Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  “It sure doesn’t seem likely,” Shay finished. Her head slumped forward. The muscles felt looser already, and she wished like hell he would just stop talking and keep touching her. Forcing herself to focus on his words took more effort than she could possibly imagine; of course, that could be because she didn’t want to think.

  All she wanted to do was let him touch her. And keep touching her. Then she wanted to turn around and touch him, keep touching him. Maybe this time she could do it without those demons slipping in. She’d never been able to do it before, but then again, she’d never been that determined to try. Elliot had never pushed. He’d known there were issues … had known she had secrets. And maybe that was why she’d kept him locked out. Shay had understood, deep inside, that sooner or later she’d have to let him in, and she just hadn’t been prepared for that.

  Am I now?

  The very thought filled her with terror, but one thing was certain … if she had a chance to have him back in her life, she was going to grab it. Grab it and hold on tight.

  Except none of that could happen while somebody was out there screwing around with their lives.

  Forcing all the need and frustrated longing in her body aside, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes, staring at the computer, at the message she’d written. Then she opened another browser window and went to Facebook, using the fake persona to go to the “Shane” page.

  She skimmed it over, but didn’t see much to get excited over.

  Except the LIKE count was down. By maybe a thousand …?

  Shrugging, she glanced over her shoulder at Elliot. “I don’t see anything to get excited over,” she said.

  “She’s been deleting shit, then.” He nodded toward the computer. “May I?”

  She eased over to the side, starting to rise, but all he did was lean over her. For a moment, just the nearness of him, the warmth of him, surrounded her and she felt goose bumps break out even as heat flooded her and her heart jumped up into her throat. Fear and desperate desire tangled inside her and she had to clench her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. Months … it had been months and he still got to her like this. Having him so close left her heart racing and her skin felt tight.

  She missed him. She needed him—

  “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice just a breath away from her ear. “There.”

  She swallowed and stared at the screen. It was a little different now.

  “She’s been deleting the comments,” Elliot said. “But she can’t keep up with it … look again.”

  Forcing her brain to focus on the matter at hand, not on the fire burning in her belly, Shay leaned forward. Then she tensed as the outer curve of her breast brushed against his arm. A gasp lodged in her throat and the slow crawl of blood up her neck warned her that she wouldn’t be able to hide her blush from him. Keeping her gaze focused on the screen, she told herself, Fake it until you make it. She reacted to him … she always had. And yes, she wanted to try this with him again, if he was willing.

  But she needed to get this straightened out first.

  One fucking disaster at a time—that was all she could handle.

  She would start by focusing on the messages on the page in front of her.

  One of them read:

  What the fuck, Shane? Somebody sent me a link to your website and I saw that message. Are you screwing with us? Are you for real or not?

  Another comment—

  Oh, shit. UR so fake. I can’t believe I’ve been buying into this shit ur selling us. Crazy bitch.

  The next one was a little more sympathetic, but still, the disbelief was there.

  I realize you must have some strange things taking place, but whether you are Shane Neil or not, you clearly have a lot of issues going on. I think it’s time you got help. It might be best if you shut this page down until you have your life straightened out.

  There were more of them … dozens, at least.

  “Huh.” She clicked to refresh the page, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Because all of those comments were gone. “What the hell?”

  “Told you. She’s deleting them. She’ll just keep it up, too. Have you contacted Facebook about this?”

  Shay sighed, resting her chin in her palm and staring at the glaring white screen. “Yeah, as soon as I realized what was going on. And it did zero good.” The headache pounding behind her eyes seemed to gain in strength and she rubbed the line between her eyebrows, but it didn’t do anything to ease the pain.

  “It probably takes a few days, and I doubt they do much over the weekend. Give it time.” He brushed his fingers down her cheek, a light, questioning touch.

  Shay turned her head to look at him. He was so close … so close. She could smell the coffee on his breath, the scent of the soap he used. The gold of his eyes seemed to darken and she could recall how his gaze would do that right before he’d kiss her.

  Was he thinking about that now?

  Her heart skipped a beat and she thought about leaning in, pressing her lips to his. What would he do if she did that? Her heart didn’t just skip a beat this time. It all but jumped into her throat and she couldn’t help but think about what she would do …

  The blaring ring of the phone shattered the silence of the night. Shay jolted and then swore, swinging around in her seat to stare at the phone.

  Not now, she thought glumly as disappointment crashed into her. She already knew who it was.

  Not that many people would be calling her, especially after eight-thirty. She could always hope that Anna had finally gotten around to checking her email, but that wasn’t likely. Her gut told her something really screwed up was going on with her agent.

  It wasn’t Anna, and as much as she could hope it might be Angie, she knew it wasn’t her either. It was Darcy.

  Taking a deep breath, she reached for the phone.

  And prepared herself to discover something very unpleasant about one of her only friends.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  “HEY, IT’S ME!” DARCY STARED AT THE COMPUTER AS she waited for Shay to respond.

