“Are you there?”
She nodded, forgetting that Angie couldn’t see her. Of her three sisters, Angie was her favorite and the one closest to her in age. She was the only one who knew who Shay was now, where Shay was now, and what Shay did. She’d been close to all of her sisters before … well. Before. But now it was just Angie. Angie was also the only one who knew about Shane.
After the attack, Shay had been determined to cut all ties and while the others hadn’t completely understood, they’d respected her decision. Shay had been terrified Jethro would come after her again someday and she didn’t want to endanger any of her adopted siblings, even though they had all been out of the house by that time, and most of them were married.
While she’d been able to cut ties with most of them, though, she’d missed Angie too much. One year after she’d run away from Arizona, she’d hunted Angie down.
And they’d kept in touch, through phone calls and then through email; their contact was infrequent, but it was enough.
Angie lived in North Carolina, and she was the one person who knew all of Shay’s deepest, darkest secrets.
Angie handled everything that had to do with Shay’s website, including the graphics and updates. And she’d hold her hand through this. Nobody but Angie could possibly understand how hard this was.
“This bitch is fucking whacked,” Angie said, her voice flat and angry.
“You must be checking out my so-called Facebook page,” Shay muttered, still staring at the computer. She was kind of hoping it would just disappear. Or that she could will the website into doing what she wanted without actually having to do anything. It wasn’t working so far.
“Yep. I went and checked out the page of the bookstore guy, too. He’s hot.”
Yes. Hot … that described Elliot to a T. Shay took a brief mental break to ponder that. Some of the tension tightening her shoulders faded and she was able to take a deep breath. Hold it … relax. Again … As some of the panic receded, she laid her hands on the keyboard and asked quietly, “This isn’t a totally stupid thing to do, right?”
“Right.” Angie’s voice was solid and steady, just like the woman herself. “Sweetie, it’s the only smart thing to do. That bitch is pretending to be you, and you have to stop it. But first you have to have proof she isn’t you. This is proof. So do it. And give that hottie up there in Earth’s End a break. Maybe he’ll decide to come cuddle with you in your igloo as a way of saying thank you.”
Shay snorted. “I’ve lived here for years and I’ve yet to see an igloo.”
“That’s a shame. I think an igloo would be really cool—literally and figuratively. Hey, I know … he could help you build one and then cuddle with you.”
“You’re rotten.” Shay suspected Angie was trying to distract her. Swallowing, she flexed her hands, then reached up and adjusted the headset she wore so she could talk to Angie and still type. She could do this—she had to do this.
The looming, bright white of the screen seemed to glare at her, mocking her.
“Oh, shit. Angie, I don’t know if I can do this.” Shay closed her eyes, blocking out the image of that terrifying white screen. A few years ago, she’d written a short story about an agoraphobic who’d had to leave her house to escape a killer. This was kind of like that for her. She wasn’t terrified of the outside world, but she was terrified of exposing herself. And even this little bit was too much.
But what else could she do? Nothing? She’d done that, and look what had happened.
“Are you there, kid?”
Kid. It made her smile, despite the fear fluttering inside her. Angie was seven years older than she. In some ways, Shay felt years older … and at the same time decades younger than her big sister.
“Yeah.” She made herself open her eyes and face that white screen.
“You have to do this. You know what she’s doing is wrong—it’s so fucked up, it’s not even funny, and you can start to set things to right. If you don’t do it …” Angie didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t have to.
Virna had drilled a certain set of values into her kids, including the one she’d adopted … Shay.
If you allowed an evil to continue and you did nothing to stop it, and there was something you could have done, you were just as bad as the evil-doers. How many children could have been saved from abusers if the people who knew about the abuse spoke up? How many victims of assault?
Ignoring evil perpetuated it.
And what this woman was trying to do to Elliot was evil … it could destroy him. Then there was the matter of the wrongful rape accusation—shit like that made it so much harder for real rape victims.
