“So I’ve been told.” Hilliard pushed a hand through a head of grizzled, gray hair. “Just what is it that brought her back here, Mr.… ah, Winter, right?”
“Elliot,” he said absently. “Call me Elliot.” He debated—did he tell him? Should Shay do it? He suspected if he waited for Shay to do it, she’d say nothing unless she had to, but he wasn’t so sure that was the right avenue. Hell, he knew that wasn’t the right avenue.
Shay’s sister was the one playing games with her. How Leslie Hall had managed to find Shay after she’d moved and changed her name, Elliot didn’t know, but it proved one thing—the woman was smart. Smart, clever, and she didn’t lack for patience or persistence. Not a good mix, the way he saw it. Was it possible she’d been watching Shay all of this time? That was a thought that was absolutely terrifying. It was also a thought that couldn’t be dismissed, he realized.
Sighing, he slid the cop a look. “Shay’s been having some problems. Somebody is trying to take over her life. Bits and pieces of it. She’d thought it was a college friend, but apparently that college friend has been missing for quite some time. It looks like the person just moved in, took over the friend’s life.”
“Wouldn’t the friend’s family have noticed? Wouldn’t Shay have noticed?”
Elliot smiled grimly. “Whoever did this knows Shay too well. She doesn’t let people get too close—most of her life is through her computer. She used the computer, the telephone, that’s it. She probably goes weeks without seeing people and she hadn’t seen Darcy since college.” With a shrug, he glanced over at the detective. “The woman up and moves—claims she was relocating, gives a new cell phone and all. Shay has no reason to not believe her.”
“Voice? Wouldn’t the voice be off?”
“I think she can mimic voices.… it’s a complicated mess, but she had a number set up like Shay’s and apparently Shay called it. It sounded enough like Shay that she was freaked out to hear it, but when we called it again, the number was disconnected. And that’s just one of many weird-ass things going on.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the dusty toes of his boots. In terse terms, he outlined what had gone on so far, finishing up with what they thought might have happened to Darcy. “The friend is missing. For two years now. Nobody has seen her, heard from her. Everything about her seems to just be gone.”
“Fuck,” Hilliard muttered, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “I don’t like the sound of this. I’d hoped she was just coming down here because she needed closure, but this … shit. This is a fucking shit bomb waiting to explode. Shay has no idea who she is dealing with now?”
At that moment, Shay swung her head around, staring at them over the field of stone that separated them. As she rose, Elliot studied her face, the grief there, the misery, the sadness. And the fury.
“She knows,” he said quietly as Shay started toward them. His heart slammed hard against his ribs at the look in her eyes. He hated to see her hurting, but the expression on her face was the look of a woman ready to go to war.
“I know we think it’s her sister, but—”
“I don’t think, Captain Hilliard,” Shay said as she approached them. Her eyes were grim, dark. Determined. “I don’t think. I know. She’s let too many things slip that don’t make sense in any other capacity … like my name.”
“Your name.”
Brushing her hair back from her face, Shay stared at him. “My birth name. Michelline. Unless she knew me, how likely is it that she could have been able to get that?”
“And how do you know this?”
Shay turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because I heard her say it,” she murmured. She flicked a look at Elliot and he reached out and caught her hand, tugged her close. You can do this.
She came to him and he dipped his head, rested his brow against her crown. You can do this, he thought again. She leaned against him for a brief moment and they just stood there. He didn’t know if she was taking in any comfort from him or not, but just that brief, simple connection helped ease the ragged, jagged mess in his heart and soul. They could get through this, damn it. Get through it. Get it behind them and then focus on what mattered—the rest of their lives.
After a moment, she eased away. He caught her hand in his and squeezed. It wasn’t much, but he wanted her to know one simple thing. He was here with her. No matter what happened.
“A few days ago, she was on the phone with me, yammering about taking care of me, and I told her that wasn’t her job—I’d had a mom who’d taken care of me. She muttered something and then mentioned my mother. She knew me. She knew my mother. It’s her, Captain. I know it is.”
