Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  Shay closed her eyes and covered her face. “Dear God.”

  “Yeah. They reported it, but nobody believed that the girl could do such a thing. Sounds like Mrs. Campbell’s doctor thought she had done it intentionally. Suggested the woman get counseling …” He paused, took a sip of coffee, and made a face. “This crap is even worse than the shit they serve at the station.” He took another sip. “Damn. So the husband puts in for a transfer out of state. Leslie goes back into the system, stays there for a while. She ends up with three other families and one of them … there was another baby, this one was a foster child who died of mysterious causes. The official cause was SIDS, but there were doubts. One social worker tried to blame the foster parent, but another had worked with somebody who had heard of …”

  He trailed off and Shay gripped a juice bottle in her hands, clenching her jaw until she thought she could speak without screaming. “My brother? Me?”

  “Yes. This lady realized there were some problems and pushed for more intensive residential treatment. Leslie was only fourteen and there was nothing conclusive. Likely nothing could ever be proved even now. She was kept in the facility until she was eighteen.”

  “Eighteen and no longer the state’s problem,” Shay said flatly, looking up at him. “Right? They just turned her loose on the world. She was a fucking lunatic and they just let her go.”

  “Yes.” He met her gaze without flinching. “That’s exactly what happened.”

  “Fuck.” Remembering the terror she’d glimpsed in Selena’s eyes, the horror in her voice, she stared at Hilliard. “She said my sister followed them to Michigan. Did she do anything else?”

  Hilliard sighed and reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a neatly folded sheet of paper. It was an obituary for Lance Campbell; he’d been sixty-one years old when he died nine years earlier. “I’ve got a call in to the local police department up there. I don’t know if this is anything, but Mrs. Campbell says she tried to tell them her husband’s death wasn’t an accident. Nobody would listen.”

  Shay read the short, simply stated obituary with painfully dry eyes. “A fire in his workshop.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” But even as she said it, Shay knew. “I bet it was his idea that they leave Arizona. That they send Leslie back. She goes back into the system and she blames him. He was in her way, so she got him out.”

  Hilliard just sipped from his coffee.

  Unable to sit there another second, she shoved back from the table and stormed out of the cafeteria, down the hallway. Three innocent lives lost … no. Five. The unborn child. The foster child Hilliard has just mentioned. Darcy and Lance Campbell. Darcy hadn’t been a helpless child, but she hadn’t hurt anyone, hadn’t done a damn thing to Leslie. Her only crime was knowing Shay. Lance Campbell—he’d just wanted to get away from the monster who’d killed his unborn child. And Jeffrey, Shay’s baby brother.

  So much death … all because of her sister. And Darcy … that was on Shay’s head. Elliot, all of his pain, his suffering, that was on her head as well.

  Self-hatred and revulsion churned inside her.

  Hearing his footsteps behind her, she turned around and stared at Hilliard.

  “You can’t blame yourself for any of this,” he said gently.

  Shay bit back the words burning in her throat like acid. Yes, she could. She did, and she’d deal with it on her own.

  Giving him her back, she stalked down the hall.

  “She stole enough.”

  Those words froze her in her tracks. Closing her eyes, she stood there, unable to move as he came closer. “She stole the life of your brother … possibly two other children. We heard enough to know she probably killed your friend. It’s possible she killed her foster father years after they left Arizona. Five lives ended because of her. Will you let her steal your life as well?”

  “She’s dead now. She can’t take it from me,” Shay said. Yay, me. I won that battle.

  “She wanted to take your life over, didn’t she? If you let her win, if you let this defeat you, let her take what you’ve built … she’s won. Whether she’s alive or not, she’s won. Are you going to let her have that?”

  MyDiary.net/slayingmydragons

  It’s not a game of winning or losing.

  I know that much.

  She’s dead.

  I’m alive.

  In the end, that’s the thing that matters, isn’t it?

  The light sound of fingers on keys had become strangely familiar in the few short days they’d been together.

  Elliot already knew what it meant.

  Shay was in the room.

  And she was on the computer.

  The pain that had been his constant companion was a little less and he wasn’t quite so leery about opening his eyes. It was a hit straight to the heart, a pleasant one, though, when he saw her sitting cross-legged in the chair, her shoulders and back hunched in a position that he knew was going to leave her in knots, her head bowed.

  “You ever go to the chiropractic in town?” he rasped.

  Shay started. As she peered up at him over the top edge of her monitor, he cocked a brow.

  “Huh?”

  “The chiro who set up office last year. You ever go see him? Because you ought to. Your spine must be in knots the way you sit.”

  Shay wrinkled her nose at him. “No, thanks.”

  “You’re probably right. If a guy is going to put his hands all over you and twist you into weird positions, I’d just as soon it be me.” He waited for her to smile.

  But she just looked back at her computer screen. “Lorna’s gone to call and check on the store. It’s going to be a few more days before you can leave, so she’s making sure Becca is up to holding down the fort.”

  He scowled. “Lorna should head on back. I don’t need her here.”

  “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

  “I’m not.” He stared at her.

