Shattered Blue: A Romantic Thriller

by Jane Taylor Starwood

  “His parents were killed? How?”

  “In a plane crash when Matt was fifteen.”

  Shane was silent, thinking about her own father, wondering what would have become of her if her mother had been in that car with him, if she’d been left all alone.

  Beth went on. “After that, his married sister took him in.”

  “Do they have any other siblings?”

  “I don’t think so, but I couldn’t find any more details about his family. Except his wife, of course.”

  Shane’s heart leaped once and started pounding. “He’s married?” The last word emerged in a rising squeak.

  Laughter came through the line. “Gee, don’t sound so nonchalant. I should have said ex-wife. They divorced about a year ago.”

  Ridiculously, a wave of relief washed over Shane and her heart slowed to normal speed. Curiosity got the better of her. “Did you find out anything about the ex?”

  “Oh, yes. Vanessa Holt Brennan. Sound familiar?”

  “No. Should it?”

  “Sorry, I forgot you’re outside the range of that modern scourge, the cult of celebrity.”

  “His ex-wife is a celebrity?”

  “She is if you pay attention to that stuff. She’s skinny, gorgeous and rich, and oh boy, does she like to show it off.”

  Shane thought about Matt hoisting bales of straw, Matt gunning his truck, Matt scarfing down chile and eggs at Juanita’s. The portrait Beth was painting of his ex-wife didn’t fit. There must be a lot more to the picture than she’d seen so far.

  “What does it say about him that he married someone like that?” Shane asked.

  Beth’s drawn-out “hmmm” came clearly through the line. “That he’s human? That he made a mistake? Like a lot of people. Like me, in fact. Give him a break, Shane. You haven’t heard the best part.”

  Furball started kneading her leg again and Shane picked her up and put her on the floor, ignoring the cat’s resentful glare.

  “Okay, what’s the best part?”

  “The same GQ article described Matt’s trip to New Orleans after Katrina.”

  “Oh?”

  “He went down there with a group of builders to put up new houses for people who couldn’t afford to rebuild. He was supposed to stay two weeks and ended up staying for three months on his own dime. He designed and built a whole bunch of eco-friendly houses, mostly with his own two hands. And get this: He paid for all the materials out of his own pocket.”

  “That’s— I don’t even know what that is. Amazing.”

  “Damn right it’s amazing. And that’s not all. He’s gone back every year since then to build more houses. He’s a hero down there, Shane.”

  “I can believe it.”

  She remembered the book on green building and sustainable communities she’d seen in his tent. Not just a wide-eyed dreamer, then. Not just some kind of neo-hippy with green pretensions. Matt Brennan was the real thing.

  “You there, Shane?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Well, what do you think of the infamous Matthew Brennan now?”

  “I’m— I’m speechless.”

  Beth laughed. “Well, let me know when you make up your mind, okay?”

  “Sure. I will, Beth. Thanks for your help.”

  “Any time.”

  Shane hung up the phone, thinking about her neighbor in an entirely new light. Then she recalled the binoculars and her bedroom window and got mad all over again. Damn, but that man was an exasperating enigma.

  That night in her bedroom, while she tacked a sheet over the window, resenting every minute of it, Shane solidified her decision to make a trip into the Black Range the next day. She needed more branches, bones and other materials to complete the pieces for the show, and it would be a good way to get her mind off the puzzling and exasperating Matthew Brennan.

  And off whoever was calling her, trying to dig up things she needed to stay buried.

  The next day dawned bright and clear, with more than a hint of coming warmth as the sun crept above the hills. Shane fed the animals, packed a lunch and aimed the Ranger toward the taller mountains of the Black Range.

  She filled her mind with thoughts of the beautiful day and all the lovely flotsam and jetsam of nature she’d find for her weavings. The morning called for classical, so she’d brought her Grieg CD along, and now she slipped it into the slot and turned the volume up.

  The quiet opening strains of “Morning Mood” filled the air with beauty and the promise of more to come. She sank gratefully into it, letting the music carry her to a peaceful place as the tires hummed along the narrow, winding road.