“Okay … let’s assume you’re right. Let’s assume she has tracked you down. Why is she screwing around with your life? Trying to take it over?”
Elliot curled his lip. “Sounds to me like she’s a crazy bitch. I think that’s a reasonable enough explanation.”
“No.” Shay pushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears. She stared off into the distance, the setting sun painting her pale skin a delicate gold … highlighting the fine scars along the edge of her face. Somehow, she managed to look both incredibly young and incredibly ancient, Elliot thought.
“It’s not because she’s crazy—or not just because she’s crazy,” Shay murmured. The desert wind kicked up, teasing the hair back into her face. She ignored it, staring at the mountains. It was peaceful here, she decided. Of all places, she’d found some small bit of peace … at the graves of her brother and mother.
She’d loved her mother, that much she knew—it was more a feeling than true memory. But it was there. Just as she knew she’d loved her brother. She wished she had some memory of him, a real one … not just those screams.
Not just the terror.
“I was the little princess,” Shay said, closing her eyes. “I was the little princess, and she was our mother’s best girl. Then Mama went away. I don’t understand all of that, although …” She opened her eyes and stared at the quiet cop standing at Elliot’s side. “You said she died in childbirth.”
“Yes.”
Tears stung her eyes, threatening to fall. She blinked them back. “You know, in the scheme of things, it hasn’t been that long since she died. You don’t think about women still dying from childbirth in this country. But it happens a lot more often than people realize.” She pressed her lips together. I had a mother, a brother. I loved them. And at least my mother loved me. She tried to hold on to that, but the horror in her mind was still so huge. Just then, she couldn’t think about any of that, so she made herself focus on the puzzle—the mystery, the riddle. She’d always been good at puzzles. Figuring out the answer …
“Me,” she whispered. “It was me. Or, at least, I’m part of it. She was supposed to take care of me—I was Mama’s princess. I remember her telling me that, and then suddenly I wasn’t the princess and she wasn’t Mama’s helper, because the baby was there.”
“She blamed the baby,” Hilliard said quietly.
“Yes.”
Elliot, grim-eyed, just stared at her. “Doesn’t that pretty much mean the same thing? That she’s crazy?”
“There are all kinds of crazy, Elliot,” Shay murmured. And deep inside, she felt even sicker than she’d felt earlier.
Jethro’s words came back to her. She’d blocked out a lot of what he’d always ranted about, railed about. He’s gone, you little bitch … because you had to be the princess. He’s gone …
“Leslie blamed the baby, and then Jethro blamed me,” Shay said.
None of it would make any sense to the logical, rational mind, but they definitely weren’t dealing with rational or logical minds.
“He blamed you?” Elliot’s voice was a dangerous, dark rasp.
Looking up, she stared at him.
Hilliard, wisely, turned away, casually strolling out of hearing distance as Elliot reached over and caught Shay’s arm, drawing her closer. “Did yo
u just say that fucker blamed you?”
“Yes.” She started to touch the scars on her face but made herself stop. Maybe it was time to have them removed. All of them. “I told you how he ranted, how he yelled and everything. A lot of it just didn’t make sense. He said shit about how he was gone—I never knew who the bastard was talking about, but he meant Jeffrey. He blamed me.” Her voice hitched and she stopped, waiting until she knew she could breathe, could speak without crying. “He’d rant at me about how it was my fault and he’d yell at me because I forgot. That was why he hated me … he blamed me. All that time, he blamed me.”
“How could he blame you?”
A watery laugh escaped her. “Elliot … I don’t know. He was drunk most of the time, pissed off over being in jail …”
Closing her eyes, she thought back to all the times her stepfather had yelled. Were there other memories? Maybe, she thought; she almost remembered hearing other sounds … like a man crying. Turning around, she looked back at the stone. Her brother’s stone had nothing on it, save his name, his date of birth, and his date of death. It was pitifully naked. It should say something more. She’d have it changed if she had anything to say about it.
