Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

She was pretty certain she had icicles dripping from her nose. “Since I wasn’t expecting this to be an us when I landed, sexy wasn’t on the brain. It’s an SUV.”

  “Oh, even better. We can get some blankets and snuggle up in the back somewhere. I hear Michigan’s got some prime waterfront.” He gave her a playful leer and despite herself, she laughed.

  “Are you trying to talk me into going somewhere to make out with you?”

  “Yes.”

  Shay grinned at him. “That could be fun.” Actually, she was rather certain it would be. It might be the only fun they managed to get in, too, because she wasn’t expecting her confrontation with Darcy to go well.

  “There it is,” Elliot said, pointing toward a rather bland-looking SUV. At least it was clean and in a few minutes, it would be warm. That was good enough.

  “This is one boring-ass drive,” Elliot muttered. “I thought we’d at least see some lakes.”

  Shay glanced at him. “Sorry.”

  He smiled. “Hey, you didn’t tell her where to live, did you?” He jerked the wheel to the right, barely avoiding a pothole in the road. “Shit, this road sucks.”

  “Yes.” Absently, she shivered. The cold really wasn’t bothering her—she was used to it. But as she and Elliot drove over that miserable, rutted excuse of a road, Shay realized she was shaking. Not from the cold, but from the fear. She wanted, so much, to knock on the door of the upcoming house and see Darcy with her own eyes, ask her if she was behind any of this.

  Face to face, Darcy wouldn’t be able to lie, would she? She’d never been very good at it before. Shay had always known when her friend was being less than honest—it had shown on her face.

  “This is killing me, you know,” she said quietly. Sighing, she rested her head on the back of the seat and fisted her hands in her lap. “It’s killing me.”

  He reached over and laid a hand over hers, his thumb stroking her white knuckles.

  “If I get there, and I see her, is she going to be able to actually lie to me? To my face?”

  Swinging her head around to look at him, she asked again, “Is she?”

  He sighed. “Shay, I don’t know. I’ve never met her … but some people can do it. Is she one of them?” He glanced at her for the briefest second before diverting his attention back to the road. “Some people can. Some can’t. But is that why you’re going out to see her? Or is it because you need to look at her? Do you really need to ask her if she’s doing this … or do you already know?”

  In the pit of her stomach, she felt very cold.

  Closing her eyes, she drew her knees to her chest. She didn’t want to answer that. Not at all. “I want to be wrong.”

  Blowing out a breath, she added softly, “I want to look at her and somehow know that I’m wrong.”

  “But that’s not going to happen. And you know it. So why are you here?”

  “Because I want to know why. Because I just have to see her.” No matter how much it hurt. At least she’d feel some sort of closure. Plus, she was going to get it through Darcy’s head that this shit would stop. Here and now. Because if Darcy didn’t stop, Shay was going to go postal on her.

  “You got any idea what you’re going to say to her?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t have the slightest clue.” With a nervous laugh, she added, “I gotta admit, I’m playing this thing completely by ear.”

  “I’m going to ask you something and I want you to answer, straight up, no thinking it through. Okay?” He slid her a glance.

  Shay nodded.

  “How do you think she’ll play it … assuming you’re right, and she is behind this?”

  “She’s going to lie.” Then she groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Shit … shit. This is a friend of mine. And I’m sitting here talking about something that could tear my life apart if she got away with it. How can that woman be a friend? And I’ll tell you this … if you’d asked me two years ago? Three? I’d tell you that there’s no way we’d be having this conversation. But lately … lately, she’s just different. She’s the same, but she’s not. And the Darcy I know now would lie in a heartbeat.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  She looked down, staring at the hand he had on her thigh. Resting her hand on his, she twined their fingers and closed her eyes. “She … manipulates. She wasn’t always like that, but lately …”

  With the knot in her throat trying to squeeze out the ability to speak, Shay paused to take a deep breath. As she did, Elliot turned over his hand and tightened his fingers around hers. “She manipulates me … or tries to. It wasn’t like that before, but over the past few years, she started doing it. She was so obvious about it, I could see it. I even called her on it a few times, told her to chill out. Now, thinking back, I think there were other things … subtler things that I didn’t see, and part of me wonders if she didn’t use the obvious shit to hide the subtle shit. Now here’s the really crazy part … it doesn’t make sense. Because that’s not the Darcy I remember. She couldn’t have manipulated me for anything. It just wasn’t in her.”

