Shattered Blue: A Romantic Thriller

by Jane Taylor Starwood

  Shane saw Jordan’s eyes go wide. He turned away from her, toward Doug.

  “You found it?”

  Doug grinned. “You ever heard of an old story called ‘The Purloined Letter’?”

  “Stop talking in riddles, you idiot. Where is it? Let me see it!”

  Shane saw the irritation flash across Doug’s face, saw him master it.

  “It was hidden in plain sight,” Doug said, “glued into one of those geodes she had above the fireplace. She never even knew it was there. Clever old bastard.” He pulled the diamond from his pocket.

  Almost reverently, Jordan took the diamond from Doug and held it up to the light. “Look at it,” Jordan whispered. “It’s so beautiful I almost hate to sell it.”

  While they were admiring the diamond, Shane tried to loosen the clothesline around her wrists. The braided nylon bit into her skin, scraping it raw. She didn’t allow herself to think about what Jordan might have already done to Matt. She wouldn’t ask, because she was too afraid of the answer, and she had to stay calm, keep all her wits about her.

  She saw the impatience in Doug’s expression. “It’s money,” he said. “A means to an end. That’s all.”

  “How much is it worth?” Jordan asked.

  “Four million, give or take.”

  Jordan smiled and zipped the diamond into the pocket of his warmup jacket.

  “Let’s go,” Doug said. “I can’t wait to shave off this itchy beard and wash this crap out of my hair.”

  “Not yet,” Jordan said. “You agreed to keep the disguise until we’re both out of the country. And where are your glasses?”

  “In the Hummer,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll wear them. You go your way and I’ll go mine, like we said. If the feds get onto us, we’ll confuse the hell out of them. But if you’re not where you’re supposed to be—”

  “I’ll be there,” Jordan said. “You’ve been to my little hideaway, Galvin. How could I cheat you?”

  The two men locked gazes for a moment, and then Doug turned toward the door and pulled it open. “Come on,” he said. “She’s not going anywhere for a while. Is Brennan secure?”

  The smile that curved Jordan’s lips chilled Shane to the bone. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. No. Please, no.

  “Oh, yes,” Jordan said, “he’s secure.”

  “Then the sooner we’re gone, the better.”

  Jordan turned toward Shane. “I need a few more minutes,” he said. “If you have a weak stomach, wait outside.”

  He removed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, revealing a large hunting knife in a scabbard on his belt. Shane saw it and gasped. Her stomach clenched with fear as he drew the knife, turning it this way and that, making light flash from the blade into her eyes.

  That’s when she noticed the ring on his right hand, a star sapphire set in a broad gold band. Shane turned her gaze away from the knife and locked it on the ring, trying to calm her ragged breathing, forcing it into a regular rhythm, slow and steady.

  Jordan’s free hand flashed out and yanked her T-shirt away from her body. She held her breath.

  The kitchen door slammed, and she heard Doug’s voice, sharp and questioning. “Clark, what the fuck?”

  The blade flashed toward her and the cloth of her T-shirt parted down the middle with a soft tearing sound.

  Jordan’s eyes had gone as hard as granite. Shane could see his pulse beating in his throat. She held her breath again as he pulled the center of her bra away from her skin and poised the knife.

  Then, suddenly, Jordan’s eyes went wide. He froze with the blade an inch from Shane’s breasts.

  “Put the knife down.” Doug said. “Drop it, Clark.” She couldn’t see him until he grabbed Jordan by the shoulder and pulled him back, away from her. Then she saw that he was pressing the gun into Jordan’s back.

  “Drop it!” Doug repeated. He jammed the gun harder into Jordan’s flesh.

  Finally, with a casual shrug, Jordan laid the knife on the counter. “Whatever you say, partner,” he said. Doug pulled him backwards, pushed him into a chair and held the gun at his head.

  “This wasn’t part of our bargain, Clark, or whatever your name is.”

  “He’s Jordan Ripley,” Shane said, “Raymond Ripley’s son.”

  “Shut up, Shannon.” Jordan’s face went red with rage.

