Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  But the longer she read, the more Shay wondered if Darcy hadn’t been managing her. It wasn’t there … at first. But later on? Things had just changed.

  She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but there were little things. Sites that Shay used to use … had liked, even. She’d never had any problems with them, but then a few years after Darcy had come on board, things had started going wrong—Darcy would claim this had gone wrong, or they weren’t getting the promo they’d been promised, or that had been changed.

  Little things, but still. She’d let Darcy switch things, shift things, because that was what she paid her to handle.

  But had she really been managing Darcy? Or had it been Darcy managing her?

  Sighing, Shay started making notes about everything. She had to go back and check things. Maybe some of this shit was legit, maybe it wasn’t, but she couldn’t ignore the crawling in her gut.

  “Stop it,” she muttered the first time that thought circled through her mind. “Just stop.”

  But when she got to the emails from last January, that warning in her brain really started to scream at her—hard, harsh, and strident—so urgent and piercing, Shay wouldn’t have been surprised if the glass in the windows had started to rattle.

  It was a conversation between Shay and Anna—contract negotiations that had fallen apart. Shay had wanted to try something new, and things just hadn’t happened the way they’d hoped. The project hadn’t caught the interest of any publishers and they’d decided to table it for a while.

  Darcy wasn’t supposed to read the emails from Anna. They weren’t part of her job, but she’d read that one. Then …

  “Shit.”

  Resting her head in her hands, Shay remembered that phone call.

  Who does that high-and-mighty bitch think she is? She says table it and you just do it? She’s your fucking agent—you decide what to do, not her.

  It doesn’t work that way, Darcy, Shay had told her. She’d been tired and depressed, and while it had felt good to have somebody upset on her behalf, Shay had known Darcy really just didn’t understand. The publishing business was a lot more complex than people thought, and Shay couldn’t just wave a magic wand and make things happen. It didn’t work like that.

  But Darcy hadn’t been convinced.

  And for weeks after, Darcy had nagged Shay to fire Anna.

  Weeks.

  “This is insane,” Shay muttered. Darcy couldn’t have managed to interfere with her agent, not all that time ago. Not without Shay realizing before now. Shit, that had been almost a year ago and Shay knew she’d talked to Anna since then. She knew it.

  Just fire that high-and-mighty bitch …

  Shay closed her eyes and groaned. “Shit. I’m going insane.”

  Ghostly echoes of Darcy’s voice danced through Shay’s mind and she shoved back from the desk to pace around her office.

  Hell, it didn’t even sound like Darcy. Not really. Except it was. Shay knew her friend. Knew how she acted, how she talked … except, well, Darcy didn’t exactly seem to be herself now. Darcy hadn’t acted like herself in a long while, but it was way worse now. More than Shay wanted to deal with. Guilt and the little fact that Darcy was one of her few friends …

  Sighing, she rubbed her temple and muttered, “You can’t let that shit get in the way, damn it. Think.”

  Her feet sank into the plush, dark red of the carpet, her footsteps muffled as she padded back and forth. Now that the idea was there, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Had Darcy somehow managed to get in between her and Anna? How?

  “Shit,” Shay muttered, pressing a fisted hand to her forehead.

  It wasn’t as if Anna wouldn’t check with her, right?

  A knock at the door kept her from pursuing that line of thought any further. She needed to think it through, first. And she needed to talk to Anna. Now more than ever. She was desperate. Tomorrow, she’d call the office and she’d damn well not get off the phone until she talked to her.

  The knock came again and she muttered, “All right, all right.”

  She paused at a window on the way to the front door, even though the third knock was even more impatient than the last. The sight of that familiar SUV sitting in her driveway had her breath catching in her throat. Elliot …

  “What’s he doing here?” Nerves and need knotted deep inside her, a twisty little mess that had her even more unsettled.

