Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (8 page)

“I want to know about the person who signed it.”

Elliot cocked a brow at her. “Okay … although I’m curious why the sudden interest. I’d tried to get you to read these for years. Why the change of mind now?”

Shay closed her eyes.

Elliot had always been good at realizing when things were about to go to hell—five seconds before it happened. It was a weird feeling. A tension of sorts, something that lingered in the air and all but choked the oxygen out of it in some bizarre way.

This was one of those moments—everything was about to go straight to hell and he knew it. Adrenaline slammed into him and his heart raced along at about two hundred beats a minute, or at least it seemed that way. He had to work to keep his breathing level as he watched Shay, as he waited.

And then she opened her eyes and said quietly, “I need to know about whoever signed this book, Elliot. Because whoever did it is a fucking
liar
. Whoever did it isn’t Shane Neil.
I
am.”

I am—

Shay had thought it would be hard to say that.

She’d thought she would have to force herself to admit something she’d kept such a closely guarded secret.

Oh, yeah, sure. A few people knew, but only two of them knew her in real life, knew the
real
Shay. Darcy knew and Shay’s adopted sister Angie knew.

That was just about it.

The rest of them, none of them really
knew
her—not in person. Her agent, her editor—neither of them had met her in real life. All of their contact had been online, through email. Shay had never met any of them out in the real world—no conventions, no signings, no business lunches. Not a one of them knew what she really looked like.

None of them really knew
her
.

But Elliot did.

He knew her better than Darcy did. Better than anybody, probably even better than her sister … she hadn’t seen Angie in years and while Angie knew the girl she’d
been
, Elliot knew who she was now.

And nobody had ever made the impact on her life that he had; what he thought about this
mattered
in a way she couldn’t describe. Swallowing, she dared a quick look at him but saw that he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the book he held.

A lock of hair fell into his eyes, shielding his gaze from her. Seconds ticked away into minutes, and finally, she said softly, “Elliot?”

A harsh sigh escaped him and he stood up.

“Yeah?”

She managed not to flinch at the abrupt sound of his voice, but just barely. It was enough to make her heart bleed, though. He didn’t believe her. She could tell, just
by the way he sounded, just by the tension in his voice and the rigid set of his shoulders.

Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

You can do this
.

And there was no doubt that she could. She’d gotten through hell. She could get through this without letting him see how he’d hurt her.

Swallowing, she shifted around until she had her legs beneath her before she started to get up. She still had to grab hold of things to stand—her strength was coming back, but it was slow.

A hand came around her arm, gently. A blush stung her cheeks and she would have pulled away if she could have figured out a graceful way to do it. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

“You’re not.” He dropped a kiss onto her head and stroked a hand down her back. “It’s okay to need a hand every now and then, Shay.”

She shrugged and turned away the second he let go of her arm. Coming here had been a waste of time, she realized.

Okay to need somebody?
She resisted the urge to laugh. She’d come here because she
did
need somebody. She’d needed him. But he hadn’t even realized it.

Hunching her shoulders, she turned away, staring at the brightly decorated kids’ area of the store, trying to figure out what to say, what to ask—

“What’s the deal here, Shay?”

“I told you. I’m Shane Neil.”

She heard another heavy sigh come from him. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

“Hell, why would I
lie
about it?” With a harsh laugh, she nodded at the book he still held. It hung from one long-fingered hand and she could see, faintly, how the light glinted off the red foil of the title font. She’d been
so excited when she’d heard about what they were doing with the cover of that book—it was the kind of cover that authors hoped for, prayed for, and it was
hers
. And damn it, somebody else was trying to claim it. Trying to take it over. “You just believed it from somebody else easily enough, didn’t you?”

“Shit, she came in here with an advance reader’s copy and bookmarks. Those don’t exactly fall off of trees, Shay.”

Something stilled inside her. Bookmarks … and an ARC—that was something. “It’s not that hard to get your hands on bookmarks, Elliot,” she said softly. “I can show you ten different sites where you order them and have them shipped right to the doorstep. All they need is the artwork—they don’t care if it’s the author or not. They just need the art, and the money.”

She came in here with an advance reader’s copy …

She …

Narrowing her eyes, she studied him closely. “She? It was a woman who came in?”

“Yes.” With a pointed stare, he said, “But then again, so are you.”

Ignoring that, she said, “And you weren’t surprised by her showing up out of the blue?”

“Actually, I was pretty damn surprised. But she had the ARC. She had the bookmarks. What was I going to do, tell her to leave and come back with some sort of written proof? She wanted to sign the damn books!” He looked down at the book he held and then swore, tossing it down by the pile on the floor before turning away to pace.

“The problem with that is that they aren’t her damn books.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection, eyeing the book on the floor.
Mine
, she thought.
They are my damn books
.

“And how in the hell was I supposed to know that?” he growled.

Shay swallowed. “You weren’t, I guess.”

Silence stretched out between them, hanging there like a heavy, musty curtain. Shay shivered, but it had nothing to do with cold. The silence grew so weighted, she jumped when Elliot shattered it with his next words.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to think about any of this. It’s just too … it’s too bizarre.”

“Tell me about it,” she said. Closing her eyes, she tried to level out, reaching for some sense of calm, of peace. It had always eluded her. Always. But she could fake it. She’d been faking elusiveness, distance, for years, right? Once she thought she could look at him without his seeing that he’d hurt her, she opened her eyes and turned to face him. “You kept saying that you just wanted me to open up … to trust you. You just said it’s okay to need a hand. That’s why I’m here, Elliot … I need help. I’m trying to trust you. But you—”

“Elliot?”