  “Fuck you, Jordan,” she said. “I’m not afraid of you anymore.” It wasn’t true, of course. She was terrified. But Doug’s rebellion had thrown her a fragile lifeline, and she clung to it desperately.

  “One of you want to tell me what the hell is going on here?” Doug asked.

  “It’s none of your fucking business,” Jordan said.

  “Oh, I think it is,” Shane said. Her voice still shook, but she felt calmer. “He should know who he’s trusting with that four million, shouldn’t he?”

  Jordan growled, leaned toward her. “I’m warning you, Shannon—”

  She ignored him, went on talking, feeling stronger by the minute. “I’ll tell you exactly what’s going on, Doug. When he was twelve and I was eight, Jordan started molesting me in my bedroom at night. He always brought a carving knife with him and described exactly how he’d butcher my mother if I ever told anyone.”

  Doug made a disgusted sound deep in his throat.

  “The night before I turned eleven,” Shane continued, “he would have raped me if his brother hadn’t stopped him. Now he wants to finish the job. He calls it our ‘little game.’ That’s your partner in crime, Doug. Aren’t you proud?”

  “You sick fuck,” Doug said to Jordan. “Nobody was supposed to get hurt, that was part of our bargain. Shannon, I swear, I knew nothing about this. He told me he was one of the investors, that his family had lost their life savings and he wanted to get it back.”

  Shane laughed bitterly. “Well, that wins the prize for irony,” she said. “The scam was Jordan’s, from start to finish. You didn’t believe his lies, did you?”

  “Of course not. I knew he was a fucking bullshit artist, but I never thought— All I want is the money, I swear to you. One last big score, and then I’m out of it for good.”

  Jordan sneered. “Enough of this sentimental shit. You’re right, Galvin, we have what we came for, so let’s go. We’ll stick to the original plan. I got a little carried way, that’s all. What does it matter who I am? We both want the same thing. Put the gun away.”

  “Don’t trust him, Doug,” Shane said. “You can’t believe a word he says.”

  But she could see Doug was wavering. “What about Shannon?”

  “The hell with her,” Jordan said. “Leave her. Let’s go!”

  Shane’s heart pounded. “Doug, please, you can’t trust him.”

  “Sorry, Shannon,” he said, “I want that money. I won’t let him hurt you.”

  The instant Doug lowered the gun, Jordan leaped up and knocked it out of his hand, then reached for his knife on the kitchen counter.

  This was her chance. Shane kicked hard at the floor and the chair fell over backwards, wrenching her shoulders and bruising her hands. She jerked her whole body hard toward the left—once, twice, three times—and the chair turned on its side. Then she extended her legs, pushing her bound ankles past the ends of the chair legs. It worked. Her feet were free of the chair.

  Quickly, frantically, she kicked the clothesline from her feet, and then hooked both feet behind the bottom rung of the chair and pushed and wriggled her torso, sliding her body up the straight back of the chair until she was free of it.

  Her wrists were still bound behind her back, but the clothesline felt a little looser. She pushed herself into a sitting position with her back to the wall and maneuvered her bound wrists beneath her body, bending forward, pulling and straining against the clothesline as she jerked and squirmed her hands under her hips.

  She was afraid she was taking too long, but only seconds had passed. She glanced across the kitchen, where the two men were still st
ruggling for control of the knife. Jordan grabbed the hilt, turned the blade and sliced it across Doug’s stomach. Doug gasped, but he kept fighting.

  Shane turned away. She had to get to Matt before it was too late. She didn’t allow herself to think that it might already be too late, that he would have been here by now if he could.

  Every muscle in her body strained with the effort as she finally worked her hands out from under her. The line around her wrists was coming loose now, and she jerked and pulled until it fell away. Then she uncoiled the clothesline from around her torso, pushed to her feet and ran across the dining room and into the living room, toward the sliding glass door to the patio.

  Behind her came a grunt of shock and pain. She glanced over her shoulder: Doug was lying on the floor, Jordan standing over him.

  Shane shoved the slider open and ran out into the night. When she cleared the patio and its sheltering trees, she looked up and went cold with shock.

  Matt’s hill was on fire.

