Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (10 page)

“This isn’t funny!” Lorna shouted. “That crazy bitch is saying 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.

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.

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.

What in the hell was going on?

Shit, this is ridiculous
. She
knew
her agent. Anna was always checking for important stuff, and this was important. So why wasn’t she getting back to her?

Somehow, she had to get at least one thing accomplished today. She had to stop thinking about the hopeless situation with Elliot. She had to get through to Anna or get hold of somebody at the websites—something,
anything. Or she was just going to lose her ever-loving mind … and that wasn’t a very big leap for her.

With lunchtime came progress … 
some
progress.

An email hit Shay’s inbox and to her somewhat vicious delight, it was from WordPress. They were very sorry for this trouble and they had shut the blog down.

She immediately went to the blog, and lo and behold …

She got a little message saying the blog didn’t exist. There was also a little note at the bottom about possible terms-of-service violations. A smile curled her lips as she leaned back. Crossing her arms over her chest, she muttered, “Stick
that
in your pipe and suck it, bitch.”

Of course, that warm, fuzzy glow of satisfaction lasted only a few minutes. It took only one look at the Facebook page she had just opened for that glow to fade, fizzle, then die an abrupt death.

There was a note—an ugly one. And somebody was tagged in it. Somebody Shay knew all too well.

What the hell …

Her gut clenched on her. Her heart raced and blood roared in her ears. Her palms were sweaty and she
couldn’t fucking breathe
.

It had been years since she’d had a full-blown panic attack, but she hadn’t ever forgotten what one felt like.
Can’t breathe—

The panic was like a beast, trying to rip her apart inside.

Can’t breathe—

Endless moments passed. The weight of the terror rode her down, blackening out everything around.

Can’t breathe …

But a name, a face … they beckoned to her. She’d just seen him on the screen—
Elliot. Gotta focus. Think
.

I can breathe … and I can do this
.