Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  “How much of this has to do with Shay being Shane Neil?” Lorna asked quietly.

  Elliot shot her a look.

  She arched a brow. “Hey, what am I, stupid? You beat it out of here like a bat out of hell, and then a couple of hours later, call me from her place. She up and buys all of the signed books, she takes the ARC, the bizarre message pops up … and you believed it. You wouldn’t have bought it from just anybody, you know. It’s the only thing that made sense.”

  “Shit.” He covered his face with his hands. “Don’t go mentioning it to people, Lorna. And I mean to anybody—not even your boyfriend. She keeps it quiet for a reason.”

  “I kind of figured that out already. Otherwise, she would have told you ages ago.” She leaned against the desk, watching him. “You’re not mad at her about this, are you? I mean, she had to have her reasons.”

  “I’m not mad at Shay,” he said quietly. His heart was fucking breaking for her, but he wasn’t mad.

  She blew out a breath and shoved a hand through her red hair. “Damn it, is everything okay with you two? I mean, I keep hoping it will work with you. I see how—”

  “We’re fine. I broke it off because she kept pulling back and I couldn’t keep falling harder and harder for a woman who held me at arm’s length.” Closing his eyes, he said, “She’s not doing that anymore.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  Slowly, he sat up, opening his eyes to stare at her. Easier, he thought, to look at her, look at anything. When he closed his eyes, he kept seeing those scars, what had been done to Shay and how she must have suffered; and he remembered how they’d let that bastard out. Why? He’d served his time?

  Fuck.

  Reaching for one of the worn pillows on the couch, he shook his head. “You know that saying … be careful what you wish for? I got what I wished for. She was always so closed off, wouldn’t open up to me, wouldn’t trust me. Things changed. I want her, I always have. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle everything I’ll have to handle now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shook his head. “Those are her secrets, sis. Goes a lot deeper than her Batman writing persona thing, too.” Twisting the pillow in his hands, he wished he could just tear it apart—tear anything apart. It might help lessen the rage. Maybe.

  Feeling the weight of his sister’s gaze, he looked up.

  “So it’s her burden … one she chose to share with you,” Lorna said slowly. “I think that means you’re already strong enough. She’s cautious for a reason, El. You and I both figured that out awhile ago. Don’t sell yourself short; don’t go doubting yourself already.”

  She came over and bent down, pecked his cheek. “It will be okay.”

  Then she left.

  Elliot was alone with nothing but his rage and the memories of scars he couldn’t heal.

  Her gut was in knots.

  The day had come with good news and bad news. Twitter and Facebook were down. An hour after they’d gone down, she’d heard from Goodreads. That page was down, too.

  Finally. Progress … on one front.

  She’d left message after message at her agent’s office, and now it was almost four o’clock New York time. If she didn’t hear something soon, it would be tomorrow at the earliest before she heard anything.

  Then the phone rang, and yes. It was the agency.

  But not Anna … it was Trish, Anna’s assistant.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan, but she’s not available to return your calls at this time.”

  “What do you mean, she’s not available to return my calls?” Shay asked, her voice shaking. She hated the sound of that. One of the few people she’d been counting on, and Anna wouldn’t talk to her? Fuck, what was she supposed to do now? And damn it, why wouldn’t Anna talk to her?

  That ugly monster of paranoia grew another ten or twenty feet, at least.

  “She’s just not available to nonclients right now. Ms. Kent is extremely busy. I’ll take your information and if she has time—”

  For a moment, the words just didn’t connect in her brain—she’d heard them and she knew what Trish had said. The words just didn’t make sense. But once they made sense, panic wrapped its tight, slimy fist around Shay’s gut and the words exploded from her in a hot, uncontrolled rush.

  “What do you mean, nonclient? Trish, she’s my damn agent!” Shay squeezed her eyes closed.

  “No. She’s not.” There was a brief pause, and then the assistant said softly, “You ended the relationship between you and Ms. Kent nearly four months ago.”