  “Except that’s just what you said she’s doing.” He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

  Amazing how such a light touch could be so soothing, so comforting.

  “I know.” Closing her eyes, she gripped his hand in hers, squeezing it. “I feel like I’ve been played, and I never even knew it. You can’t imagine how sick this makes me feel.”

  “You might be surprised.” Elliot’s voice went gruff, tight.

  Opening her eyes, she looked at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring out the windshield with a dark, distant expression on his face. “I might be able to understand better than you think.”

  “How?”

  He shook his head. “We’ll go into that later.” Nodding, he said, “I think we’re here.”

  They came to a stop in front of a small house—small and run down but well cared for, it seemed—and got out. Shay could see what looked like flower beds, although it was hard to tell under the snow. That was weird. Darcy said she hated gardening shit; it was something they had in common—Darcy wouldn’t do it and Shay rarely tried, because of her allergies.

  As the cold lashed them, she pulled up her hood and shoved her hands into her pockets.

  “What do we do if she’s not here?” Shay asked. The driveway had a little red Corolla, but Darcy had said she drove an old, beat-up truck she’d had since high school.

  “Then we come back,” Elliot said. He came around the car to stand beside her and hooked an arm around her neck. “Quit stalling.”

  She couldn’t seem to move her feet, damn it. Wheezing out a choked breath, she forced herself to take one small step. Then another. Remembering what the porter had said back at the airport about baby-stepping it, she took bigger steps, and each one got easier.

  By the time they hit the beat-up little porch, she’d found her resolve, and when she reached to knock on the door, she knew she’d done the right thing.

  “You ready for this?” Elliot asked.

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I’ve got to know—even though in my gut I do, I have to ask her. I have to look at her face … I have to see what she has to say. And …”

  He slid his hand inside the hood of her parka and touched the back of her neck. “You need to know how she knows your name. If she’s connected.”

  “Yeah.” She smiled at him and murmured, “I’m glad you decided to show up at the airport, you know.”

  If Darcy wasn’t here, then Shay would just come back. They’d get a hotel, and come back. It might be … interesting, she decided. She’d never stayed at a hotel with a guy—hell, she rarely stayed at one, period. Room service, sleeping in. Assuming she could sleep.

  Why don’t you stop trying to distract yourself and just get this over with?

  Lifting her hand, she braced herself and knocked.

  The door opened.

  Shay froze as a pair of dark eyes, set in a
wizened old face, met hers. “Yes?” The woman’s voice was soft, heavy with a Spanish accent.

  “Ah, I’m looking for Darcy Montgomery.”

  The woman frowned, puzzled, shaking her head. “There is no one by that name here …”

  The pit of Shay’s stomach crashed, even though she’d been expecting this. All too aware of Elliot’s presence at her side, she kept the smile on her face as she said, “I think there’s some confusion going on with deliveries I’ve had coming here. I send packages here, regularly. My friend Darcy gets the packages, but if she doesn’t live here … did she move?”

  The woman’s warm, honey-brown skin paled and something flickered in the dark depths of her eyes. “Ah, yes. The packages, yes. I receive packages, but I only hold them. They get picked up. There is no Darcy Montgomery. I’m sorry.” She tried to smile, but the smile wobbled and fell flat.

  Shay continued to stare at her, watching as the woman tried to pretend that she wasn’t suddenly terrified. I receive packages …

  Something hard and cold settled in the pit of Shay’s stomach. “You receive them … I take it this is some sort of arrangement? Did you arrange this after she moved?”

