Shane imposter must have given Elliot. Her next book.

  Blood roared in her ears.

  “Here you go, Shay. Just sign my copy.”

  Blindly, she took the receipt and scrawled her signature on it, barely able to drag her eyes away from the book lying just a few feet away. “Here,” she whispered, her voice reed thin.

  “Thanks. Shay, are you sure you’re okay? Do you need some water?”

  Man, had things gone to hell or what?

  Staring at the computer was like being punched in the face.

  Elliot had dealt with some rough-ass shit in his life. He had only been nineteen, Lorna just a year older, when they’d lost both of their parents. It had been a harsh blow—Paul Winter was their stepfather, but in all the ways that counted, he’d been their real father. Their only father. He’d married their mother when Elliot and Lorna were kids, and the car accident that had killed them had been a devastating blow.

  Finding the woman he thought was right for him, only to have her remain as distant as the moon—that was the sucker punch that just kept on giving.

  That fucking disaster in the army—the one that had been the beginning of the end for him—this reminded him of that. Another crazy-ass bitch trying to ruin his life.

  I barely got away … That was what she’d written in the Facebook note. And it was eerily similar to what somebody else had once tried to say about him.

  “What in the hell is she talking about, Elliot?” Lorna asked quietly.

  Shit, it was almost verbatim, too, he thought. I barely got away—he was just too strong. Crazy, and he wanted to hurt me. I could see it—

  Swearing, he ground his fist against his brow and shoved the memory of that awful time out of his head. Charges were dropped, man. The people who matter know she lied. Granted, there weren’t a lot of them. A lot of the guys he’d thought were his friends had believed—fuck, Winter, you need to focus, he told himself.

  He had another nightmare on his hands. Another one. How in the hell had he ended up with another crazy bitch out to try and destroy his life? He’d met this woman one time and he hadn’t touched her for longer than it had taken to shake her hand.

  “Elliot, damn it, would you concentrate?” Lorna snapped. “What the fuck is she trying to pull?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he met his sister’s furious gaze and shook his head. “I don’t know, Lorna.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Not now,” he called out.

  The knock came again thirty seconds later.

  Swearing, he shoved back from the computer and stormed over to the door. With a savage twist of his wrist, he jerked it open and glared at Becca. She shrank away from him. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out before he even managed to open his mouth. “I’m sorry, Elliot, I just … I didn’t know what to do. It’s … the book is missing.”

  “If somebody stole a damn book, we can deal with it in a few minutes. I’ve got a bigger problem on my hands,” he snarled.

  “It was Shay,” she said, as though she hadn’t even heard him.

  He stilled. “Shay?”

  She started twisting one of the numerous rings she wore on her hand. “She was at the register and she did the weirdest damn thing. She bought every last one of the signed Shane Neil books—I mean, all of them. It was like over a hundred dollars’ worth and a lot of them were copies, ya know? Duplicates of the same book. But every signed book. She bought them all. Then, she was looking all white and pale, like she was going to pass out. I heard about her wreck and all and I was worried, so I asked her if she wanted some water. I went to get her some from the break room and I brought it out here. She was leaning against the counter, acting fine. Still pale and everything, but she drank it. Said thank you. Then she left. I swear, Elliot, the book was there, on the counter behind the register, when I went to get the water. I was reading it before I checked her out, I know it was there. But now it’s gone.”

  The words came spilling out of her in a rush and it took a few seconds for him to process them all. He was still confused. “What book?”

  “That one from Shane Neil … the advance reader’s copy you got from the author. I’m sorry … I know you two used to have a thing going, but I think … I think Shay stole it.”

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  “IT’S NOT REALLY STEALING,” SHE MUTTERED, SHOOTING a look at the ARC on top of the books. It was her damn book. Whoever had it couldn’t have a legit right to it. That was her line of thinking. So whoever had it, when she’d given it to Elliot, had done it
under false pretenses and besides, the bitch had fucking signed it. It had a false signature on it—that made it a lie.

  If Elliot wanted a signed book, she’d give him one.

  But he wasn’t keeping that one. Wasn’t selling the other ones in his store, either.

  Nearly an hour had passed since she’d rushed from the store as fast as she could. It wasn’t very fast. She was finally back up over half speed. She figured she was at 70 percent now. Snow had moved in and it had taken her nearly fifty minutes to get home instead of the normal thirty. But now she was settled in front of the fireplace. It was already set with wood. She had matches. And she had the books.

  It was time to watch them burn. The damn things weren’t going to exist in a few minutes and that was exactly how she wanted it.

  The only thing she wasn’t going to burn—yet—were the autographed pages. She wanted to scrutinize those title pages, see if she could recognize the handwriting.

  So far, nothing clicked, but one could never tell.

  Striking one of the long matches she’d bought for the fireplace, she leaned in close and touched it to the kindling at the bottom. She watched as the flame flared, then steadily grew brighter. Once it was crackling away, she added a book. Then another. And another. She hadn’t quite managed to add the fourth when the phone rang.

  Sighing, she picked it up.

  She wasn’t surprised to see Elliot’s store on the caller ID.

  She’d known Becca would figure it out. She’d also known Becca would rat her out. What surprised her was that he hadn’t called before now.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you take that fucking book out of my store?” Elliot snapped.

  “You own a bookstore,” she pointed out. “I imagine you have many people taking books out of your store.” She reached for the ARC, lifting it to study the cover. It was the first time she’d gotten the nicer ARCs, too. This imposter was putting a pall on her success—tarnishing it.

  “You know what book I’m talking about, damn it. You had no fucking right to take my damn book,” he growled.

  “Hmmm.” She carefully ripped out the signed title page before tossing the ARC into the fire. As the flames greedily ate it up, she watched. “Well, we never did get to finish talking. If you want your book back, you come up to my place—we can finish talking, and you can have your book.” Well, a replacement. One with a real autograph.