Lorna appeared at the end of the aisle. Shay stiffened. The look on her face was angry. So very angry.

“Not now,” Elliot said, his gaze locked on Shay’s face, eyes burning, intensely hot.

“Yes, damn it. Now. Shay, I’m sorry, but things just went to hell. Elliot, come on.”

“I said not
now
,” he bit off.

“Elliot, damn it!”

As he continued to stare at her, Shay asked softly, “Just tell me one thing, Elliot. Do you believe me?”

His eyes clouded. “Shit, Shay. Hell, I don’t know … this is just …”

“Yeah. It’s just.” Nodding, she edged around him, taking great care to keep as much distance between them as she could. “You think about it, then. Take all the time you need and think about it.”

Not that it would really make a difference. She’d done what she could. She’d reached out. She’d tried. And failed. She could always come back, bring her contracts and shit to convince him, but she didn’t see the point. He trusted a total stranger so easily. But not her.

He caught her arm, tugging her to a stop, but when he tried to ease her closer, Shay leaned away. “Damn it, Shay …”

“Go on,” she said, staring up at him. “You’ve got a business to run and I’ve got things to do.”

“We’ll talk about this later.”

No. We won’t
. She’d be damned if she’d try to convince him.

As he disappeared down the aisle with his sister, Shay lowered her gaze to stare at the book on the floor—her book. The one she’d written—the one she hadn’t signed. Gingerly, she bent over to pick it up. To her satisfaction, her head didn’t start spinning around like a Tilt-A-Whirl—each day was getting a little bit better. Curling her hand around it, she started for the front of the store. The longer she stared at the
autographed copy
sticker, the more furious she got.

She’d always had a bit of a thrill seeing her books in a store. Yeah, she’d wondered what it might be like seeing signed copies of her books, but she wasn’t about to leave any sort of sign as to
where
people might find her. Even changing her name wasn’t enough.

Nothing was enough.

Plus, there was the little fact that she completely and utterly
freaked out
at the thought of putting herself out in public that way. Not just leaving a trail for him to find her, but putting
herself out there
—having to interact with people. It froze her with fear. Shay didn’t know if she had some warped sort of social anxiety disorder or what, but just the
thought
of having to face people
and claim credit for work she was extremely proud of … talk about a mess of contradictions.

But she wasn’t letting somebody masquerade as her, either. On her way out of the door, she stopped by the book dump and collected the rest of the books, using a handbasket to carry them all to the register.

Becca, the part-time employee, stood at the register and smiled in Shay’s direction, but her smile wobbled a little as Shay dumped the books out onto the counter.

“Ah … you want all of them?” Becca asked.

“Yes.”

Becca blinked. “But …”

“Hey, the books are there to buy, right?” Shay offered what she hoped was a charming smile. She suspected it fell short, but it was the best she could do. “What can I say—you don’t get signed books in here every day, right?”

“No.” Becca smiled. “That’s for sure. We’re such an out-of-the-way little place, we hardly ever have authors who come in just to sign stock.”

While Becca finished ringing her up, Shay stood there, shifting from one foot to the other, the pain in her head blooming like an ugly, poisonous rose. She needed to get home and lie down.

“Hey, are you all right?”

Absently, she looked up and realized she’d been rubbing her temple and swaying on her feet. Forcing a smile, she nodded. “Yeah, I’ve just got a headache.” She glanced at the total and reached into her purse, pulling out her wallet. Extricating her credit card, she gave it to Becca. As the girl swiped it, Shay looked away, searching for the clock. She’d left her phone in the car and without it, she had no way of telling time. She had a habit of losing watches.

But instead of finding the clock, she found herself staring at a strangely familiar book.

The ARC the Shane imposter must have given Elliot. Her next book.

Blood roared in her ears.

“Here you go, Shay. Just sign my copy.”

Blindly, she took the receipt and scrawled her signature on it, barely able to drag her eyes away from the book lying just a few feet away. “Here,” she whispered, her voice reed thin.

“Thanks. Shay, are you sure you’re okay? Do you need some water?”

Man, had things gone to hell or what?

Staring at the computer was like being punched in the face.

Elliot had dealt with some rough-ass shit in his life. He had only been nineteen, Lorna just a year older, when they’d lost both of their parents. It had been a harsh blow—Paul Winter was their stepfather, but in all the ways that counted, he’d been their real father. Their
only
father. He’d married their mother when Elliot and Lorna were kids, and the car accident that had killed them had been a devastating blow.

Finding the woman he thought was
right
for him, only to have her remain as distant as the moon—that was the sucker punch that just kept on giving.

That fucking disaster in the army—the one that had been the beginning of the end for him—this reminded him of that. Another crazy-ass bitch trying to ruin his life.

I barely got away …
That was what she’d written in the Facebook note. And it was eerily similar to what somebody else had once tried to say about him.

“What in the hell is she talking about, Elliot?” Lorna asked quietly.

Shit, it was almost verbatim, too, he thought.
I barely
got away—he was just too strong. Crazy, and he wanted to hurt me. I could see it—

Swearing, he ground his fist against his brow and shoved the memory of that awful time out of his head.
Charges were dropped, man. The people who matter know she lied
. Granted, there weren’t a lot of them. A lot of the guys he’d thought were his friends had believed—
fuck, Winter, you need to focus
, he told himself.