Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (4 page)

So instead of a chair, she settled for leaning against the kitchen island, letting it take some of her weight.

“Lorna, I could have said ‘no’ just fine if I thought I shouldn’t be going out to get a bite. It’s not like we were going out to party or anything. I had to go into town anyway.”

“Yeah, but I dragged you into the store.” A guilty flush pinkened Lorna’s cheeks and she shifted her gaze away. “I just … I thought maybe you and Elliot would see each other and maybe …”

Shay smiled sadly. “It’s not going to happen, Lorna. Your brother needs something I can’t give him. It’s just not in me.”
Trust. The ability to believe in somebody or something
—hell, she didn’t even believe in
herself
. The ability to open up, to confide in someone … The secrets of her past were hers, and hers alone, and she couldn’t share that darkness with him.

She couldn’t share
herself
with him.

Hard to do when she was practically living a lie, every day of her life.

Can you tell us what happened
 … the ghostly voice danced through her mind. She pressed the heel of her hand against her temple as one of those early memories slipped out to taunt her. It had been happening more and more since she’d woken up from the coma and it was driving her nuts.

“Do you want me to hang around?” Lorna offered. “We never did eat. I could make something …?”

Shay laughed. “Not if we want something edible. Look, I’m just tired,” she hedged. “I’ll grab a granola bar or something and go take a nap.”

For a long moment, Lorna watched her, and Shay had to fight to not look away from those golden eyes—eyes too much like Elliot’s. Intense and soul-searching, the Winter siblings had a way of looking at you and stripping you bare.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

It took another five minutes to get Lorna out of there.

It took Shay another three minutes to shuffle her way to her office.

Once there, she reached into her purse and pulled out the book she’d bought from the store.

Not that she really
needed
a copy of this book.

Shay had
written
the damn thing.

She had forty author copies waiting in neat rows on one of her work desks. She’d been planning to send some of them to soldiers stationed overseas. Then she’d gotten into the car accident and it fell to the wayside.

There was a problem with this book, though—that problem of the autographed sticker. And the autograph inside might read
Shane Neil
, but it sure as hell wasn’t
her
autograph.

Touching it with the tip of her finger, she whispered, “Who in the hell did this?”

The phone started to ring again.

Glancing over, she saw a familiar name.

Her assistant, Darcy Montgomery. Shay groaned. Talking to Darcy was the
last
thing she wanted to do. There had been a time when she’d loved calls from Darcy; she was one of her few connections to the outside world, but lately … hell. It was a chore.

Not that she’d ever admit that. Darcy was something very rare in Shay’s world … a real friend. They’d met in college, but Darcy sure as hell hadn’t had a bulldog level of persistence back then. Well, she
had
, but it had been different. Back then, Darcy had been all about dragging Shay into the land of the living.

She’d dragged her shopping. She’d been the one to convince Shay to stop hiding in baggy jeans, and even baggier shirts. She’d been the one to talk her into taking some self-defense courses, and
that
had led to her discovering that she actually almost enjoyed it. There was
nothing quite like sparring with somebody to get rid of pent-up aggression and fear. From there, she’d gone on to earn her black belt in tae kwon do and for a while, both she and Darcy had even gone to class together.

So many of the
good
memories in her life were tied to Darcy, but lately, the woman just seemed to drag everything down.

Sighing, she reached for the phone. The calls wouldn’t stop until Shay talked to her. And knowing Darcy, the woman was freaking out over the fact that she hadn’t answered.

Deal with
that
problem first, she decided. Plus, she could multitask.

Grabbing the phone, she answered with a curt, “Yeah?”

“Hey, you!” Darcy’s voice, like always, was all bright and happy. Sometimes talking to her made Shay feel like she was trapped in a cheerleading training session—all pep and bounce and optimism. “What took you so long? You aren’t up and moving around, are you?”

“No.” Shay had her ass firmly planted in her office chair. She just didn’t want to fricking
talk
to anybody.