  “Hmm.” Shay rose from the chair, setting her computer aside. “I actually have to go to Michigan. They …” Her voice hitched. “I heard from Hilliard earlier. Mrs. Campbell had an address for Leslie. She knew where she was staying. Apparently, she was keeping quiet out of fear—she had family and she was scared.”

  “That didn’t stop you,” Elliot said, disgust rising inside him.

  “Leslie killed Selena Campbell’s husband.”

  Injury forgotten, he went to jerk upright—the sudden pain had him hissing out a breath. Pain streaked through him and lots of pretty lights danced in front of his eyes for a minute. Even as they passed, he was left dazed and breathless. Staring at Shay, he managed to gasp out, “What?”

  “There’s no factual evidence, but apparently Leslie confessed to Selena after the fact. Nobody believed her when she reported it, but Selena believed it. She was terrified, Elliot. Terrified of the monster that was my sister,” Shay said, her mouth twisting as though it hurt to even say the words. “Now that Leslie is gone, she’s talking, and we know where Leslie had been staying. They found an urn—it looks all nice and official. Even has an inscription on it.”

  Shay lifted a photo from the desk where her laptop was and showed it to him. It depicted a little urn; it was bronzed and simple. On the front, it read:

  D. M.

  “You think it’s Darcy?”

  “It makes sense. I need to go. I need to be there. If it’s Darcy, I need to talk to her mom …” Her voice broke and she shook her head. “You’ve still got a few more days here in the hospital and this can’t wait. You can’t travel until they are sure your lung has healed. I have to go.”

  He stared at her. He didn’t want her to go.

  He knew … somehow, he knew she was trying to pull away again. Holding out a hand, he said, “Come here.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Go away.”

  “It’s probably the nurse,” Shay hedged.

  “I said come here.”

  “Mr. Winter …”

  “C
ome back later,” he barked out, still staring at Shay. When she took one step in his direction, he felt a little bit better. Only a little. But when she put her hand in his, he breathed easier. “I love you.”

  Shay’s smile wobbled. “I love you, too.”

  He found the card when he was packing to leave three days later. Shay had put it inside his tote bag, tucked in a book. There was no mistaking who it was from, and now he had the pleasure of kicking his own ass for not finding it sooner.

  He read it three times before he was absolutely convinced his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him.

  Dear Elliot,

  Hopefully you’re feeling better by the time you read this … and hopefully, you understand.

  I won’t be coming back to Earth’s End.

  I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t come back.

  My sister managed to do the one thing she set out to do—she destroyed the life I’d tried to build and she almost killed you in the process.

  My family would appear to be toxic, harming everything touched by it.

  You need more in your life than that—you deserve more.

  Take care of yourself and heal.

  Thank you for helping me through this … I never could have done it without you.

  Good-bye.

  Shay

  “Good-bye …”

  “Elliot?”

  Looking up, he saw Lorna standing in the doorway. He stormed over to her, shoving the card in her face. “Did you know a damn thing about this?”

  She blinked and then looked at the note scrawled on the card. “Aw, hell. No. I didn’t know anything about it. Look, after they do the discharge, we can—”

  “Screw the discharge. We’re leaving now.”

  He turned away and made his way over to the bed, ignoring the pain, ignoring the lingering weakness. None of it mattered. Shay was what mattered. All that mattered.

  He grabbed his duffel bag and finished shoving his stuff into it. His coat was hanging in the closet. He suspected he’d need it. He had an idea where he’d be able to find her, at least for a short period of time.

  “Damn it, Elliot, you—”

  Turning his head, he stared at his sister. “I have to find her, Lorna. I have to.”

  Shay was finally able to write.

  The deadline was going to have to be extended, but she wasn’t going to worry about that.

  She spent most of the flight buried in the book, all but losing herself in it, because it was easier to do that than to think.

  The same could be said for the next few days; she spent many of those hours holed up in her hotel room, writing. Trying not to think about anything. Not Elliot, not her sister, not Darcy.

  But it was getting harder to hide away.

  MyDiary.net/slayingmydragons

  L. wanted to steal my life from me and I didn’t let her. My dragons are gone.

  But it seems like I’m empty now.

  Isn’t that a karmic joke?

  She wins, after all.

  Walking away from Elliot had been the hardest thing she’d ever done, but the poison that seemed to follow her family couldn’t be allowed to hurt anybody else. Lives had been shattered, and most of the damage hadn’t even come from the dragon Shay had spent her life fearing.

  “Another karmic joke,” Shay whispered as she published the post.

  Shutting down the laptop, she stood up and checked her reflection. She didn’t have much in the way of clothing, so she’d made a quick trip to the mall, picking up a plain black sheath, black boots, and a long black leather coat. Darcy’s memorial was today. There were still matters that had to be seen to, but her mother hadn’t wanted to wait.

  And there was little doubt the remains found in Leslie’s little house of horrors were Darcy’s. She’d recorded the whole damn thing—from Darcy’s slide into unconsciousness, her death, to Leslie’s dispassionate disposal of her remains at the veterinarian’s office where she’d worked.

  The remains wouldn’t be released until further testing was done, but the family was having the memorial. Shay couldn’t say she blamed them. They needed the closure.