  Once she had to stop while a small herd of shaggy, long-horned cattle crossed in front of her.

  Shane never ceased to marvel at the quirks and quandaries of her adopted state, where around any corner you might meet the oddest creatures, human or animal. After the cattle passed, she descended once again into the music and continued on her way.

  Less than two hours later she pulled into the parking area near the head of a trail she’d taken before with good results. She parked the Ranger, shrugged into her backpack and started up the trail. The sun was high in the sky, dappling the ground with light through a thick stand of tall pines. She heard rustling in the underbrush and smiled at a chipmunk scurrying away.

  The last time she’d taken this trail, she’d found a small hoard of tiny bones from some unwary creature that must have been an eagle’s or hawk’s dinner. She thought of that quote from a Tennyson poem: “Nature, red in tooth and claw.” It pleased her to take remnants of nature’s violence and give them new meaning by incorporating them into something beautiful.

  The work she was doing in New Mexico was quite different from the work she’d done in New York. There it was all bold shapes, hard lines and bright colors. Here, wanting to make a clean break—and not wanting to be recognized—she’d turned to natural materials and organic forms.

  What she was doing now felt more real to her than the work that had gained attention in the artificial, high-stakes art world of New York City. It felt as if she’d finally found a way to transmute her deepest dreams, her artist’s soul, into solid form.

  Of course she would never make nearly as much money in New Mexico as she had in New York. There, she’d been lucky enough to come to the attention of a few wealthy collectors just when they were tiring of paintings and looking for new forms and new artists to invest in. She still wasn’t sure why, but they’d jumped on her tapestries and adopted her as their latest find. The whole scene had made her uneasy, but that was the way the art game was played, so she’d gone along with it.

  The prices her work commanded during those heady months still took her breath away. Every now and then she wondered how much they’d fetched after she’d disappeared. Had her gallery sold the pieces she’d left behind? Was there money waiting for her in the city? She thought it was likely, but she didn’t dare call or write to the gallery, and there was no one she trusted enough to contact the owners on her behalf.

  That’s what came of cutting herself off completely from the past, but she harbored no lasting regrets. Her new life was good and getting even better. She had nothing to go back to. She’d walked away with enough money of her own to buy the ranch and keep her going until her new work began to sell. That was enough for her. That was more than enough.

  A few minutes later, Shane came upon the clearing where she’d found the bones last time and stopped to look around. She had almost given up the search when she saw, half hidden beneath a sheaf of dried leaves, a tiny, delicate skull. Carefully brushing the leaves aside, she found the disarticulated skeleton of some small forest creature, probably a mouse. The bones had been lying there long enough to be devoid of flesh. She wouldn’t have taken them otherwise. Maybe there was a fine line between collecting dry bones and scooping up still-furry carcasses, but it was one she wasn’t willing to cross. She got out a small zip bag and gently placed the white bones inside.
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  She resumed her search for interesting branches and dried vines and pods.

  A little while later, when her stomach growled, she decided it was time for lunch and found a sunny spot near a tree stump. She pulled off her backpack, unzipped her hoodie, spread the hoodie on the ground and sat on it with her back against the stump.

  The sun felt warm and lazy on her skin; she turned her face up to bask in it. The air was fresh, heavy with the scent of pine, and her peanut butter-and-jam sandwich tasted delicious in the heady mountain air. High above the clearing a red-tailed hawk wheeled and climbed, sketching an invisible spiral against the blue.

  As she watched, the majestic predator broke its lazy circling and dove swift as an arrow toward the ground. An instant later she heard the mortal shriek of a small animal, its sharp cry cut off as soon as it began.

  Shane jumped up, spilling sandwich and juice on the ground, her heart beating so hard she felt it thudding against her eardrums.

  She gasped for breath, trying to expand lungs that felt like bags of wet sand. She retched as her stomach lurched, then retched again. The taste of peanut butter and orange juice rose in her throat as she vomited, bent nearly to the ground, clutching her convulsing stomach until it was so empty it burned.