But her mother’s stone read: Beloved Wife. It said nothing about her children, but it mentioned that she was a wife.
“I think he loved my mother. I think he blamed the baby … maybe while he was in prison, he started feeling guilty over that and the guilt just … hell.” She shook her head, stared off into the distance at the mountains. “I don’t know. All of this is coming from a time that I can barely remember, and it’s not like I wasn’t fucked up to hell and back at the time.”
“You’re not fucked up—and you weren’t then. They were fucked up,” Elliot snarled. He pulled her against him, the motion abrupt and jerky, as though he just couldn’t handle not having her close for another second. Burying his face against her neck, he muttered, “I want to kill them, Shay. Both of them. For what they did to you then, what she’s doing to you now.”
Caught in the circle of his arms, the warmth of the sun beating down on them, with his heart beating against her cheek, she closed her eyes and let herself lean against him. Here, right here, she felt safe. Felt wanted, needed … almost normal, even. If only she could just stay here …
But those two stones behind her reminded her how very unfinished this was. “She can’t hurt me unless I let her, Elliot,” Shay whispered, hiding her face against his shirt. It was a lie; she knew it even as she said it. But she wasn’t going to let that woman win. She’d done enough damage and it was past time that it stopped.
“This game she’s playing, now that I’ve figured it out, it’s going to stop. I’ll stop her. I’m not a scared child hiding in a closet anymore.”
No … she was a scared, horrified adult who didn’t know which way to go, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.
Moments passed as she stood there, pressed against his chest, listening to his heart beating … letting the place of death wrap her in its odd web of peace. “We’ll get this done,” she murmured. Somehow.
But after that?
“Where are you two going for the night?” Hilliard asked as he walked them back to their car.
“We’re staying at the Hotel San Carlos downtown.” Downtown—in the middle of a bunch of people, surrounded by them. It should have terrified her, but she desperately needed it right then. Needed the thought of lots of people, lights, and chaos. Maybe it would keep the shadows in her memory at bay for a little while longer.
Maybe, but she wasn’t counting on it.
“And then …?”
She just stared at him.
“What do you plan on doing next?” he asked gently. “You didn’t just come here for these answers. What about Abernathy? Your sister?”
“Abernathy …” She clenched her jaw. She wasn’t going to think about him, because every time she did, her skin broke out in a cold sweat. Those nightmares, those memories—they were her dragons, the nightmares that had haunted her all of her life. Even as a child, before he’d hurt her so badly, she’d been afraid of him and in her dreams, she’d remembered it.
She didn’t need to see him.
She’d come for answers; she’d found them. She’d found out about her sister and now she needed to figure out the next step. What to do about her, how to find her … face her.
That was her focus. Clenching her jaw until it hurt, she gave herself a minute and continued to stare at the mountains. Breathe—focus—think—
She could do this. She had to. “I’m not here about Abernathy,” she said, her voice a bare whisper. “He isn’t my concern or my problem—” He’s just the dragon from my nightmares … “I’m here because of Leslie.”
“Okay.” He inclined his head. “And what do you plan to do about her?”
“Hell.” Shay spun away. If it weren’t for Darcy, she’d rather just do nothing about her. She’d rather never know about her, forget about her … but that wasn’t an option. “She’s a stranger to me, and a monster—somebody I really wish I’d never remembered.”
He’s gone now … you’ll be the princess again …
As the horror rolled through her, she covered her face with her hands, wishing she could carve the sound of that laughing voice, so gleeful and happy, from her mind. Then bleach herself clean—she felt so unbelievably dirty.
“I don’t want this inside me, Captain,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to remember, I don’t want to think about her … I don’t want to know her. If I never thought about her again …”
Her voice hitched and she stopped to take a breath. But it wasn’t that easy. Even if she never heard from Leslie again, even if the woman left her alone, Shay couldn’t walk away.