  The message on the screen was so plainly, simply stated. Even though she’d had a few hours to steam about it, she still couldn’t believe this had happened, and Shay hadn’t given her any of the damn passwords, so she couldn’t get in and change the damn thing, either.

  She’d never seen this coming.

  Darcy didn’t know why exactly, except for the fact that Shay just didn’t interact with the outside world. Not unless she absolutely had to—and this wasn’t an absolute necessity, not as far as Darcy was concerned. If Shay had found it necessary, why hadn’t she allowed Darcy to do it?

  Of course, that would have been interesting, Darcy thought, muffling a laugh. Interesting. To say the least.

  “Hello, Darcy,” Shay said quietly, her voice strangely reserved.

  “I saw the message on your site. That’s … well, unexpected. You know, I could have handled that.” She paused, and then added, “Except you haven’t gotten me my new passwords. Did you ever find out what happened to my access?”

  “I’m working on it.” Shay was quiet; then, off in the background, Darcy heard a low voice. Too low … deep, rougher.

  A man’s voice.

  Darcy narrowed her eyes. What the hell was this? What was going on?

  She made herself smile. It was easier to pretend to be happy if she was smiling. “Shay! You tramp. Do you have somebody over there?” It was like spitting out glass, making herself sound excited.

  What was that little bitch thinking? Didn’t she remember how badly things went the last time she tried to actually have a fucking relationship? They just didn’t work for her.

  “Yes. I do.”

  Again, her voice was cool. Almost closed off. Turning away from the computer, Darcy started to pace, moving to stare out the window. The moon gleamed in the sky, shining down on the snow like silver.

  “Sooo … should I call back?” she teased. You
better not tell me no.

  “Actually, no. This is a good time to talk.”

  Oh, excellent … this is excellent. Shay knew she wasn’t ready to get involved with anybody. She wasn’t ever going to be ready. The only person she really needed was Darcy. “If you want, I can wait while you tell him good-bye …?”

  “Nah, Elliot doesn’t mind waiting for me.”

  The satisfaction Darcy had been feeling abruptly started to fade. A muscle twitched in her brow. “Elliot.” Rage gripped her, twisted her. “So you’re still talking to that asshole who dumped you. Isn’t he the one who raped … well, I dunno who she is, but I saw something on Facebook. If he’s dangerous, should you be alone with him?”

  Shay snorted. “Well, if she’s lying about being me, it stands to reason she’d lie about that, too, doesn’t it?”

  Darcy reached up and grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking at it. The sharp pain flared, but it wasn’t enough to keep her focused on the conversation. Her voice came out razor sharp as she said, “But how are you so fucking sure she’s lying, huh? Men do assaholic things all the time, don’t they? And come on, you know hardly anything about him—there was some kind of mess when he was in the military. Did he ever tell you that?”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  That bite of anger in Darcy’s voice wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar one. No, Shay had heard it before, dealt with it before—it was the rage Darcy seemed to show when things weren’t exactly going her way. Sort of like the fight they’d had when Darcy had been adamant that Shay fire her agent.

  She hadn’t always been that way, but it seemed that Shay saw it more and more lately.

  When Darcy didn’t answer right away, Shay rose from her chair and moved to stare out the window. She was vaguely aware that Elliot was watching her, but her attention was focused on Darcy now. “Just what do you know that you aren’t telling me, Darcy?” she asked softly. “You’ve never even met him.”

  As she talked, she wound the cord around her fingers, keeping her gaze on the dark of the night. If she turned and looked at Elliot, she was going to lose her focus and she couldn’t do that right now …

  “He got in trouble like this before, Shay. Really, don’t you ever pay attention to things?” Then she laughed softly. “Wait, that’s why I’m here, right?” On the other end of the line, Darcy sighed, her voice heavy with that put-upon tone—poor me, I’m so unappreciated …

  Normally, Shay would start feeling guilty right about … now. Except for the first time, she heard the calculation lurking below Darcy’s voice. The almost sly taunting. It was more than that needling little whine—a lot more. The needling whine hid that clever manipulation, Shay realized.

  “Just how have you been paying so much attention to a man you’ve never met, Darcy?” Shay asked.

  “That’s what the Internet is for.”

  “I don’t pay you to spy on the people in my life, Darcy.” Shay gripped the phone tighter and tighter. She was tempted to throw it. Tempted to smash it against the floor until the plastic was nothing but broken, busted bits.

  “It’s my job to take care of you, Shay,” she said quietly.

  “Your job?” Shay was pretty certain her jaw just about hit the floor.

  “Yes. You pay me to take care of you.”

  Take care of me? Now she was certain of it—her jaw was all but dragging on the floor. She literally could feel it hanging open and it took a few seconds of letting it do that before she could manage to snap it shut with an audible click. “I pay you to help me keep business shit in order. I don’t pay you to take care of me. I had a mother for that, thanks.”

  There was a pause, followed by a low, malicious chuckle. “And she did such a wonderful fucking job taking care of you … didn’t she … Michelline …?”