Shay had the power to step in and make things right.
She might be a terrified coward, but she couldn’t let that fear stop her. Elliot had talked about how she always had to be tough, yet she wasn’t. She was a damn wreck—she just knew how to fake it. So she’d fake it now. Fake it until she made it and she’d get through this.
Clearing her throat, she squared her shoulders. “Okay, Angie. I’m doing it.”
“Good girl.”
Silence hummed between them, but it wasn’t a heavy, awkward silence, wasn’t flooded with that awful need to fill it. Shay wrote. On the other end of the line, Angie waited.
Moments later, Shay said, “Okay, so I want to read this through before I post it. How do I do that?” The setup was different from her online diary and the words had to be just right.
“You can save a draft.”
Shay fiddled around until she saw the option. Okay—
A preview post link came up.
Her hands were sweating as she clicked on it.
REGARDING RECENT ISSUES—FACEBOOK, TWITTER, BLOG, ETC.
“Shay?”
She whispered, “Yeah?”
“Are you okay? You’re starting to breathe kind of funny again.”
“I’m fine.” Damn it, this shouldn’t be so hard. It wasn’t as if she were taking out a public notice: I’m in hiding in Alaska—come find me.
“Yes, you’re fine,” Angie said, her voice soothing. “Nobody knows who you are. Remember that. Also, keep in mind, this is the best way to spread the word. Anybody can set up a Facebook page, after all. Not everybody can access your website and make these changes. Do it.” Angie’s voice was firm but gentle.
“I know, I know …”
I’ve recently been made aware of a number of issues online.
A Twitter account, a Facebook page, and a blog have been set up by somebody claiming to be Shane Neil.
I was attempting to settle this matter quietly, but I haven’t had much luck so I need to discuss these matters with my readers.
The Facebook page, the Twitter account, and the blog formerly located at shaneneil.wordpress.com do not belong to me.
The blog has been shut down and I would like to thank wordpress.com for being so prompt in their response. I’m hoping other sites will also soon take action.
There are also a number of other social media accounts that appear to be connected to my name, but I did not set these up or authorize them.
I wasn’t made aware of these issues until just a few days ago.
My publishers have been made aware of the matter and please know that we are looking into it and trying to resolve this issue.
Additionally, and more troubling, the woman who has set up the Facebook page is making allegations against a bookstore owner in Earth’s End, Alaska. She is claiming that this man, Elliot Winter, attempted to rape her.
While I cannot speak about what happened when she went to his store, as I wasn’t there, I can say that this woman is not me. As she has lied about who she is, I would question the truth of anything she says.
I would like to apologize to everybody who has been deceived by this person and I’d like to extend a special apology to Elliot Winter, the owner of WINTER’S END BOOKSTORE, for the trouble she has caused him.
Again, please accept my ap
ologies and know that I’m trying to resolve this matter.
Sincerely,
Shane
She saved it. Chewing on her lip, she asked Angie, “Can you go in and read it?”
“Yeah, sweetie, I can.”
A few seconds of silence stretched out between them, and then finally Angie came back and said, “Sounds good to me. You did just fine. Now … publish the damn thing.”
A smile cracked her lips. “Okay.”
She hit publish, and that’s when the shaking really started. “Oh, shit. I … um, I think I need a drink.”
“So get one.”
Her knees shook as she stood up to do just that. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t even noon yet. What did the song say again … it’s five o’clock somewhere … that meant it was okay for the rum and Coke, right?
Over the line, she heard a few taps and clicks. “What are you doing?”
“A few widgets and things I need to update on the site. I’m also going to make sure I’ve got things as secure as I can get them. No site is one hundred percent hacker-proof, but we’ll do what we can.”
Shoving a hand through her hair, Shay said, “Hell, you think a hacker is doing this?”
“I don’t know. But we’re going to do every damn thing we can to make it secure. Have you changed your email passwords and everything?”