“You should be in your bed, with the phone on one side, books on your lap, and coffee on the other side.”

“If I had coffee in bed, I’d spill it, and then I would have to sleep on the couch and my back would hurt even more than it already does,” Shay said, sighing. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Darcy, I need to get some work stuff done. I don’t really have time to chat for a while.”

Chatting
was something that would have to wait until she’d figured out just what in the hell was going on. Not that she really felt like shooting the breeze anyway. Guilt nagged her, but she pushed it away. Even if she didn’t have a majorly weird problem going on, she had
a book to finish, others to write, and she was going to fall behind, thanks to the damn wreck.

“Oh, I know you’re busy. I just wanted to check on you … and …”

Her voice faltered.

“And what?” Shay asked.
Shit
. This wasn’t going to be a quick conversation, was it?

“Well, I just … I dunno. I can’t believe you did all of that without telling me.” Darcy sounded a little despondent. If it had been Shay using that tone of voice, it wouldn’t mean much. For Darcy to sound that down, somebody must have been kicking a puppy or something in front of her. Darcy just didn’t
do
down. It was kind of like Shay doing
up
. They were total opposites.

“Did what, Darcy?” She scowled, still staring at the book. She shouldn’t have gone to the bookstore. If she hadn’t, her head wouldn’t be pounding, her gut wouldn’t be a twisted, tight snarl, and she wouldn’t be sitting there, holding a copy of her latest release with some fake’s signature on it.

Granted, the book would still be at the store, but Shay could have found out about it at a time when she was a little more equipped to deal with it.

“Well, the Facebook thing. You know. You always said you hated that stuff, so why did you go and start up the page without telling me?”

Facebook
. That snarl in Shay’s gut jerked itself into a sudden, tight knot, one that was almost viscerally painful.

“What did you say?”

Darcy repeated herself—yes, Shay had just heard what she thought she’d heard.

“Darcy, what Facebook page?”

“Well,
your
Facebook page, silly.” She laughed, but it was strained. “I mean, I’m glad you’re doing it and all, but you could have told me. Could have let me help.
And how were you even able to keep up with it while you were in such bad shape at the hospital?”

Shay’s heart skipped a beat or ten as she tossed the book down.

Just
what
in the world was Darcy talking about?

Spinning around in her chair, she bumped the mouse and watched as her desktop came to life. She opened up her browser and went to the search bar, typing in
Shay Morgan Facebook
.

There were a few entries, but none of them were her.

Her gut was a raw mess as she typed in another name. Several hits came up … but again, not her. Sucking in a desperate breath, she silently said,
Thank God
. He wouldn’t be able to find her that way.
Nobody
would—

“Shay, are you going to explain this or what?” Darcy asked, her voice edging into that plaintive, whiny zone.

“Just give me a minute,” she muttered, wedging the phone more securely against her shoulder. Staring at the screen, she tapped
Shane Neil Facebook
.

And there it was.

“What in the fuck is this?” she muttered.

“Huh?”

“The damn Facebook page,” she replied as the page loaded on her computer.

The cover of her latest book seemed to glare at her mockingly from the screen. It was the same book that had a fake’s signature on it, too.
What the hell?

“This Facebook page—it’s actually an author-owned page, right? Not one of the fan communities?” Shay said, her voice tight and rough.

“Of course, it’s an author page … it’s yours. That’s why I called.”

“Darcy. That page isn’t mine.”

There was a pause and she thought she heard Darcy muttering on the other end of the line, but she couldn’t quite make out the words.

“You mean you didn’t set up the Facebook page?”

Am I speaking in code?
Shoving back from her desk, Shay snapped, “No. I did
not
set up the Facebook page.” She went to stand up, but the twinge in her ribs had her remaining in her seat.

She needed to be conscious to handle this, after all.

“Darcy, what do you know about that damn page?”

“Well. Not much. I just found out about it. But I thought you’d done it.”