  Then the phone went dead.

  But Shay never noticed. At the sound of that name, she went flying back.

  “Michelline, do you remember what happened to you?”

  “No.” She was sleepy. And tired of sitting here in this room with that grim-faced, sad-eyed man. Even though he wasn’t mean or anything, even though he hadn’t yelled. And the woman next to her wasn’t much better. She’d promised she was there to take care of her, but Michelline knew better.

  Nobody took care of her. And she didn’t want anybody taking care of her …

  The door opened.

  Another woman stood there. The other two stood up and moved to talk to the woman. They all spoke in low tones and then finally, the others left, leaving Michelline alone with this other woman.

  Michelline thought she looked familiar.

  “Hello, sweetie. Do you remember me?” The woman lingered in the doorway, holding something. A plate, Michelline thought.

  It was a plate.

  And on it were doughnuts …

  Her belly rumbled.

  She remembered the doughnuts better than the woman.

  Slowly, she nodded. The lady had come out to the house a few times. And Michelline was always supposed to lie. She didn’t like doing it, but she had to. The lady was nice, though. And she always managed to sneak in doughnuts or bananas …

  “Can I sit down, Michelline? I’d like to talk … if that’s okay.”

  Michelline had talked to enough people. But this woman had doughnuts. Maybe she’d let her have one …

  Slowly, Michelline nodded.

  “Michelline …”

  That name. Shit, that name—

  She wanted to puke, just thinking about it.

  Shay sat there on the floor without even realizing how she’d gotten there. Shit, she hadn’t had a panic attack that bad in years. Maybe ever. She hardly remembered anything and now she was on the floor, with Elliot crouching in front of her. He had his hands on her face and the look in his eyes was just this side of terror.

  But when she spoke, he hauled her against him and muttered, “Thank God. Damn it, you gave me a heart attack.”

  “She called me Michelline,” Shay whispered, curling her fingers into the bulky weave of his sweater and cuddling against him. His warmth seeped into her chilled bones and if she could have, she would have stayed there, just there, for the rest of her life.

  His hand curved over the back of her neck. “Who, baby?”

  “My assistant … my friend.” She swallowed and eased away, staring up at him while the knot in her throat threatened to choke her. “Elliot, I think she is the one doing this. All of it.”

  She’d suspected Darcy was involved, but damn it … it could be worse than she’d feared. So much worse. Michelline—

  “Okay.” He pushed her hair back from her face, his thumb tracing one of the scars by her cheek. “But I’m not tracking the deal with the name …”

  Shay closed her eyes and let her head sink back against his chest.

  “I …” She took a deep breath, tried to brace herself. “I think it was my name.”

  “What?”

  Curling her hand into his sweater, she said quietly, “I don’t remember the first few years of my life, Elliot. They’re just a blank. But I think I was Michelline.”

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  ELLIOT STARED AT THE SCRAPBOOK IN FRONT OF HIM, battling so much anger and sickness, he couldn’t think straight.

  He’d wanted Shay to open up to him.

  There was no denying that. Although, shit, it would have been easier if she were just a reclusive author, dealing with agoraphobia or something.

  They’d broken up because he couldn’t be with a woman who would share only half of herself with him. He couldn’t live his life in a vacuum and he’d wanted her too much, cared too much to watch as she suffered alone. She wouldn’t let him in, wouldn’t share her burdens with him, and he’d been dying inside. All he’d wanted was for her to let him in.

  Now she had. And oddly enough, he still felt like he was dying inside—he hadn’t been prepared for this.

  But how did any sane, decent pers
on prepare for this kind of horror, he wondered.

  Daughter testifies against stepfather for kidnapping, rape, and torture.

  Phoenix man found guilty.

  Local social worker dies.

  He went through the scrapbook, stopped to read each article. There were many—articles about the trial, follow-up pieces, and letters from the Arizona Department of Corrections. The final letter was about the man’s release.

  “They let him out,” he said quietly. Rage bit into him, tearing out chunks of him, and he wanted to scream, wanted to break something. Instead, he just focused on the scrapbook.

  Behind him, Shay said softly, “He’s served his time.”

  “His time,” Elliot muttered. Fuck that. He closed his hand into a fist to keep from hurling that scrapbook and its vile contents across the room. Then he turned around and stared at the woman in front of him.

  In the article, the girl hadn’t been named.

  But he knew, without asking. She was sitting before him now, curled up in the window seat and staring outside at the snow, a lost look on her face, grief in her pretty eyes, dealing with more pain than he’d ever thought a woman could carry.

  She’d been under eighteen and that name would be kept quiet, since she’d been a minor.

  The social worker’s name had been Virna Lassiter.

  “Is your real name Shay Morgan? Or is it Michelline Lassiter?”

  She drew her knees to her chest and shivered. “Shay is my name now. But that’s not my birth name … I don’t know what my real name used to be,” she whispered softly, her voice breaking.

  The broken, awful pain in her voice all but killed him.