  Ended the relationship.

  All the strength drained out of her legs and she sagged against the nearest upright surface. It happened to be the bar. Convenient, that.

  She reached for the nearest bottle of liquor. It happened to be rum. Even more convenient. Rum might just help her get through this.

  She splashed some into a glass and hoped her legs would be steady enough to carry her into the kitchen so she could get some Diet Coke. She needed a fucking drink now.

  “Ended the relationship …” she echoed. “No, I sure as hell did not.”

  “Ms. Morgan, you did.”

  As pain started to pulse once more in the back of her skull, Shay shoved off the bar and started for the kitchen. “Exactly who says I ended the relationship?”

  “Your email to Ms. Kent, if I recall correctly. There was an attachment, a PDF with your signature on it, stating that while you’d enjoyed the arrangement you had, it was time that you branched in a different direction. There’s a copy of both the letter and the email in your file. Would you like me to forward it to you?”

  “Yes.” She just barely managed to keep from growling the word. Anger gave her the strength she needed to get into the kitchen, though. Diet Coke in hand, she splashed some into the glass and then tossed back half of the drink. “I also want to know what email address it came from, when it was dated, and why Anna didn’t call me to discuss this, because I damn well didn’t send it and if she’d called me, I could have told her that.”

  “I believe she did call. You never returned her calls.”

  Shay took another gulp. Ever since Elliot had left, a malicious, nasty headache had been brewing in the back of her head; now it struggled to break free of its chain. She knew if it got the better of her, it would be taking gleeful, happy bites out of her brain matter and she’d be lucky if she didn’t end up puking her guts out.

  A migraine—just wonderful. On top of everything else.

  “I never received any calls,” she said quietly. “Not one.”

  “I don’t see how, Ms. Morgan. I called you three times myself.”

  Setting the glass down, she pressed her fist to her brow. Then she took a deep breath. She needed to get Anna on the phone. Somehow. Anna knew her. Knew she wasn’t a ditz, knew she wasn’t crazy—or too crazy, anyway. But she wasn’t going to get Anna on the phone if she was mean to the assistant on the phone now.

  “Can I ask you a favor, Trish? What number did you call?”

  She heard a faint sigh across the line. “Ms. Morgan—”

  “Shay. And please. Humor me. Something seriously fu—ah, really weird is going on. Just help me out a minute more. Did you call me at this number? Or a different one?”

  “Hmm. No. Actually, I was surprised that you’d called from this number … we received an email last summer that you’d changed your home number.” She recited a number that wasn’t familiar to Shay.

  She jotted it down and she’d damn well be calling it, but it wasn’t her number. “That’s not my number, Trish. I don’t know who that number belongs to, but it isn’t me.”

  This time, there was just silence on the phone. After ten seconds of it, Shay said, “When you couldn’t get hold of me on that line, did anybody call my cell? Anna had the number.”

  “We were given a new cell phone number as well. I believe it was the same area code as the other number, but I’d have to check my rec
ords to be sure.”

  A humorless laugh escaped Shay. “A new cell. How come I’m not surprised …” She stared at the number she’d written down. “Can you get me that number?”

  “Ah, perhaps I should speak to Ms. Kent …”

  “Yeah. You do that, and when you do, tell her I’d like to speak with my agent. At this number. No matter what you get via email, don’t change the number you have on file for me unless I call you from this number and ask you to change it.” She gave her the right number and then asked, “Any idea when I can expect to hear from her?”

  “Well, it could be a couple of weeks.” Trish’s voice had more warmth to it, maybe even a hint of an apology. “She’s in Europe for one of the big conferences she attends every year.”

  “Great.”

  “She calls a couple of times a week. I just spoke with her yesterday so I’m not expecting to hear from her for a few days, but I do have a number to contact her for emergencies. I’ll contact her, let her know there was some sort of misunderstanding.”