  Swallowing, she smoothed a hand down the front of her shirt, then through her hair, only to stop and swear. Shit. She was wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt that was five years old, stretched out of shape and all but colorless from being washed so many times. Her hair was limp, she was paler than death, and she’d lost too much damn weight—between the hospital stay and her lack of appetite, she just wasn’t up to eating. Not to mention that she wasn’t sleeping. The nightmares were bad and getting worse all the time.

  So why was she wasting her time primping when it wasn’t going to do a damn thing to make her look presentable? Not without about two hours in the bathroom, with a brush, a blow dryer, and some serious “me” time.

  Grimacing, she made herself walk past the hallway bathroom, straight to the door. She opened it right as Elliot was getting ready to knock a fourth time. “Sorry … I was in the middle of something,” she hedged.

  Trying to figure out if a friend is fucking with my life. Having a minor mental meltdown over my personal appearance … you know, girl stuff, she thought.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said quietly.

  Shay arched an eyebrow. “Really. And here I was thinking you drove up from Earth’s End at eight o’clock just because you had nothing better to do.”

  A faint grin slanted his mouth. “You really are a smart-ass,” he murmured.

  “One of my finer qualities,” she responded, stepping aside to let him enter. She shut the door behind him, shivering as a wicked burst of cold air came slicing through. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned to face him.

  He was slipping out of his parka and she felt her mouth go dry as she watched his sweater stretch over his shoulders. Man, she loved those shoulders … she’d always loved those shoulders. For some reason, looking at him managed to stir the hormones she was able to ignore at any other time.

  Why was it she’d managed to go most of her adult life without feeling these pangs of lust and need, but whenever he was around, they were about all she felt? It made it even harder to think.

  As he turned back around to face her, she forced herself to look away, staring at her feet so he wouldn’t see all those things she didn’t want him seeing—he’d always seen too much. That had been one of the problems.

  He saw the things she hid, saw the secrets nobody else had ever guessed. Saw the pain and the fear she’d always managed to keep hidden behind her mask … and he’d always wanted to help take it away. But she couldn’t share that pain with him without sharing the source. And Shay wasn’t about to do that.

  She’d actually tried to share some small piece of herself yesterday and it had been a disaster. If he couldn’t accept the simplest, easiest truth in her life, the cleanest truth she had to offer, he’d never be able to accept the uglier, darker secrets that were just as much a part of her.

  You’re not being fair, a voice inside her whispered. You dumped something on him and didn’t give him much of a chance to think it through. Maybe that’s why he’s here.

  Maybe it was.

  But if it was … did that change anything? Did that mean she was really ready to open up to him?

  Shit. She wasn’t certain she could. And if she did … he might not want her anymore. That part of her was really fucked up. It was one thing to not care about the scars he could see; it was another thing to know he’d have to handle all the scars neither of them could see. And if he wanted to be with her, he’d have to handle them. Hell, Shay had to live with those scars and she could barely handle them.

  Now you’re really getting
ahead of things, she thought morosely. He probably didn’t even care about that anymore.

  “You got any coffee or anything?” he asked.

  “Coffee?” She cocked her head. “What, you don’t just want to demand I give you your book and storm out of here?”

  He sighed. “Hell, Shay. I’m here to talk. Demanding a book and storming out doesn’t sound like talking, does it?”

  “Guess not.” She edged around him, avoiding any direct contact with him even though that long, lean body of his managed to take up a hell of a lot of space. She excelled at avoiding contact—it was one of her skills. For years, she’d avoided contact with anybody and everybody. It had been second nature. It wasn’t until Elliot had come into her life that she’d actually wanted contact, that she wanted to have somebody else inside her isolated little bubble.

  She just hadn’t been able to open up enough to keep him.

  He followed along behind her, and Shay was painfully aware of his gaze resting on the back of her head. When they went past her office, she grimaced, thinking of the door she hadn’t closed. It had always been shut when he’d been over before—she’d kept that part of her life closed from him. She hadn’t thought to come back here and close it before she let him in. But it wasn’t as though she could just tell him to wait here while she went and closed that door down the hallway, right?

