Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (18 page)

“Shay.”

She opened her eyes.

He came toward her and stopped just a breath away. One hand came up and cupped her chin. And as those whiskey-gold eyes met hers, all the pain and chaos and misery inside her fell away and once more, she was lost. But it was okay, because she was lost inside him, and that was where she wanted to be, where she needed to be.

“You think I don’t have anything in me for you?” he murmured, lowering his head so that the words were whispered against her lips. “Baby … 
everything
I have in me
is
for you. You’re my
everything
. You are it for me. I knew that months ago. And it was killing me that you wouldn’t let me in.”

A harsh breath escaped her. Tears burned her eyes and despite her best intentions, one of them broke free, rolling down her cheek. He brushed it away. Then, he caught her up in his arms.

“Come here,” he said quietly, lifting her.

“Hey!” Startled, she shoved against his chest as he carried her over to the window seat. But almost as soon as he had picked her up, they were sitting down, and she was cradled in his lap, up against his chest. The warmth
of his body seeped into hers and some of that awful cold began to ease.

He urged her head to his shoulder. “Close your eyes for a few minutes, Shay,” he whispered. “You look so damn tired.”

“I am.” Giving in to the urge, she rested her head and did just as he’d suggested. Closed her eyes. Breathing in the warm scent of him, she let herself relax. He smelled just like he always did … of wood and smoke from the fires he liked to burn in the store, of books and aftershave and man. He smelled perfect. And he felt safe. He
was
safe. She knew, as well as she knew the shape of her hands, that she was safe, right here with him.

Although she couldn’t quite believe he
was
here, holding her again. After he’d walked away. He was here with her. He still cared. And he’d seen her scars, but they didn’t matter. Elliot had looked at those awful, ugly scars without flinching.

If he could look at them …

“He kidnapped me,” she blurted out. “He stalked me and Virna. For months. After he got out of jail, he acted like the good citizen, like he’d paid his debt to society. He went to church, went to work, did everything he was supposed to do. And all the while, he was looking for us. They found the evidence after he’d kidnapped me, during the investigation. He learned our routines, learned what we did, where we were … when I was alone, when I wasn’t. Then one day, he broke into the house. He beat Virna.” Her voice broke. “He hurt her so bad, she ended up dying from it. Her heart was already in bad shape. She died a few days later. And he took me. I don’t remember all of it, but I was tied up …”

Her breath started to hitch, and she could feel the blackness weighing in on her. She shook, and no matter how tightly he held her, she was still so cold. So damn cold.

“Shay, you don’t have to do this,” Elliot whispered against her temple.

“Yes, I do.” Swallowing, she whispered again, “Yes, I do. He tied me up—kept me that way for a couple of days. He cut me because I forgot about the time when I still lived with him. He’d yell at me about how everything was my fault. This crazy shit, because I had to be the princess and I wasn’t a fucking princess and it was all my fault—I had no right to forget and he’d make sure I never forgot again. He cut me, and he beat me, and he raped me …” Her voice broke and she sobbed against his chest. “He raped me. Over and over …”

Elliot closed his eyes. Inside his throat, there was a howl of denial, of fury.

Be careful what you ask for …

He’d wanted her to let him in. Now he was. He wanted to rage, to scream, to hurt the bastard who’d done this to her.

But Shay clung to him, trembling.

And all he could do was hold her and stroke her back, and listen as she cried. His heart shattered.

“He hurt me,” she whispered. “And he loved it. I don’t even know why …”

When she buried her face against his neck, he opened his eyes and stared off into the night.
God, baby. I’m so sorry …

Time passed. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. He didn’t know, didn’t care, because finally, those awful, awful sobs eased and she breathed easily against his chest.

He thought she might have slept, but then she spoke again, her voice soft and steady. “I’m tired. I’m so damn tired. I have nightmares,” she murmured. “I’ve always had them. But they get bad sometimes, and lately, I’ve been having them all the time. It’s like something flipped
a switch in my head and they are there all the time … I hear echoes even when I’m awake, and I can hardly sleep anymore.”

“Try to get some sleep now.” He pressed his lips to her brow. “I’ll be here if the nightmares start.”

She started to ask what good that would do, but she stopped. She felt safer with him. Even her mind felt calmer.

Talking about it should have made it worse, she thought. Should have made it more vivid in her mind. But it hadn’t. Her mind was easier, calmer. She always dreaded closing her eyes, but she didn’t now. Maybe she could rest a little.

“Go to sleep, Shay,” he whispered again.

“That’s not even my real name …”

“Yes, it is. That’s who you’ve made yourself. Now … sleep.”

She was out in the next minute. Elliot sat there holding her, but he didn’t dare look at her. Not yet. He had to get himself under control. The fury and the grief was a monster inside him that threatened to rip him apart.

Every time he closed his eyes, even if it was just to blink, he saw the scars. He saw what had been done to her. If he thought the narrow lines on the left side of her face were bad, what was hidden under her clothes was so much worse.

He laughed silently, bitterly.
Shit
. He’d thought he’d been prepared … no matter what she told him, if she ever opened up, he had thought he’d be prepared for it. All those months ago, he’d waited. He thought he was ready to hear what she had to say.

But he’d been so fucking wrong. Even if he’d been a little right.

He’d known it would be bad.

The way she’d flinched around him at first … how nervous she was.

It had taken her almost a damn year just to stop being so nervous around him. Another four months of him badgering her before she’d agree to a date. And they’d dated a good two months before he’d suspected she wouldn’t bolt in fear if he did much more than give her a friendly peck on the lips.