  “This isn’t a misunderstanding, Trish. That email you have is a fake and the agency accepted it, without even talking to me.” She shouldn’t have said that—things were bad enough without putting anybody on the defensive. But damn it, she was on the defensive now. “Please, if you can get Anna to call me, I’d appreciate it.”

  She forced herself to smile, although she doubted it would show in her voice. “She’s the only agent I’ve ever worked with. I can’t imagine working with anyone else.”

  “I’ll pass it on.” Trish hesitated for a moment and then added, “I know she was really upset when she got the letter. If you didn’t send it … well, do you know who did?”

  “Possibly, although I can’t be absolutely certain. I can say that it’s probably part of the problem I need to discuss with Anna, though. I also need to see that letter.”

  “I’ll do what I can. I have that cell phone number.” Trish gave her the number and Shay jotted it down as well.

  “I’ll have Anna get in touch with you as quickly as I can,” Trish promised.

  “Thank you.” Shay wrapped up the conversation, and although Trish didn’t outright say it, she had a feeling she’d be getting a copy of that email shortly. Good. Bits and pieces of information—it was more than she’d had earlier in the day. Staring at the phone number she held, she took a deep breath.

  Then she dialed the number—a home phone, she thought. Anchorage area, she thought.

  Her breath gusted out of her when she received the disconnect message.

  “Son of a bitch!” She slammed the phone on the counter, fury tightening her muscles until she was shaking. Adrenaline crashed through her body, and with it came much-needed strength.

  Her gut was a tight, hard knot and for a few moments, she was so pissed off she couldn’t even see.

  “Breathe,” she muttered. “Just breathe.”

  She knew how to think when she was upset. She’d done it before and she’d been in worse shape then, much worse. She could be all but bleeding and still make herself do what she had to do.

  “One more drink,” she murmured. With her eyes closed, she took another, smaller sip, let it roll over her tongue and down her throat, and for a moment, the heat of it was enough to warm her belly. Thirty seconds later, she was under control as she reached for the phone and when she dialed the second number, her fingers were steady. They even stayed steady when the voice mail started to play.

  It was full of static and unclear—very unclear. But she did manage to hear, This is Shay. Leave a message … beep-beep!

  Shay …

  The freaky thing was, as unclear as the message was, the voice sounded … well, kind of like … her. Including the way she always ended her messages … beep-beep.

  Swallowing, she lowered the phone and stared at it. The seconds kept ticking by, reminding her she hadn’t disconnected the line. Abruptly, she did, and then she dropped the phone as if it were a snake.

  A poisonous one.

  “What is this shit?”

  Emails that came from her.

  Phone calls that sounded like her.

  But they weren’t her.

  None of it was her.

  Yet whoever was doing it managed to do a damn good job at pretending to be her.

  Elliot read the email. Deleted it.

  He read the next one. Deleted it.

  It was an endless, ongoing annoyance and something he’d been at for more than a few hours. Many people expressed sympathy. A few talked out of the side of their mouth, although he wasn’t exactly sure what the correct phrase would be considering it was all done via email.

  But so far, nobody except him and Lorna seemed to have had any direct contact with the Shane imposter—

  “Wait,” he muttered.

  The email in front of him.

  Somebody in Westland, Michigan.

  Hey, Elliot …

  Man, I’m sorry to see all the problems you’ve been having. Yeah, I met her, briefly. And I’ve gotta say, I wasn’t impressed. Sucks, because I always liked the Neil books. Most of my customers are more into romance, but I turned quite a few of them on to the Neil books and it bites that this bitch turned out to be … well, a bitch.

  She came into my place last summer. Had some bookmarks and wanted to sign stock. And that was cool. But one of my readers was here and made a comment about how she hadn’t liked the ending of one of her books and the woman practically jumped down her throat.

  Elliot, it was scary. I’m talking borderline 9-1-1 scary. My husband was in the back and I think if he hadn’t come out when he had, I might have had to call the cops. The woman was furious.