  Shane ran faster than she’d ever run before, legs and arms pumping, heart pounding, lungs gulping in deep, searing breaths in a steady, frantic rhythm.

  She wanted to scream his name, but she had to channel all the air in her lungs into running, running, closing fast over the steep, rocky ground.

  Lightning flashed over the mountains, but she didn’t see it. Thunder rolled down the valleys, but she didn’t hear it. When she crossed the arroyo she didn’t notice the rushing, rising stream. Her world was the ground beneath her feet, the fire on the hill, and Matt.

  She pounded up the ridge, topped the rise and ran into the smoke, so close to the fire now that she felt its monstrous heat. Shane filled her hurting lungs and screamed.

  “Matt! Matt!”

  And then she saw him, running toward her through the thick gray smoke, outlined against the flames. Alive. He was alive.

  “Matt. Oh, thank God. I thought— I was afraid—”

  He grabbed her, held her so tight she could barely breathe. Then he held her away, looked down at her T-shirt, gaping open over her white bra. His face went dark. “Shane, are you all right? Did that bastard hurt you?”

  She looked at behind him at the burning hilltop. “Your house. Matt, your house.”

  He squeezed her shoulders so tight it hurt.

  “Forget the house!” he said. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, I’m all right. It’s Jordan, Matt. It’s my stepbrother.”

  “I know.” His face was grim, his voice calm steel. “The sick bastard told me before he threw the match. Lucky for me he didn’t know baled straw is hard to burn, even when you pour gasoline on it.”

  “Gasoline?” Shane shuddered. She could smell it now. “He’s crazy, Matt. We can’t let him get away. We have to run to the highway, flag down a car, call 911.”

  “Where is he? Still at your house? Where’s Doug? Is he all right? Is he hurt?”

  “Jordan cut him, but I don’t know how badly he’s hurt. Matt, Doug’s in on it.”

  “What?”

  “He was Ray’s cellmate. There was a diamond in the geode. A diamond worth four million dollars.”

  He stared at her. “A diamond? Four million? This is crazy. I can’t believe Doug—” He shook his head. “Shit. That son of a bitch.”

  “He must have called Jordan from the gas station,” Shane said. She gulped a breath, shaking now, thinking how close Jordan had come to finishing his sick game.

  “Matt, he—” she said, stumbling over the words. “Doug stopped him. I was tied up, and Jordan started— He had a knife, a hunting knife, and he— But Doug wouldn’t let him. He stopped him, Matt. He held a gun on him, and they started fighting. That’s how I got away.”

  She grabbed Matt’s arm. “Come on, let’s go. We have to get to the highway.”

  But Matt was looking down at her gaping T-shirt. His eyes had turned hard.

  Shane took his hand, pleading now. “He didn’t hurt me, Matt. Let’s go. We have to get help.”

  Matt shook his head, pulled his hand out of hers. His voice was cool, calm. “No, Shane. By the time the sheriff gets here, they’ll be long gone. He’s not going to get away with it. Not this time.”

  He ran down the hill, away from her.

  “Matt, no!”

  Matt kept running. As Shane followed him, sharp images filled her mind: the gun skittering across the kitchen floor, the knife in Jordan’s hand, the cold evil in his eyes.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Shane ran hard, trying to catch up with Matt, but her legs were spent from running up the hill and her lungs felt as if they’d been seared by fire. Every breath hurt. It was raining now and the slope was getting slick. If she wasn’t careful where she put her feet, she could fall, and then she’d never catch up with him.

  She couldn’t believe Matt was running toward danger, toward Jordan, with his knife, and Doug, with his gun. She didn’t know who’d won that fight, or if it was even over yet. She only knew she had to stop Matt before he got to the house.

  Matt ran on, aware only of the pounding of his feet on the ground and the rage in his mind. Jordan, the sick bastard who had molested Shane as a child, who would have raped her, had come back to finish his perverted game, and had tried to burn him to death. And Doug—who’d pretended to be their friend, who’d tricked Shane’s grandmother into falling in love with him, planning a life with him—was in on it.