  Rude, much?

  So instead, she just went to the kitchen and made some coffee. Caffeine was the last thing she needed a few hours before she went to bed, but maybe she could use the extra time awake to get some work done. She hadn’t made any decent progress toward her deadline in weeks—not since before the accident—and if she didn’t get something done soon, she was going to have to ask for an extension.

  Of course, she was going to have to do that anyway. There was no way she was going to get her head cleared enough to work until this was settled. She just knew it.

  Once the coffeepot was making its nice little hiss and bubbling sound, Shay turned around to face Elliot. He was leaning against the island, watching her. Those whiskey-colored eyes rested on her face, intent and somber. Just that look was enough to make her heart flip over in her chest. Her breath hitched a little and she reached back, gripping the counter to steady herself. Breathe … she just had to remember to breathe, after all.

  “So,” he murmured, still watching her face, his stare unblinking. As if he was waiting for any sign of a reaction. “Have you been online much today?”

  Online …? Ah. Ah, yes. That. So he was here about that. “Hmmm. Saw it already, did you? You’re fast.”

  “Why didn’t you make a statement about this sooner? You knew the Facebook thing was going on before today, right?”

  Shay shrugged, turning around to pull a couple of mugs down from the cabinet. “Well, there are a number of answers to that. For one, I just found out what was going on the day before yesterday—when Lorna brought me to the store. I couldn’t do anything when I didn’t know this was going on. For another, I just didn’t think to.”

  She slid him a look over her shoulder, staring at him through her lashes. “You’ve made the comment before … Shane Neil has next to no online life—and you’re right. I email. I make sure my website stays updated, and that’s about it. There are the group sites my publisher has been hooked up to and a few contests run through those or my newsletter, but that’s it. I’m not wired into the online world the way some are. I don’t normally do the updates on my site. I hardly ever do anything on the site, to be honest. I knew how I wanted it to look, knew what features I wanted it to have, so I was mostly involved in the design, but I rarely log into it. It just …” She closed her eyes and sighed.

  Resting her hands on the counter, she shook her head. Quietly, she said, “Honestly, it just never occurred to me.”

  “I guess I can see that,” he said softly, nodding. “I … shit. Shay, look, I’m sorry. I should have listened a little better. I wasn’t—screw it. I didn’t give you the benefit of the doubt and I should have.”

  Head cocked, she studied him. An apology. Huh. She hadn’t expected that. Coming for the book, coming to ask more questions … but the apology? No. That wasn’t anything she’d expected at all.

  Golden eyes bored into hers. Once more she felt as though he was trying to see clear through her. It was almost painful; all those other secrets felt closer to the surface. She’d managed to hold everything in, keep it all together for so long, and now it was ready to come spilling out. But she wasn’t ready.

  Tearing her gaze from his, she shrugged. “No problem. Anyway, it’s done. Took me awhile to think about posting it to my site, but I did and it should help. It’s not much, but at least it’s something.”

  A hand touched the back of her neck. She tensed, then groaned as he curved his palm around it and curled his fingers into the tight muscles. “Not much?” he asked. “There are comments like crazy going on. Haven’t you looked online since you posted it?”

  “Not so much. Been a little busy,” she murmured. Trying to fix the mess that is my life … you know, little details like that …

  “Hmmm. So. Where is your computer?”

  Even under those talented fingers, Shay could feel her muscles tensing. “My computer?”

  “Yeah. You should see what’s going on, after all.”

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to decide if that was a challenge she heard in his voice. Then she decided it didn’t matter. Seriously, if somebody had just dumped a surprise like this right in her lap after months of no communication, as distrustful as she was … would she believe the person? With absolutely no proof?

  And besides, he’d just apologized. She couldn’t let herself get hung up on this. She had plenty of other things to get tripped up on, anyway.

