Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  Signed by her, damn it. Not some fake.

  And maybe if he saw all of her copies, he’d believe her. She had first editions, foreign editions, large-print editions, all of them—things that he wasn’t likely to see just anywhere. And the ARCs. She had ARCs, too, damn it.

  “I’ve got a fucking mess on my hands. I can’t.”

  Her heart sank inside her chest—a heavy stone weight.

  He had a mess? She was battered from that wreck. Somebody was trying to screw with her life. And somebody was trying to lie about her books. But he had a mess?

  So much for that friendship you talked about, she thought miserably. Self-pity started to rise inside her, but she shoved it down. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to get her through this. She might be half-broken inside and she might jump at her own shadow and she sure as hell was fucked-up beyond fixing. But self-pity wasn’t going to help. There was little room for it in her life.

  “You’ve got a mess, huh?” she asked quietly.

  “A big one, damn it, and I need that book.”

  The impatient, demanding tone in his voice had her frowning, but she didn’t care why he wanted the book so much. If he wanted an ARC, he could have one of hers. Reaching for the poker at her side, she nudged the ashy remains of one of the books farther back inside the hearth. It fell apart under the pressure. Distantly, she felt as if she just might do that—fall apart under even the lightest touch, into nothing but bits and pieces.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mess, Elliot, but I’ve got one of my own. You take care of yours and I’ll muddle through mine and sooner or later, I’ll get your book to you.”

  “If you hadn’t fucking stolen it, you wouldn’t have to worry about going out of your way to bring it back to me, now would you?” he snapped. “I need that damn book back.”

  “Well, I’m a little busy with my own mess … and stolen is such a harsh word. Perhaps we should say borrowed.”

  “Borrowed. That implies I actually gave you permission, that you didn’t just take off without getting my okay, Lorna’s okay, that you didn’t sneak behind my counter and take it, that you didn’t sneak off without letting anybody know.” His voice was as sharp as broken glass, cold as the arctic ice. “Bring me my fucking book, Shay. Whatever your problems are, they aren’t my problems, and trust me, mine are pretty fucking bad.”

  She watched as the inner pages curled and turned black, catching fire one by one. “Doesn’t life just suck, Elliot?” Bitterness crept into her voice and she couldn’t hold it back. “It’s ironic, you know. You kept talking to me about trust. You said it was okay to reach out, to need somebody. I did it. I tried to trust you. I needed to talk to you and you wouldn’t spare me five minutes. You go deal with your problems … and have a nice day. I’ll get your book to you when I can.”

  Without wasting any more time, she disconnected and dropped the phone onto the floor. One by one, she fed the books to the fire until they were all gone, saving nothing but the signed title pages.

  By the time it was done, she had more than twenty sheets of paper at her side.

  And the phone had rung six times.

  An empty ache settled in the middle of his chest. I tried to trust you—

  Shit. This was just insane. He didn’t need to be trying to think through the complication of an ended relationship when he had a woman out to ruin his life. That was what he tried to tell himself. Yet the ache in his chest wasn’t going away.

  “Is she bringing the book back?” Lorna asked.

  “No.” He dialed her number again, but he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t answer. Damn it, Shay. The words burned on his tongue, but he wasn’t frustrated over the damned book. He just … hell. Pick up the phone.

  It rang four times and rolled over to voice mail. She was pissed off and ignoring him now. Damn it. I tried …

  How many times had he hoped she’d reached out to him? But fuck, this was insane. If she was Shane Neil, then why the hell hadn’t she said—

  A hand smacked him across the side of his head. Shooting Lorna a dark look, he hung up the phone. “Watch it,” he warned her. He just wasn’t in the mood for any of this bullshit now.

  “Stop drifting off into la-la land.” Hands fisted on her hips, she glared at him. “Exactly why won’t she bring the book back?”

  “Because she’s pissed off at me,” he growled, shoving out from behind the desk. He started to pace.

  “That doesn’t sound like Shay.”

  No. It didn’t. He’d seen her sad. He’d seen those solemn smiles on her face and after a few months, he’d slowly worked around to where he’d brought her to a slow, surprised arousal. But she rarely got angry.

  Damn it, none of this made sense. It was as if he were trying to jam a giant, uneven square peg into a neat little round hole.

  Why would Shay lie about this?

  That was the first thing that didn’t make sense.

  There was just no reason for her to lie. If she really was Shane Neil, though, why hadn’t she said anything about it way before now? Why drop this bomb on him now?

  Because until now, there was no reason for her to. Except for the fact that we were seeing each other … and it would have been kind of cool to know …

  Stopping in midpace, he turned around and eyed Lorna, debating about sharing that little kicker with her.

  You know your friend? That one I was so fucking crazy about? The one that I thought was the one … well, she’s claiming to be a writer—one of my favorites, no less.

  Yeah, that all sounded like bullshit.

  Especially the bit about how he’d thought she was the one.

  She was the one for him. It just didn’t seem as though he was the one for her.

  And none of this was solving the current problem, that ugly, weighty one that was getting heavier all the time.

  The phone rang and he jumped on it, hoping it was Shay.

  “Hey there, man.”