Yeah, he’d known it would be bad. He’d suspected she’d been assaulted, and that was why he’d moved so slowly. Why he’d waited, and hoped, and prayed she’d talk to him. Open up to him. But days turned to weeks, then months. Almost a year after they’d started dating she still wouldn’t open up to him, even after he’d started trying to press her just a little at a time.

The more he pressed, the more she’d shut down, too.

But by then, he’d been so fucking gone over her, he felt that he was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Things couldn’t stay as they were, but they weren’t moving forward, either.

He hadn’t handled it well.

Looking back, he could admit that, although he didn’t know how else he should have handled it, what else he should have done, or not done.

Hindsight wasn’t always twenty-twenty, it seemed.

Finally, when he thought he might have things under control, he let himself look down and study her face. She was so damn pretty. Looking at her was a punch to his gut, to his heart, to his soul. Even now. But it was even more heartbreaking because he knew some of the secrets beneath those scars.

The scars.

Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, he slowly reached up with his right hand. All Shay did was turn her face into his chest and cuddle closer. It exposed the scars along the left side of her upper cheek and jawline. They
rode along the edge of her face, up to her temple, before disappearing into her hair. They looked practiced—he had thought that the first time he saw her, and he’d been right. Her stepfather.

Rage—ugly, vivid, and rabid—twisted inside him. Closing his eyes, he accepted it, breathed it in. He couldn’t block it out, couldn’t pretend that he didn’t feel it. There was no way anybody with any sort of decency inside could think about what had been done to her and
not
feel some kind of disgust, some kind of anger. But this wasn’t just
somebody
to him. This was Shay … and as he’d told her, she was his everything, and knowing that somebody had taken the child she’d been and tortured her, tried to break her …

He had to take the rage, had to accept it and find some way to live with it.

His fingers were trembling as he traced them down one thin line, then the next, and the next. By the time he’d traced each one of them, he was almost blinded by his own fury. And Shay was sleeping. Completely unaware. Gently, he shifted her on his lap until he could brush the blanket aside.

Her skin was pale against the vivid weave of the bright red blanket. Pale, soft … and although he knew she wasn’t fragile, her skin certainly seemed that way. Fragile, silken. How in the hell …

Put it away
, he told himself. A muscle pulsed in his cheek; he could feel the damn thing ticking away as he mentally braced himself to look again. Would it be as bad—

It was.

Each scar stood out in stark relief against her skin, rather neat in its perfection. She would have fought, if she could have. It was the human way. If she’d fought and moved around much, those marks wouldn’t be so
neat. So she’d been restrained. That monster had restrained her, and then carved those letters into her flesh.

He stared, until he knew he could see it again without it coming as such a brutal shock.

Because he’d damn well see her again. He’d see
all
of her again, unless Shay got it in her head to run away. Elliot wasn’t going to let her go this time. He couldn’t.

He never should have given up so easily last time.

Shay shivered in his arms and he eased the blanket back up over her. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to her brow. “Sleep, baby,” he murmured. “I’ll be here.”

TEN

“T
HAT
’
S LONG ENOUGH,
” D
ARCY MUSED, REACHING
for the phone.

She’d heard that startled, shocked gasp right before she’d hung up. Two hours had passed … enough time for Shay to wonder, to worry, to remember. Darcy knew the nightmares sometimes came on fast. Maybe she was even having one now …

Or maybe she was just wondering where the name had come from. Maybe she hadn’t remembered that far back yet. Maybe she was just too clueless. But sooner or later, that name would slip out from her subconscious along with more memories.

She needed to remember. Really, she did. This waiting … it was so tedious. Nobody liked to be forgotten, after all.

And Shay had forgotten almost everything—all the important things.

That much was clear just by what she wrote in her little
diary
. She thought that thing was so damn secret, that nobody knew who was writing those words.

Shay didn’t
have
secrets. Not from her.

She only thought she did. Seriously, Shay didn’t know shit. After all, she was letting that son of a bitch in her house …

“Hello?”

It was a guy’s voice.

Darcy blinked, caught off guard. Not
once
had she called Shay’s number and anybody
but
Shay answered. Not
one fucking time
. “Who the hell is this?”

A dumb question, she realized a split second later. It was Elliot Winter, of course.

“Not exactly your place to ask,” he replied. “Who is this?”

Eyes narrowed, fury biting at her, she still managed to put on her oh-so-cheerful and friendly persona. “I’m sorry about that … I was just a little surprised to hear a guy answering. I need to talk to Shay.”

“Sorry. She’s sleeping.”

And then he hung up. Just like that. Snarling, Darcy went to punch the number back in but then she stopped. Okay, so the bastard didn’t offer to take her name. Or her number. Granted, Shay had caller ID and it wasn’t necessary, but still—it was common fucking courtesy, right? Points against him, as far as Darcy was concerned, and if he thought she wouldn’t mention how much of a bastard he’d been, he was in for a rude awakening.

Shay thought the sun fucking rose and
set
on Darcy.

Stupid bastard.

Setting the phone down, she reached up and smoothed her hair back from her face. No problem.

This was infuriating as hell, but it wasn’t a problem. She’d just call again tomorrow and talk to Shay. There were other things she needed to do anyway.

Shay was forgetting how much she needed Darcy, and she needed to be reminded of that.

Shay awoke to darkness and silence.

Silence in her mind, silence all around her.

And warmth. There was an arm around her waist and a long, lean form pressed against her back.

Stiffening, she jerked upright and whipped around.

Light filtered in from the bathroom—she hadn’t left that light on. Well, she didn’t
think
she had, but she never left that light on. But if that light hadn’t been on, she wouldn’t have been able to see Elliot’s face.
Elliot’s face
. Which meant Elliot was there.