  He thought of nothing but payback as he raced down the hill toward the bridge across the arroyo. He saw the lights at Shane’s place, and then he saw a man run out the kitchen door, heading for the black HumVee parked on the gravel drive.

  A tall, dark-haired, dark-bearded man, silhouetted for an instant against the light, glancing back over his shoulder, glancing at Matt.

  Was it Galvin or Ripley? He couldn’t make out the features, but when the man turned away from the Hummer, running through a splash of light, heading up the hill behind Shane’s house, Matt caught a flash of color: dark green. His jacket was dark green. Ripley.

  He couldn’t let him get away. He wasn’t going to let him escape, no matter what he had to do to stop him. Matt’s feet hit the corrugated bridge, splashing through an inch of water he didn’t notice.

  Fifty yards behind him, Shane saw the water splash up from Matt’s feet and her breath caught in her throat.

  Flash flood.

  Please, she prayed, let the bridge hold. Let it hold for just another minute.

  When she approached the bridge a moment later, the whole structure was moving, wrenching loose from its supports, metal and wood creaking and groaning.

  She heard it before she saw it: a wall of debris-laden rainwater eight feet high thundering down the arroyo. If it hit before she made it across—

  She didn’t have time to stop and think. She ran headlong, throwing her arms out for balance, and leaped onto the bridge. It bucked and swayed as she took three more long strides. Her heart was in her throat, her mind on Matt, running away from her, running toward danger.

  She was almost across now. With a final, powerful lunge, she launched off the shuddering steel and gained a muddy foothold on the other side. She fell to her knees, pushed to her feet and ran as fast as she could up the hill.

  Behind her, thick, muddy water surged over the bridge. Shane heard a loud noise and glanced back to see an uprooted tree crashing into the side of the bridge. With a deafening squeal, the corrugated metal twisted, the supports gave way, and the whole structure tumbled into the flood.

  Shane wanted to call out to Matt again, but she had to save her breath for running. Up ahead, limned by a flash of lightning, she saw two men running up the hill behind her house, one behind the other. She caught a glimpse of dark green and knew the man in front was Jordan, and behind him, gaining on him, was Matt. Where was Doug?

  She didn’t have time to think about that. She had to catch up with Matt and stop him before Jordan killed him. She didn’t care if Jordan got away. All she cared about was Matt. She didn
’t know how she’d go on living if Jordan killed him, because it would be her fault, and there was no way she could live with that.

  The rain was falling faster now, pouring down so hard it felt like blows, turning the dry ground slippery, the brown grass slick. Her feet kept slipping out from under her. She fell twice on her way up the hill. Once her knee struck a sharp rock that tore her jeans and the skin beneath, but she didn’t feel the pain or the blood trickling down her leg. There was only Matt. She had to get to Matt.

  Ripley was getting away. The bastard who hurt Shane was getting away. Matt tried to run faster up the hill, but his feet kept slipping and sliding on the wet ground. He saw Ripley nearly at the top of the hill, running like a demon, opening the distance between them.

  Matt was soaked to the skin. His lungs burned with each breath and his leg muscles screamed with each lunge, but he didn’t notice, didn’t care. Drawing another deep, searing breath, he reached the crest of the hill and started down the other side.

  All he knew was that he had to catch Ripley, or Shane would never be free, never know when he might come after her again. He couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let her live with that fear. He refused to live with that fear, like an ax hanging over them, shadowing their life together. He would not let it happen, no matter the cost.

  Matt ran faster, slipping, sliding, hurtling down the steep slope as the thunder beat the air and the rain pummeled the earth.

  Shane reached the bottom of the hill just in time to see Jordan wading knee-deep into the swift stream. She saw an RV in the stream bed beyond him, a big boxy vehicle, its tires already almost swallowed by the flood. She barely had time to register its significance before her eyes found Matt again. He was sliding down the shallow bank, following Jordan as he made his way toward the RV.

  “No!” she screamed. “Matt, no!”

  She had to stop him, but she was too far away. She watched in horror as Matt waded deeper and deeper into the surging water. He was yelling something she couldn’t understand at first, and then she heard his voice through the rain and thunder: “Ripley! Ripley!”