  “No.” The woman shook her head. “I’ve lived here for many years, with my husband. We lived here a very long time. He’s gone and now the house is mine. I am sorry. There is no Darcy Montgomery here. There never has been.”

  She went to close the door but Shay reached up, touched her arm. “Wait.”

  “Yes?”

  “The packages. What … what’s the deal with the packages?”

  A guarded look entered the woman’s eyes. “Perhaps that should be discussed with your friend.”

  Then she withdrew into the house and shut the door.

  Shay turned her head and looked at Elliot, then closed her eyes.

  Coming here hadn’t shed any light at all, it seemed.

  Except for one thing—she now had more proof that something really, really screwed up was going on with Darcy. She knew Darcy. They’d been in school together, had spent a lot of time together. The woman was real. But according to the public records search she’d done on Darcy, there wasn’t anything current—there hadn’t been for quite some time, and this address was a fraud.

  Swearing, she shoved a hand through her hair and spun away, staring out at the rental car. If she didn’t know better, she’d wonder if Darcy existed. But Darcy was real. Damn it, she was real.

  “Maybe I’m just crazy,” Shay muttered. “Aw, hell. This was a waste of time.”

  “No. It wasn’t.” Elliot stood there and continued to stare at the door. “She’s scared. Didn’t you see it?”

  “Somebody was there?”

  Darcy gripped the phone, staring at the computer screen, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.

  “Yes. A young woman. Her face was scarred.”

  “Describe her.”

  As Selena ticked off the details, Darcy felt both nervous and full of pride. Shay had gone to Michigan looking for her? How had she managed that? She hardly ever left the damn house!

  “Do you know this woman?” Selena asked softly.

  “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle her.”

  There was a pause, and then Selena Campbell said softly, “What are you doing to this girl? Haven’t you caused enough grief?”

  “Shut up,” she said, but it was more offhanded than anything else. Selena didn’t mean anything, couldn’t do anything … wouldn’t do anything. Because Darcy knew Selena’s most secret fears. Darcy made it a habit to learn those things. They came in handy. “What was she doing there?”

  “She was looking for you—or who you say you are.” Selena laughed bitterly. “Looking for the woman she sends packages to. And she didn’t look terribly surprised when I told her you didn’t live there, that you never had. Neither she nor her man.”

  Darcy tensed. “Her man?”

  Elliot …

  “Yes. She had a man with her.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Darcy growled. Slamming the phone down, she surged out of the chair and started to pace. “What in the hell are you doing, you crazy little bitch?”

  She paced across the floor, then back. Spying her phone, she grabbed it again—she could hear Selena’s voice. Ah, that familiar old voice. “… please, don’t do anything …”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Darcy muttered, ending the call. Then she dialed another number. Usually, dialing it made her smile. Made her feel … something close to happiness.

  But not now. Now it was rage. Gut-wrenching rage. But as the phone started to ring, she cleared her voice. Made herself smile. All of that would show in her voice and she didn’t want Shay suspecting anything more than she already did.

  When the phone rolled over to voice mail, she almost lost it a second time. Breathing shallowly, she grappled it all under control and waited for the beep. “Hey, it’s me, girl! Why don’t you call me back …” She injected a bit of sadness into her voice and heaved out a sigh. “You know, I miss talking to you. I’m sorry we fought. Can you please call me? I … hell, Shay. I’m sorry. Just call me.”

  You stupid bitch.

  Tossing the phone down, she grabbed one of the throwaway cells and dialed another number. As a female voice came on the line, she asked, “Can I speak to Elliot?”

  “Sorry, he’s out of town for a few days … can I take a message?”

  “No.” Disconnecting the call, Darcy lowered the phone. And stared at absolutely nothing.

  “Why was she afraid, I wonder?”

  Elliot shrugged. “I don’t know, but she was. Something had her nervous, though, and she doesn’t know you, so it stands to reason it’s something to do with the packages, or the person who picks them up.”