  Shay needed it, too.

  She needed to grieve for her friend.

  Hell, she simply needed to grieve.

  Her heart ached, so desperately. Elliot …

  “Stop it,” she whispered. He wasn’t there. She couldn’t let him be there.

  Turning away from the mirror, she grabbed her new coat and pulled it on. The memorial was soon. She needed to get on the road.

  “You’re sure she’ll be there?”

  “Yes.” Elliot wished he hadn’t answered the phone. He knew his sister was worried about him, but he couldn’t focus on Shay while Lorna was fussing over him like a mother hen.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because it’s the only thing I can be,” he muttered, staring out over the crowd. Hilliard had been kind enough to give him the details of the memorial for Darcy Montgomery and even if he didn’t find Shay here, he was going to pay his respects to the woman. If she was the friend Shay said she was, he owed her. But he knew Shay would be here. Just because Darcy had been that friend.

  It was all that had gotten him through the past few days.

  “When is your flight?”

  Lorna groused on the other end of the line, muttering under her breath. “You’re so good at changing the subject.”

  “Yeah. So when is it? We can’t both be slackers.”

  “It’s in two hours. And I don’t think you can consider yourself a slacker … you know, being shot and all. Maybe stupid for getting yourself in that position to begin with, but not a slacker.”

  “Maybe I did it to avoid having to deal with the Danver family for a while,” he said. Shoving a hand into his pocket, he jangled the change there. He didn’t see her. Why wasn’t she here yet?

  “If you did, I’ll do you bodily harm—for worrying me like that and for dumping them on me,” Lorna swore.

  An SUV pulled up. It was simple and black, a Ford Freestyle that looked like it had seen better days. For some reason, though, as it sat there with the doors closed, Elliot felt his heart kick up. He took a deep breath and immediately wished he hadn’t, as pain lanced through his slowly healing chest. “I think she’s here, sis,” he murmured quietly.

  “Then why are you talking to me?” Lorna demanded. The call disconnected a second later.

  Shoving the phone into his pocket, he realized his hand was shaking. Pulling out a pair of sunglasses, he turned his back and bowed his head, ducking behind a crowd of people for a minute. He needed to get a grip. Needed to get ready to face her.

  Needed to know what in the hell he should say, needed to have the right words, and damn it, there had to be the right words. If he lost her …

  “No.” Closing his eyes, he pushed that thought out of his head. It wasn’t going to happen. He wouldn’t lose her. He was sure of that—he had to be. Just as he’d told Lorna, he was sure because it was the only thing he could be.

  It was ice cold.

  But they didn’t let that stop them.

  People gathered all around the house, on the porch, inside, around the back. There were portable heaters, a couple of fire pits, and people. Lots of them. She wasn’t going to let that scare her or stop her. These people were here because Darcy had mattered. Everybody seemed to have a story about her, Shay thought.

  She had one, too, but it was trapped inside.

  She was my best friend … and I’m the reason she’s dead …

  Desolate, lost, she wandered through the crowd of people and felt even more lonely than normal.

  From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed somebody that made her heart race, but when she craned her head to look again, he was gone. She pressed a hand to her chest and told herself to stop it. She saw him everywhere, it seemed. Because she wanted to, needed to.

  “Hello, Shay.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

&nb
sp; “MRS. MONTGOMERY.” SHAY FLOUNDERED, REACHING for the words. She shouldn’t be here, she realized. Oh, hell. She was going to make things so much worse. She shouldn’t be here—

  “I’m so glad you came,” the older woman whispered, tears sparkling in her eyes. She reached for Shay.

  She found herself wrapped in an embrace. Tears clogged her throat and she stood there, numb, barely able to breathe, barely able to move. “I … God, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. It was a plea for forgiveness, a plea for things she couldn’t even voice.

  As Ella eased back, Shay found herself the focus of eyes that reminded her too much of Darcy’s. A gentle hand touched her cheek. “You blame yourself,” Ella said quietly.

  “If it wasn’t for me, Darcy wouldn’t have ever been in danger,” Shay whispered.

  “You didn’t bring this on her,” Ella said, shaking her head. “There’s a part of me, yes, that wishes I could blame somebody … hurt somebody. But that somebody isn’t you. The blame rests with the woman who killed my little girl. It’s not you.”

  Tears burned, pricking her eyes. “You’re more forgiving than I ever could be.”

  “Am I?” Ella absently touched the scars on Shay’s face. “The captain from Phoenix—he tells me your mother died a long time ago. Do you blame her? Could you blame your mother? For giving birth to your sister?”

  Appalled, Shay jerked back. “No!”

  Ella nodded. “Then perhaps you can understand. You, me, my Darcy … all of us were hurt by this woman. We can add to each other’s wounds by placing blame where it doesn’t belong or we can help each other heal by talking about what a wonderful girl my Darcy was. How she made people laugh. How she made them smile. And if I know my girl, she wouldn’t forgive me if I added to your pain—I can see enough of it in your eyes.”

  Staring into Ella’s eyes, Shay whispered, “You can’t forgive me so easily.”