Because of Darcy.
Feeling the weight of a familiar, intense stare, she looked up and found Elliot’s gaze resting on her. And in those eyes, she saw the knowledge. He knew she wouldn’t let this go … knew she couldn’t.
She looked at Captain Hilliard, as the horror and grief continued to riot through her.
His face was gentle, still so gentle and understanding. “You can leave … she’s not a part of your life, and she never should be, Shay. Just leave. Let us handle this … that’s what the cops are here for.”
“I can’t.” Closing her eyes, she whispered again, “I can’t. She’s …”
I think she killed my friend. She’s screwing with my life. I can’t leave until I find a way to make her stop—
How did she even begin to explain?
“Elliot tells me there was a friend … a missing one. Is that why you can’t leave? Is that why you’re here to begin with?”
Shay nodded. Sinking her nails into her palms, she tried to ground herself, but that small pain wasn’t enough. Darcy … “Her name was Darcy. She’s been missing for two years. And Leslie has been pretending to be her. I never even knew.”
“Didn’t you recognize a change in the voice or anything?”
Shay sighed. “Shit, do you think I haven’t thought about that? No, I didn’t notice any difference in her voice. I can’t explain that, either. Maybe she’s just really good at mimicking other voices.” Voices … She stopped and remembered the call to the number Trish had given her, the voice that had sounded like her own. “There was this weird thing, though. She had set up a phone number, claimed it was mine. It’s complicated and it would take a while to explain it all, but I called that number … and she sounded like me. I don’t know how she managed to pull this off. But Darcy has been missing for two years. You would think I would have realized something was wrong … I’ve been paying …”
She stopped and looked at him. “I’ve been paying her. Damn it, I PayPal money every single month—her paycheck. Wouldn’t the cops have checked on that, with her being reported missing?”
“Yes.” Hilliard nodded. “Assuming they knew—they’d be watching bank accounts. But PayPal accounts aren’t always linked to bank a
ccounts. If the money was just going into the PayPal account, the cops may well not have known about it, especially if the family wasn’t aware of it. Maybe there was an email address they didn’t know about, so they didn’t think to check that one.”
“The business email.” Shay rubbed the heel of her hand over her chest and whispered, “I had her set up a separate account that was only used for my business stuff—it couldn’t be used for anything else. I paid her through that account.”
Closing her eyes, Shay buried her face in her hands, grief hitting her in a hard, heavy wave. She almost collapsed under it. She’d wanted her privacy, her anonymity … and because of that very thing, it had made it that much easier for her sister to stalk and hurt her best friend.
“God, what have I done?”
“You didn’t do anything,” Elliot told her. He laid his hand over the back of her neck, but she couldn’t find the comfort in it that she usually did, and she doubted she deserved any.
“Exactly!” she shouted, spinning away from him and pacing. Arms wrapped around her belly, she stared off into nothing while her heart threatened to split in two. “She did something to my best friend—one of my only friends, and did I know? Did I realize anything was wrong? No. I quietly bitched to myself about what a pain in the ass Darcy had become. I never realized anything was wrong. I never tried to find out what was going on. I just …” She pressed a hand to her mouth and whispered, “I didn’t do anything.”
Hearing the soft sound of footsteps, she tensed as Elliot approached and stood in front of her. “This isn’t helping,” he said softly. He cupped her face in his hands, stroked a thumb over her lower lip. “I know you’re angry, and I know you’re hurt. I don’t blame you. I don’t even know Darcy and I’m pissed off. But how can you help her now if you let guilt tear you apart?”
“So what do I do, damn it?” she asked, her voice catching in her throat. “Just shrug it off? Say oh, well and let it be?”
“No.” Dipping his head, he brushed his lips across hers and murmured, “Even if part of me wishes you’d just walk away from this, that’s not who you are. You’ll do what you have to. We’ll find a way to get through this. But don’t let what she has done tear you apart, Shay. You can’t do that.”
Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense Page 29