  Recognizing Mike’s voice, he sighed. Mike, Lorna’s boyfriend, was not the person he wanted to talk to. “Hey, Mike. Hold on a minute. Lorna’s right here.”

  “No. I’m calling to talk to you. I … ah. Well, I had a call from Deloris Golden about something she saw online. She just thought …” Mike paused, and Elliot could hear him blowing out a breath on the line. “Shit. I’m just going to lay this out. She wants me to know there’s a sexual deviant living in our midst.”

  Curling one hand into a fist, Elliot closed his eyes as the world started to go red.

  “I asked her what in the world had gotten into her and she told me. Elliot, have you ever met some writer by the name of Shane Neil?”

  Elliot closed his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I have.”

  They finished up the conversation in short, terse terms, and then he hung up before looking at the computer. He was tempted to smash the damn thing to smithereens.

  Instead, he moved back over to the chair and sat, staring at the Facebook page that had exploded and turned into an ugly, fire-breathing monster on him.

  “I still think you need to call a lawyer. What she’s doing is slander,” Lorna said.

  I barely got away. Elliot Winter tried to rape me. Ladies, please be careful around him … I think he’s done this before …

  “Shit.” Every time he thought about what that bitch had written, he wanted to punch something. He couldn’t believe he was going to have to live through this … again. But Mike’s call had just proven to be one hell of a wake-up call.

  “Elliot, are you listening to me? We need to call a damn lawyer. See if we can sue her for slander or something. This is bullshit. You’ve never hurt a woman in your life.”

  No. No, he hadn’t. Reaching up, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Actually, I think it would be libel,” he said absently, still staring at the computer and that godforsaken Facebook page. “Remember your Spider-Man … slander is spoken.”

  “This isn’t funny!” Lorna shouted. “That crazy bitch is sayin
g you tried to rape her! Right here, in our store. She’s calling you some kind of fucking monster and you’re sitting there joking about it. This is serious, and you’re copping off about the difference between slander and libel. Grow up.”

  Lowering his hand, he spun around in the chair and faced his sister. “Lorna … I know how serious this is,” he said quietly. “Trust me. Nobody knows this any better than I do. Remember why I left the fucking army, for crying out loud?”

  “Shit.” Lorna’s face crumpled and she sighed, turning away.

  “Eight years,” he murmured, staring off into nothing. He’d given them eight fucking years and had been prepared to give them even more. Then some crazy bitch had come along and decided to screw it up for him.

  And now somebody else was doing it.

  I fought him, but I just couldn’t get away … he’s so strong … That was something Tracy had said. Reading it again, now, here … in his home? It was like a sucker punch, right to the gut.

  Blood roared in Elliot’s ears as he stared at the computer, reading the screen for the hundredth time while memories of that time played back in his head.

  I barely got away … he’s so strong. Those words, there in black and white on the screen, seemed to mock him, a twisted version of the event that had sent his life shooting down a completely different road.

  “It’s happening again,” Lorna muttered.

  “No.” Elliot slanted a look at her over his shoulder, shaking his head. “It’s not. This isn’t the same.” He wasn’t just going to ride it out, just take it in the hope that it would get better. He wasn’t going to assume that the people who mattered would believe in him.

  Shane Neil was screwing with his life—with his sister’s too, because what affected him affected her. She ran this bookstore with him; there were women’s groups in here all the time, a teen reading group, a couple of church groups, and a victim’s support group that chose to meet here rather than at people’s homes.

  If people started believing he was a rapist …

  Bile churned in his gut.

  “I guess I do need to call a lawyer,” he said quietly.

  “Yes. You do. And then you need to turn that lawyer loose on that Shane chick.”

  He blew out a breath, but instead of answering that, he found himself thinking about Shay. What she’d said. How she’d taken the ARC. How she’d bought all of the books.

  And he wanted to know more about the woman who’d been in his store.

  Yeah, he could call a lawyer … but if that woman wasn’t really Shane Neil, what good would it do?

  None at all.

  And going after Shay wasn’t going to happen.

  Hell. He really did need to know what was going on.

  He needed to know, for sure, just who Shane Neil was.

  Get the facts; then, after he had them, he’d draw his line in the sand.

  Nobody was going to ruin his life again.

  Dear God, don’t let him kill me.

  Dear God, don’t let him kill Virna.

  Dear God … I’m not ready to die …

  Shay came awake on a gasping sigh, that prayer still echoing through her mind. Tears stung her eyes and she swiped them away. She’d prayed, all right. She probably should have been more specific.

  She’d prayed that he wouldn’t kill Virna. Virna hadn’t died until a few days later, but her heart had given out—she’d died as an indirect result of his beating. Shay hadn’t even realized he’d beaten the shit out of her foster mother until later.

  She’d prayed that he wouldn’t kill her—and Jethro hadn’t killed Shay, because he’d wanted his stepdaughter to suffer.

  And she still didn’t completely understand why. Oh, she knew he hated her. She just didn’t understand why and nobody else could explain it to her, either. Virna, perhaps, had the answers, but she’d chosen to take them to her grave.