  She was cold, so cold. A deep, rhythmic trembling started in the pit of her stomach and spread through her body like ripples on a pond. She tried to make it stop, but it wouldn’t. With shaking hands, she reached for her hoodie, dragged it around her shoulders, lay on the ground and curled into herself.

  It was too late to stop it. She closed her eyes and let it come.

  TWELVE

  At first Shannon thought it was a bad dream that woke her. Her arms and legs jerked the way they did when she dreamed she was falling and woke up just in time to save herself.

  But this didn’t feel like a dream. Somebody’s hand was over her mouth. She bucked and wiggled, but whoever it was pushed her down into the mattress so she could barely move.

  She was too terrified to open her eyes and see the monster’s face. She pulled at the hand over her mouth, but it just got tighter, squeezing her face so hard it hurt.

  “Stop it, Shannon,” a harsh voice whispered in her ear. “Be still!”

  She opened her eyes then, because she knew that voice. It was one of her stepbrothers, one of the twins. In the dark she could just make out a face. Tyler? No, Jordan. Jordan with the scary eyes: pale, cold, gray eyes that watched her all the time. Tyler’s eyes were the same color, but they were warm and kind.

  What was Jordan doing in her room? Why was he scaring her like this? She tried to ask him, but his hand was still over her mouth and her voice came out a muffled whimper.

  Moonlight streamed in through the lace curtains, and she could see a little better now that she’d stopped struggling. Jordan’s eyes gleamed at her. They looked like shiny gray ice.

  “I told you to shut up, didn’t I?” he whispered.

  Shannon nodded. She was fighting hard not to cry. Crying was for babies, and she was no baby. But she was only eight, and Jordan was nearly thirteen. He was a lot bigger and stronger than she was.

  “Do you know what I’ll do if you don’t obey me? If you don’t do everything I say?”

  She shook her head. Don’t cry, don’t cry.

  Jordan reached down to the floor and brought his hand up fast, reflecting moonlight into Shannon’s eyes. She blinked in shock, then locked her gaze on the huge knife in his hand.

  Jordan made the knife dance in the air, the polished metal glinting and gleaming as it twisted and twirled through light and shadow. Shannon caught quick, fractured glimpses of her reflection in the blade: wide, terrified eyes shining back at her. Her own eyes. Her heart was beating so hard and fast it felt like it might burst through her skin.

  She couldn’t help it now; her eyes filled with tears and they spilled down her temples, tickling where they slid into her hair. Why? Why was Jordan doing this to her? He stopped waving the knife, brought it to rest with the flat of the blade on top of the hand he still pressed over her mouth. He leaned in closer. She felt his warm breath on her face.

  “Don’t worry, little sister,” he whispered. “I won’t cut you.”

  Shannon held her breath. What did he mean? He wasn’t going to hurt her with the knife? Was he playing some kind of trick on her? And the way he said “sister” was weird. She wasn’t his sister, only his stepsister. They weren’t really related. She watched his mouth curve into a smile that didn’t look like a smile at all.

  “I’m going to take my hand away, Shannon, but first let me tell you what I’ll do if you disobey me.”

  She waited, holding herself very, very still.

  “If you move a muscle or make a sound while we’re playing our little game,” he said, “I’m going to take this knife into your mother’s room one night when she’s sleeping all alone, when dear Daddy is away on one of his trips—”

  Shannon’s breath caught in her chest. She started to shake her head, then remembered and went still, her wide eyes on Jordan’s face. His not-smile curved deeper.

  “—and I’m going to stab this knife right into her heart. But don’t worry, she’ll be dead before she can feel any pain.”

  Shannon lay frozen on the bed with Jordan’s hand over her mouth, his face leering down at her. She saw him but, all at once, she knew he wasn’t really there. He couldn’t be, because this wasn’t happening. It was a bad dream, like she’d thought at first. A terrible, awful, scary dream, and if she just got through it, if she just waited until she woke up, everything would be all right. Shannon squeezed her eyes shut. It’s only a dream, it’s only a dream, it’s only a dream.