Shay heard her swallow over the line and then Darcy laughed, a strained sound. “I mean, it’s
way
popular. Has like ten thousand fans already and it looks like it just went live a few weeks ago. There’s a blog and stuff, too. Readers are so excited to see you out more. Can’t you tell? It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“Amazing. Sure. It’s amazing.” Shay could feel a muscle starting to pulse behind her eye. A headache would come next and it wouldn’t be long before she wanted to claw her brain out, just to relieve the pain. “There’s just one problem. I
didn’t start a fucking Facebook page!
”

On the other end of the line, Darcy was silent.

The silence stretched out between them and guilt dropped down on her hard. This wasn’t Darcy’s fault. It was the fault of whoever had set up that page. And Shay now wanted to
strangle
that person. “Sorry for snapping. But, Darcy … you know me better than that,” she said, trying again. “Why would I have started a Facebook page? I don’t do that social media crap. And shit, I was in the hospital for more than two weeks. For a solid week, I couldn’t even
sit
, much less type on a computer and update it. I wasn’t even conscious.”

“Oh. Um. I guess … I don’t know. Shay, this is weird.”

Gee, ya think?
“Yes, it’s damn weird. That page isn’t mine. I don’t do these things. You know that.” She couldn’t. Not even under the guise of her pen name.
Most of the world thought Shane was a guy—which was exactly
why
she’d picked that name. It was just one more way to help her stay hidden. Damn near everything she did was done with the purpose of either
staying
hidden or making it harder to
find
her. Making it harder for
him
to find her …

It’s your fault …
that ugly voice jeered at her from the back of her mind, loud and angry and awful.

Your fault. And you won’t forget—

She flinched as the screams echoed in her head.

Swearing, she pinched the bridge of her nose.
Not now. No falling apart now
. As the memories tried to push in, she pushed them out. It didn’t matter that they were so much worse lately than they used to be. The memories were from
then
, and they didn’t affect the crazy shit that seemed to happening right now.

Deal with that;
then
she could have her freak-out.

Freak out, then purge herself of the poison, just her and her diary.

“Darcy, think. Why would I have set up a Facebook page when the last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself?”

Another silence fell. It was so complete, Shay could hear Darcy’s ragged intake of breath. “You’re right. I never even thought of that. I was just so surprised to see your name …” She laughed nervously. “Surprised. Excited. All of that. I know why you keep to yourself and all, and I understand, but I guess I just thought enough time had gone by.”

No, Darcy … you don’t know why
. Swallowing, Shay said, “There’s no such thing as
enough time
.” She knew people wouldn’t understand that. They probably couldn’t. But they didn’t need to understand it. It wasn’t any of their business.

Absently, she reached up and touched the scars along the left side of her face; then, as panic tried to claw into
her, she touched one of the ridged lines under her shirt. Those scars were hidden, under her bra and T-shirt, but she saw them every day. Lived with them every day.

They reminded her. She’d lived through hell. She’d gotten out of hell. Nothing could be as bad as that.

Still, there was no such thing as
enough
time.

Crazy bastards didn’t care about the passage of time or much of anything else. Crazy bastards didn’t care about who they hurt, or how much damage they caused, as long as they got what they wanted.

One more reason why she kept to herself … fewer people to get hurt in any potential crossfire.

Looking away from the computer, Shay stared out the window. Her house was the only one around for miles. She’d chosen the isolated area because she felt safer here, away from anybody and everybody, but sometimes the isolation got to her, and now was one of those times.

The snowy, barren landscape seemed to be closing in around her and although it was only three in the afternoon, it was getting dark outside. One of the weird things about living in Alaska—the sun set damn early in the winter. This time of year, they had only a few hours of daylight before darkness enveloped the land again.

It had taken her a couple of years to adjust to it, and sometimes it still took her off guard. Damn it, sore body or not, weak legs or not, she had to move. Cradling the phone on her shoulder, she used the desk for balance as she climbed to her feet.

The room didn’t start spinning—that was good.