  The only answers Shay had were from what she’d learned during the course of the trial. All she remembered were those fragmented dreams from her childhood. She didn’t even remember her own name. Virna had given her a new name, a new home … things she’d lost when Jethro Abernathy had found her.

  All she had from those early years were those vague bits of memory.

  Screams. Angry shouts. Ugly whispers. Soft words. A baby crying.

  And a closet.

  She hated closets.

  Jethro had been locked away after he was found guilty of abusing her, neglecting her—apparently, he’d spent those years developing a serious animosity toward her. When he’d gotten out, he’d spent his time tracking her down. Even though Virna had legally changed her name when she adopted her, it hadn’t been enough. He’d tracked down Virna … and lo and behold … there was his stepdaughter.

  He’d hunted her for weeks, and neither Shay nor Virna had realized it. He’d hunted both of them, learned their habits, where they went, who they saw. And then he struck. After he’d beaten Virna senseless, he’d gone for Shay, kidnapping her and holding her captive for more than forty-eight hours.

  A fist gripped her throat and she swallowed the spit pooling in her mouth, fighting the urge to puke. He hadn’t won—

  You thought I wouldn’t find you, you little cunt …?

  “You didn’t win, you son of a bitch,” she whispered in the quiet, predawn stillness of the room.

  Rising from the bed, she grabbed her robe and pulled it on. She’d gotten away from him. He’d gotten shit-faced drunk and passed out and once he did that, she’d managed to loosen the ropes, then she’d stumbled out of the building where he’d held her prisoner. The neighborhood was a slum, but even in a slum if somebody saw a bloodied, bruised girl, most would offer to help. And Shay had found one decent person …

  Jethro had lost … and when the case went to trial, Shay had faced him. She’d been too young the last time but this time, she’d faced him down and she’d been the one to help send his ass back to jail.

  Her diary beckoned. After a quick stop in the bathroom, she headed for her computer and logged on, not even hitting the coffeepot first.

  MyDiary.net/slayingmydragons

  It was bad tonight. I dreamed about the time when he kidnapped me. When he killed Virna. I dreamed about how he cut me, how he laughed. All of it. I heard him screaming at me—

  Then he told me how it was my fault. I feel like I can hear the baby screaming, even now.

  I wish I knew more about the baby.

  Who was he?

  And why did that bastard hate me so much? What was supposed to be my fault?

  It was a draining, exhausting hour, those minutes she spent in front of her online diary. But when she finally hit post, the weight on her shoulders lessened a little.

  Lessened enough that she could move, that she could breathe. That she might even be able to handle coffee.

  Shuffling into the bathroom, she hit the light and stared at her reflection. Out of habit, she angled her face to the side, staring at the first collection of scars he’d given her. He’d been disappointed. Shay had forgotten about the stepfather she’d lived with for the first four years of her life, even if she hadn’t forgotten the nightmares.

  Virna had given her a happy home, a place where she felt safe, felt loved. And she forgot the horror that had been her life before Virna came along. Jethro had sought to undo all of that, and more. He wanted to give her brutal, visible reminders so that she’d never forget. Not again.

  Blowing out a sigh, she shrugged out of the robe and hung it up, then reached for the hem of her shirt. She turned away before she saw the next set of scars. She didn’t need to see them—they were emblazoned forever on her mind.

  The third set of scars wasn’t quite so easy to see, but like the other scars, they were embedded in her memory. No mirrors were necessary. Although she’d do just about anything to forget.

  Shay wasn’t even halfway through her shower when the phone started ringing. What time was it … eight o’clock? Eight-thirty?

/>   It was probably Darcy. Not too many others would call her this early on Sunday …

  Unless it was Anna?

  That decided it. She rushed through the rest of the shower, wrapped her short black hair in a towel, and grabbed her robe instead of getting dressed. As a result, she was freezing as she went to check the phone. That was okay. She could be cold, as long as she got to talk to her agent.

  Except Anna’s number didn’t come up on the caller ID. Just Darcy’s.

  Depressed, she skimmed through the numbers, but Anna’s number didn’t pop up once, not once in more than three months of calls. Hell, had it really been that long since they’d talked? Granted, they didn’t talk on the phone much and sometimes, Anna called her on her cell …

  “This is kind of depressing.” Twenty calls. In three months. Back before Elliot had broken up with her, at least he had called her at home from time to time, but since then?

  Almost every single call was from Darcy. A few were from Lorna.

  “I need to get a life,” she whispered, scrolling through the numbers. Darcy, Darcy … a couple of charities looking for donations. Darcy. Lorna. But not a single call from Anna. None from Elliot, either—not until she’d swiped the ARC yesterday.

  Of course, he had no reason to call. Why would he call? Unless he’d suddenly changed his mind … Hey, I’ve decided I’m okay with you holding me at arm’s length. And yeah, maybe I can buy that crazy story. You want to start going out again? Maybe we can spend another year going out every week while you work up the courage to let me do more than kiss you …

  She made a face. That wasn’t fair. Elliot had never been less than patient with her. It wasn’t his fault that the lightest touch from anybody was sometimes enough to send her into a panic attack.

  Yeah, no reason for him to be calling. And another day had passed without a call from Anna.