  “Darcy,” Shay whispered. “But why would she be afraid of Darcy?”

  Elliot was silent.

  Shay sighed, staring at her phone. They were in one of those little bar-and-grill restaurants. It was early and the place was mostly dead. As she hit the button on her iPhone, her gut went tight with dread. Darcy had tried to call. Twice.

  “She keeps trying to call.” Flipping the phone around, she showed him the screen. “Just a few minutes ago. She tried to call, just now and about twenty minutes ago.”

  “You going to call her back?”

  She dropped her head down on the dull wood of the bar. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you might want to figure out the answer to that.” He rubbed his hand up and down her spine. “You need to track her down and face her over this, or maybe turn it over to the cops. Do something.”

  For a few minutes, she just let herself relax under the soothing motion of his hand. He could make millions, if he could just find a way to bottle what he did with his hands.

  Then, because she couldn’t block it out of her mind, she focused on his words. Rolling her head to the side, she watched him from the corner of her eye. “Calling the cops won’t do a damn bit of good right now, Elliot, and you know it. She hasn’t done anything we can prove and she hasn’t done anything she can be arrested for. Hell, this probably isn’t even legally harassment.”

  “So you just plan on ignoring it?” He tugged on the ends of her hair, shaking his head. “That’s not the answer either.”

  “No. I’m not going to ignore it. I just …” Sighing, she closed her eyes. “I need to think. I was only thinking about seeing her, confronting her. Beyond that? I don’t know.”

  “You need to figure that out before you talk to her. Don’t let her keep jerking you around.”

  Next to her, the phone vibrated, signaling a text. Shay groaned and pushed a button, going to the screen that showed Darcy’s info. The bartender passed by, and she flagged him down and showed him the phone. “Is that a local area code?”

  He glanced at it and nodded. “Yeah.” Then he squinted. “Darcy … Montgomery. That’s a familiar name.”

  “She lives around here,” Shay said, smiling absently. �
�Or I thought she did. Thanks.”

  He gave her a tired smile. “I’ve probably met her somewhere, then. Small towns. We know everybody.” As he wandered off, she resumed her contemplative study of the phone number, but no matter how long she stared at it, it didn’t yield any secrets.

  “I’ve been calling her at a Michigan number, sending packages to that house for years. But she doesn’t live there.” Her gut clenched tight. “And she knows my real name.”

  Nausea punched at her hard and fast. Lifting her head, she swallowed the bile churning its way up her throat. “I feel like I might be sick,” she muttered. “Really, horribly, terribly sick.”

  “Just breathe.”

  Breathe—she felt a hysterical giggle bubbling up in her throat. She didn’t want to breathe. She thought it might be better to hold her breath until she passed out and just slid into sweet oblivion for a while. Then she wouldn’t have to think about answers or anything …

  Answers—

  Cocking her head, she studied the phone. Answers. She needed answers and she’d asked somebody for them.

  Then she’d ignored her fucking email for the past day.

  “Angie,” she muttered. As the fog in her brain cleared, the swelling tide of nausea went with it and she reached for her phone.

  She hit the email, scrolling through the hundreds of messages that had piled up. The second she saw Angie’s name, her heart leaped into her throat. Lifting her gaze, she found herself staring at Elliot.

  “Virna was one of the social workers who took me in,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not exactly kosher—she had to call in all sorts of favors and shit to get me. She was a widow—her husband had died a few years earlier—but I couldn’t cope with anybody else and in the end, the family court system wanted me with somebody who could relate to me, who could connect with me. Virna was the only one who ever could. I think I might have gone crazy without her. I mean really crazy—like bad. I was in rough shape when they found me. I don’t know much about it—she never would tell me. Nobody really knows what I saw or anything. Anyway, she had kids. Most of them were grown, out of the house. But Angie was there. She was a few years older than me and it took us awhile to hit it off.”