  “Look at me.” Jordan hissed.

  Her eyes popped open. It wasn’t a dream. He was real. This was really happening. Her heart pounded harder and there was a rushing sound in her head that made it hard to hear his whispering.

  “I’m going to take my hand away now and you’re going to lie very still, aren’t you? Nod your head.”

  She had to try very hard, but she made her head go up and down.

  “What a good little sister you are,” he said.

  Jordan took his hand away from her face and the skin around her mouth turned as cold as the rest of her. She started to shiver but made herself stop because he’d told her not to move a muscle. That’s when the jumping started in the pit of her stomach. She tried to make it quit, but it wouldn’t. Her stomach kept jumping and jumping until she thought she was going to throw up, but Jordan didn’t seem to notice.

  She felt an instant of relief when he took the knife away. She thought he’d put it on the floor beside the bed. At least she couldn’t see it anymore. But she hadn’t forgotten what he said he would do with it if she didn’t obey him. She could never forget that for the rest of her life.

  She waited, numb with fear, to see what would happen next. Maybe that was the end of it. Maybe he just wanted to scare her and now he would leave. Maybe someone would come and save her.

  But he didn’t leave, and no one came to save her.

  “Lie still, Shannon,” Jordan whispered.

  He pulled the covers down, keeping his shining gray eyes on her face, smiling his not-smile as he peeled bedspread, blanket and sheet away one layer at a time, until she lay before him pale and shivering in her thin cotton nightgown. Shannon tried to send her mind far away, tried to make it float out the window up into the sky, but she couldn’t make the magic work.

  When she felt his hands on her, touching her all over, first through her nightgown, then under it, his fingers hot and damp, her mouth wanted to scream, but she wouldn’t let it. Instead she bit down hard on her tongue. Then, with all her might, she focused on the sharp pain in her mouth and pictured her mother safe in her bed in the grown-ups’ wing, far away at the other end of the apartment.

  He touched her for a long time, and when he was done, he flashed the knife in her face again and laughed.

  After he s
hut the door, Shannon pulled the covers up, buried her face in her pillow and let the tears come.

  She could never, ever tell anyone what Jordan had done, and that made her feel so terribly, awfully lonely, like she was the last person on Earth.

  When she opened her eyes, Shane had no idea how much time had passed. The sun was still high, the air was still clear, and the sky still arched above her, a vast, untroubled blue.

  Her insides felt scoured out and her head ached, but she was warm again, and calm. The shivering had stopped.

  She sat up slowly, reached for her pack, pulled out a water bottle, rinsed her mouth and spit, and then drank deeply, draining the bottle in one go.

  It had been a long time since she’d suffered such a vivid flashback. She had to think all the way back to her college days, while she was in therapy, to recall one as bad. Back when Jordan was still alive, but three thousand miles away.

  She’d always felt guilty for telling her therapist it was Tyler, the dead twin, who’d molested her repeatedly for three years, coming into her room after everyone else was asleep. And she’d refused Dr. Kent’s strong suggestion that she tell her mother and Ray what her stepbrother had done to her. There was no way she was going to do that, not while Jordan lived in the same world, the same city, as her mother.

  As for the flashback, Shane realized this one had been triggered by the phone calls, the voice whispering her old name. That and the hawk, preying on some small and helpless creature, its desperate cry unheeded. But her stepbrother wasn’t a natural predator, killing to survive. Jordan had taken sick, twisted pleasure in turning a frightened child into his prey.

  But he was dead. She had to keep reminding herself of that. Jordan had been dead for over five years, and yet he still had the power to terrify her.

  Years ago, Dr. Kent had told her the hard truth: She would never be able to forget what had happened to her. On the other hand, he said, she didn’t have to live with fear and shame. She could learn to put it in its place, in the past, and move forward with her life. She could make herself stronger, put the blame where it belonged, on her stepbrother, and stop blaming herself, stop thinking that she’d somehow brought that horror on herself by not being strong enough or clever enough to stop him.