“No. Hell.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to think past the headache that was threatening to eat her alive. “I guess I need to get that done, huh?”
There was a pause, and then Angie muttered, “Help me. Please. Just give me patience.” Then she sighed. “Yes, sweetie, you need to get that done. Immediately. Look … somebody is pretending to be you. She had one of your books. She had your fucking bookmarks. What else does she have access to? Maybe nothing … but just in case …”
Something uneasy settled in Shay’s gut. “Yeah. Damn it. You’re right. I’m a moron.”
“No. No,” Angie snapped, her voice hard. “You’re not a moron. You were in the hospital less than a week ago. Then you come home to this mess and you’re doing the best you can to deal with it. Just start changing the passwords and shit, okay?”
After Angie hung up, Shay fixed her drink and then returned to her office, settling behind her desk. She stared at her website. The front page had an area that highlighted any updates to the News page and now there was a notice about the shit happening in her little place in the world, how somebody was trying to steal it from her.
For a long, quiet moment she stared at it, even though she knew she needed to change her passwords.
First, she finished up that complaint to Facebook, including a link to the updated news on her website. “There. That ought to be proof enough for them,” she muttered.
She sent another complaint to Twitter—that was another experiment in fun. But this time she had proof, hard proof, right there on her website, and nobody could change it.
Now … about those damn passwords …
Her phone started ringing. Sighing, she reached for it.
“Hey, you!”
“Hi, Darcy,” she said. She reached for a piece of paper and a pen, scratching out a note about the passwords. She’d never remember if she didn’t write it down, not now that Darcy had her on the phone.
“So how are things going?”
Shay scowled and lowered the phone. Darcy’s overly cheerful voice just seemed … wrong. How in the world could she be that happy right now?
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t Darcy’s world that was coming crashing down around her, but still. “Well, frankly, things suck,” Shay said, staring at the computer, clicking back to her website and rereading the note that had made her all but sweat blood just to post it.
“Aw, hon, I’m sorry … the recovery going rough? You know, I could come up and stay with you for a while.”
Shay frowned. “Recovery?” Shaking her head, she said, “No, Darcy, it’s not the recovery. I’m moving around slower than normal, but that’s not the problem. The problem is that damn Facebook page, that damned imposter, and the fucking lies she’s telling.”
Silence crackled between, heavy as the stillness before a summer thunderstorm.
Darcy broke it with a forced laugh. “Oh … that. I’d forgotten about it. I mean, since it wasn’t your page and all …”
“Yes. That.” A nerve ticked in Shay’s forehead and she reached up, pushing on it. “I haven’t forgotten about it. It’s getting worse, Darcy. Hell, it’s getting much worse.”
“Oh, honey.” Darcy made a soothing noise, humming under her breath a little.
Shay felt some of her tension ease up and she sighed, rolling her shoulders, trying to brush off the anger rising inside her. Maybe what she needed to do was just talk this out. She hadn’t really talked with Angie all that long. They’d been focused on the note, but if she talked about it, she’d feel better. Darcy would listen. She could offer some advice and Shay could decide if she liked it not, but somebody would listen, and she’d feel better.
Right?
“Internet scandals always get hot, but they fade away pretty fast,” Darcy said softly. “How bad do you think it can get?”
“She’s trying to take my life over. She’s telling lies about a man I care about.” She stared at the computer, at the note. She remembered what Angie had said … what else do they have access to?
Shit, that was a scary thought.
“I’m afraid it could get pretty bad.” Spinning around in her chair, she stared toward her books. There was one on the shelf that had been a favorite of hers for years—it was out of print, but she’d always loved it. She found herself staring at it now, though, and a chill raced down her spine. She’s trying to take my life over … Rising from the chair, she moved toward her shelves and pulled it down, staring at the bright red cover. It was worn, faded, and well-read. Dog-eared, the spine cracked. She’d lost count of how many times she’d read that book.