  With a sigh, she eased away from his hands and poured herself a cup of coffee, lacing it liberally with cream and sugar. Then she poured him a cup, black. He took it and stood there, staring at her.

  “Come on,” she said, wearily. Damn it, she was tired. The wreck, coming home to this hell, having Elliot thrust back into her life, and now Darcy’s possible involvement … all of it left her exhausted. And the nightmares … mustn’t forget how much worse the nightmares had gotten.

  But life wasn’t going to get any easier, not anytime soon, because she was still trying to untangle all of the snarls and until she did that, nothing was going to change.

  Elliot followed along silently in her wake.

  She didn’t bother turning on any lights. The office was her refuge and she’d made this walk in the dark countless times. When the nightmares sent her gasping for air as she came hurtling out of sleep, the office was where she went. She’d pour the nightmare out in her diary, and then she’d take refuge in her books—at least there she could kill the people who caused such pain.

  Once inside her office, she hit the light. Absently, she was aware that Elliot had stopped in the doorway, but she didn’t turn to look at him. She wasn’t in the mood to give a tour.

  The office had wall-to-wall bookshelves on three walls. The western wall was dominated by a huge window. It had a built-in window seat, although she didn’t use it much in the winter.

  It got chilly in there sometimes with that window, so there was a freestanding electric fireplace, the kind that looked like one of those old-fashioned stoves. It was off right now and she was cold, so she grabbed the remote to the fireplace from her desk and turned it on. It came on with a cheery glow, emitting a faint crackling sound. She’d thought about having a real fireplace built in here, but with all the books, and with her decidedly scattered brain, the electric one was safer.

  The desk was massive and cluttered with paperwork that had been neglected during her stay at the hospital. It was piling up with alarming frequency and sooner or later, she was going to have to devote a few days to catching up on things. A problem for another day, she figured. From the corner of her eye, she saw Elliot studying her bookshelves. Particularly the one
that held her author copies. The muscles along her shoulders started to tighten and she winced as a warning spasm went screaming up her spine.

  She forced herself to relax and then sat down at her desk, tapping the mouse until the screen came to life. The browser was still active from her last session. She hit the link to view the website so she wasn’t in under the administration area and found herself staring at the notice she’d posted.

  “Why did you do it?” Elliot asked from just behind her.

  “A better question would be the one you asked … why didn’t I think to do it sooner.” Shay shrugged. Then she groaned and reached up, cupping a hand over her neck. The muscles felt tighter than bowstrings and her head was pounding, throbbing … she thought she just might puke if this kept up. “I’m sorry she’s doing this to you.”

  Elliot brushed his fingers down her neck, almost as if asking permission.

  Slowly, she eased her hand away and let him curve his against her nape, as he had in the kitchen. This time, he just let it rest there for a moment, the heat of his hand seeping into her skin, easing some of the tension with just that one touch. “Something occurred to me earlier. I came out here to tell you what it was, and to try and think this through with you. Well, that, and to apologize. I’ve apologized. Now I think we need to talk about the other shit. I think I’m just collateral damage, Shay. She doesn’t give a flying fuck about me. It’s you she’s going after.”

  She closed her eyes.

  He pressed the heel of his hand against the knotted muscles, lightly, then eased up. He did it a second, then a third time, waiting until the muscles relaxed before doing anything else. “Am I right?”

  “How in the hell am I supposed to know?” she asked quietly. Even though the words sent a bolt of fear darting through her.

  “Well, you have to have a better clue than I do … it’s your life she’s jerking around with, isn’t it?”

  Shay snorted. “I’m not the one she accused of rape.”

  “But she expected you to have a reaction to that. Didn’t she?” He shifted his attention to another spot, repeating the process he’d used. “I mean, I could be off here, I know that. I could be way off. Maybe this is some crazy chick who’s got a hate-on for me, and it’s just coincidental that it’s all playing out at the same time you’re dealing with this crazy shit. But …”