  I was about to go postal and blog about it, but the customer is a friend and she was so embarrassed, and to be honest … she was kind of scared. So I agreed not to post anything. But I no longer order any of her books. If somebody requests one, I direct them to another source or I order it used. I won’t give that crazy bitch a red cent.

  Something is wrong with her, man. I mean, really wrong. If I were you, I’d call the cops or something.

  M.

  Narrowing his eyes, Elliot kept that email, and then continued on. Delete, delete, delete.

  Another one in Michigan. Two people in Michigan and that was it. But somebody besides him had met her and at least one person had the same impression he had—the woman was off her rocker.

  The big thing now was figuring out just where to go from here.

  Screaming—

  Bright flashes of light—

  Blood—

  Over and over. She saw it all and she ran from it. Ran and hid. Someplace dark and quiet, where the things that hid in the dark couldn’t find her. But still, they came. Giggling. They came giggling.

  A hand touched her cheek—it was hot, that hand, so hot. Hot and wet, and it made her hurt. “Aw, what’s the matter, princess? It will be good, you’ll see. You’ll be the princess and I’ll take care of you, just the way I should.”

  In her sleep, Shay flung out a hand and gripped one of the pillows, clutching it to her chest. It was the one Elliot had used, and she clung to it as tears crept out from under closed lashes.

  The lights were too bright. Michelline wanted to hide from them, hide from all of them, but she couldn’t get away. They stood by the door and every time she tried to get up, somebody would stop her.

  People with sad, worried eyes stared at her, but she didn’t trust them. Not at all. And they asked so many questions …

  “Do you remember where your mother is?”

  My mother … she remembered her mother. Her mother had been called Jeannie, or Jeanette. And her girls had called her Mama.

  Softly, she whispered, “Mama.” Tears stung her eyes as she stared at the lady with tired, nice eyes sitting at the table across from her. “Mama left us. That’s what he said. The baby took her away.”

  Around her, people shared that funny look they sometimes used around kids.

&
nbsp; “The baby took her away?” the lady asked.

  Michelline nodded, and she thought of her mother. She’d been funny, and nice, and sweet. “I miss my mama.”

  Mama had long, shiny hair that twisted and curled. She smelled like roses and vanilla and cut grass.

  The closet used to smell like Mama. Not so much anymore, but it was safer there. That’s why they stayed there. Why they hid. But it wasn’t safe anymore and she hadn’t hidden them well enough …

  And somebody had been giggling … giggling, and playing with something that dripped with dark, dark red …

  Abruptly, Michelline started to scream.

  It took a very, very long time for her to stop—and the woman who held her was crying along with her by the time Michelline’s screams faded to sobs.

  Shay came awake, her breath trapped in her lungs like a sob, the dream frozen right there, a perfectly formed image, at the front of her mind.

  It hadn’t been just Virna that time.

  Not just Virna.

  She remembered others.

  She remembered herself. Remembered the name they’d called her.

  “My name,” she whispered. Michelline had been her name. She could remember the way Virna had said it that day, as they sat in that quiet, too bright room, with a plate of doughnuts between them … and then something else.

  Shay could remember a sudden, dark flood of terror, grief, pain … and confusion. The screams. Absently, she reached up to rub her throat in memory of the way it had ached from the screams. But she didn’t remember what had caused them. It was as though the child she’d been had just blocked all of that out.

  She pushed, but even just trying to remember made her head hurt and the harder she pushed, the worse the pain got.

  Swiping the back of her hand over her mouth, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stared off into nothing. The room was night dark. Her head was muzzy; the migraine had finally grabbed her by the throat and she’d been forced to take some medicine. The nightmares always left her feeling weird, and the dregs of the migraine were still there, too.

  The migraine and the nightmare.

  Honestly, she’d rather deal with the migraine.

  MyDiary.net/slayingmydragons