“I’ve got this book,” she murmured. “It was written back in the nineties. The hero was a writer … and some guy tries to take over his life. All of his contracts, all the proof that he was who he says he was, it all burned up in a fire. And nobody believes him. Except the heroine. She doesn’t believe him at first—he actually kidnapped her. But she comes to believe him. But nobody believed he was who he said he was. Not even his agent.”
Shay swallowed, thinking about how Anna hadn’t returned her call. Fear threatened to swallow her but she shoved it back. She’d lived through a screaming hell the likes that others couldn’t imagine. This wasn’t going to defeat her. And she was just being paranoid now. She’d get hold of Anna tomorrow and everything would be fine.
“Wow. That’s freaky. I want to read it. Can you send me the book?”
Shay put it back on the shelf. “Maybe later.” Turning away from the books, she moved to the window. Lately, she found herself at this spot more and more, as though she’d find the answers written in the pristine white of the snow.
Darkness had fallen and the moon was high, falling across the icy expanse in silvery swaths.
“You sound so depressed,” Darcy said, her voice soft. “Maybe you should stop worrying about all of this for a while. Do something that makes you feel better.”
Scowling, she shook her head. “Hell, I can’t stop worrying about this.”
“You need to.” Darcy’s voice took on a no-nonsense quality and she pointed out, “It’s not like worrying nonstop is accomplishing anything, right? Is worrying about this making you feel any better?”
Caught off guard, she stopped in midstep. How is it making me feel better? “Darcy, what am I supposed to do? Ignore it? She’s trying to take away everything I worked for.”
“But worrying isn’t helping. I mean, what have you accomplished?”
“I got her fucking blog down,” Shay snapped. “And I went to the store where the books were and I bought them, brought them back, and burned every last one. And let me tell you … that made me
feel better.”
Silence crackled between them, so heavy and thick, the hairs on Shay’s arms stood on end. Her gut clenched and crawled and the moment stretched out, endless and tight, before Darcy whispered, “You did what?”
Her voice was low and ugly, just a few steps above a growl. Just a few steps above angry.
That awkward, horrible silence lingered and Shay turned away, staring at her bookshelves, concentrating on them. Easier to do that than think about how uneasy she suddenly felt.
“I went down there.” Frowning, Shay turned away from the window. The peace she’d been trying to find staring out into the moonlight had shattered. Returning to her desk, she sat down and maximized the browser that had her email. She needed to get to work on those passwords.
“But what good did it do to go and burn a bunch of books? Or even go down there to begin with? I mean, you can’t help that somebody is pretending to be you.”
“No, I can’t help it, but for one, I know the guy. We used to date and she’s fucking with him now, too. And for another, seeing somebody else’s signature on my books makes me sick to my stomach.” Shay clenched a fist, angry all over again, but this time, it wasn’t just at her imposter.
Why did it feel like she was suddenly in the wrong? She hadn’t done a damn thing wrong, had she? She wanted her life to stay her life. What was so wrong with that?
“It’s just a signature,” Darcy pointed out. “The people who buy it don’t know if it’s hers or yours!”
“I know.” Pain flared in her hand and she made herself relax her fist. Opening her hand, she realized she’d been squeezing so tight, her nails had bitten into her palm. “Don’t you get that? I know … and it’s a lie. Whoever she is, when she signs her name to my books, it’s a damn lie. Seeing those books in his store, with her signature … it’s a lie. And what’s more, what she’s doing to him? That’s another fucking lie … and it’s wrong.”
“How do you know?”
Shay tensed at the low, flat tone of Darcy’s voice.
“I mean, you weren’t there, right?” Darcy continued. “That’s what your website says. You weren’t there, so how do you really know what happened? Maybe he is a rapist. Do you really think you can trust him? Are you sure you can take such a chance? I mean, seriously, it’s not like you’ve ever been all that good at relationships. Maybe you just trusted the wrong guy.”
Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense Page 9