Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (39 page)

“The baby,” she whispered while that insane little giggle echoed through her mind. That horrid little whisper.
My little princess can be the princess again … you’re our little princess
. “She sang about shutting up the baby,” Shay whispered. “Didn’t she?”

Hilliard just stared at her.

But both Elliot and Shay saw the answer. It was right there … in his eyes.

Somebody finally shut that baby up … know who did? I did
.

My little princess can be the princess again … you’re our little princess, Michelline
.

“My princess,” Shay rasped.

Clearly, for the first time in nearly thirty years, she remembered.

A girl—dark-haired, maybe a little plump, with over-bright eyes and a smile that was … off. Just off. She’d smiled down at the girl Shay had been, Michelline.
“He’s gone and you’ll be the princess again, now. Doesn’t that sound good? I’ll take care of you, Michelline. Just like Mama told me to.”

She’d patted the little girl on the cheek. Then, whistling, she’d picked up the broken, bloody body of their brother—just a baby—and she’d left Michelline alone in the closet. A traumatized little girl staring after her sister … a child murderer.

“She killed him,” Shay whispered. “I have a sister … and I had a brother … until she killed him.”

TWENTY-THREE

“W
ILL SHE BE OKAY
?” H
ILLIARD STARED AT THE
small, slim form of Shay Morgan, crouched on a grave that hadn’t had a visitor besides him in probably seventeen years. He knew that Virna Lassiter had come out here, before she’d died. But since then? He was the only one left to come visit them now.

Elliot stood with his hands jammed in his pockets, legs spread over the uneven ground, his gaze locked on Shay’s bowed head. Just then, he wanted to be at her side, more than anything.

But she’d asked for five minutes alone. He could give her five minutes, damn it. That was about it. Even though it killed him not to be there with her.
Shit
. He felt like a fucking useless waste of air. He hadn’t been able to stop any of this from hurting her. And that psychotic bitch was still out there. All he’d wanted to do was take care of her and—

“Fuck,”
he snarled under his breath, spinning away and staring out toward the mountains. He shoved the heels of his hands against his eyes and tried to breathe, tried to think. He had to hold it together, because if his rage shattered him, what good was he going to be for her? He blew out a breath, focusing on the feel of the air
moving in and out of his lungs. Then he glanced over at the cop. Hilliard was still watching Shay.

“I’ve never met a stronger woman in my life,” Elliot said quietly, answering the cop the best he knew how. “But … okay? I just don’t know. This is just …” He paused, blowing out a breath.

“Yeah, it’s some fucked-up shit, isn’t it?”

“You’re a master of understatement.”

“So I’ve been told.” Hilliard pushed a hand through a head of grizzled, gray hair. “Just what is it that brought her back here, Mr.… ah, Winter, right?”

“Elliot,” he said absently. “Call me Elliot.” He debated—did he tell him? Should Shay do it? He suspected if he waited for Shay to do it, she’d say nothing unless she had to, but he wasn’t so sure that was the right avenue. Hell, he
knew
that wasn’t the right avenue.

Shay’s sister was the one playing games with her. How Leslie Hall had managed to find Shay after she’d moved and changed her name, Elliot didn’t know, but it proved one thing—the woman was smart. Smart, clever, and she didn’t lack for patience or persistence. Not a good mix, the way he saw it. Was it possible she’d been watching Shay all of this time? That was a thought that was absolutely terrifying. It was also a thought that couldn’t be dismissed, he realized.

Sighing, he slid the cop a look. “Shay’s been having some problems. Somebody is trying to take over her life. Bits and pieces of it. She’d thought it was a college friend, but apparently that college friend has been missing for quite some time. It looks like the person just moved in, took over the friend’s life.”

“Wouldn’t the friend’s family have noticed? Wouldn’t Shay have noticed?”

Elliot smiled grimly. “Whoever did this knows Shay too well. She doesn’t let people get too close—most of her life is through her computer. She used the computer,
the telephone, that’s it. She probably goes weeks without seeing people and she hadn’t seen Darcy since college.” With a shrug, he glanced over at the detective. “The woman up and moves—claims she was relocating, gives a new cell phone and all. Shay has no reason to not believe her.”

“Voice? Wouldn’t the voice be off?”

“I think she can mimic voices.… it’s a complicated mess, but she had a number set up like Shay’s and apparently Shay called it. It sounded enough like Shay that she was freaked out to hear it, but when we called it again, the number was disconnected. And that’s just one of many weird-ass things going on.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the dusty toes of his boots. In terse terms, he outlined what had gone on so far, finishing up with what they thought might have happened to Darcy. “The friend is missing. For two years now. Nobody has seen her, heard from her. Everything about
her
seems to just be gone.”

“Fuck,” Hilliard muttered, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “I don’t like the sound of this. I’d hoped she was just coming down here because she needed closure, but this … shit. This is a fucking shit bomb waiting to explode. Shay has no idea who she is dealing with now?”

At that moment, Shay swung her head around, staring at them over the field of stone that separated them. As she rose, Elliot studied her face, the grief there, the misery, the sadness. And the fury.

“She knows,” he said quietly as Shay started toward them. His heart slammed hard against his ribs at the look in her eyes. He hated to see her hurting, but the expression on her face was the look of a woman ready to go to war.

“I know we think it’s her sister, but—”

“I don’t think, Captain Hilliard,” Shay said as she approached them. Her eyes were grim, dark. Determined.
“I don’t
think
. I know. She’s let too many things slip that don’t make sense in any other capacity … like my name.”

“Your name.”

Brushing her hair back from her face, Shay stared at him. “My birth name. Michelline. Unless she
knew
me, how likely is it that she could have been able to get that?”

“And how do you know this?”

Shay turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because I heard her say it,” she murmured. She flicked a look at Elliot and he reached out and caught her hand, tugged her close.
You can do this
.

She came to him and he dipped his head, rested his brow against her crown.
You can do this
, he thought again. She leaned against him for a brief moment and they just stood there. He didn’t know if she was taking in any comfort from him or not, but just that brief, simple connection helped ease the ragged, jagged mess in his heart and soul.
They
could get through this, damn it. Get through it. Get it behind them and then focus on what mattered—the rest of their lives.

After a moment, she eased away. He caught her hand in his and squeezed. It wasn’t much, but he wanted her to know one simple thing. He was here with her. No matter what happened.

“A few days ago, she was on the phone with me, yammering about taking care of me, and I told her that wasn’t her job—I’d had a mom who’d taken care of me. She muttered something and then mentioned my mother. She knew me. She knew my mother. It’s her, Captain. I know it is.”

“Okay … let’s assume you’re right. Let’s assume she has tracked you down. Why is she screwing around with your life? Trying to take it over?”

Elliot curled his lip. “Sounds to me like she’s a crazy bitch. I think that’s a reasonable enough explanation.”

“No.” Shay pushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears. She stared off into the distance, the setting sun painting her pale skin a delicate gold … highlighting the fine scars along the edge of her face. Somehow, she managed to look both incredibly young and incredibly ancient, Elliot thought.

“It’s not because she’s crazy—or not
just
because she’s crazy,” Shay murmured. The desert wind kicked up, teasing the hair back into her face. She ignored it, staring at the mountains. It was peaceful here, she decided. Of all places, she’d found some small bit of peace … at the graves of her brother and mother.

She’d loved her mother, that much she knew—it was more a feeling than true memory. But it was there. Just as she knew she’d loved her brother. She wished she had some memory of him, a real one … not just those screams.

Not just the terror.

“I was the little princess,” Shay said, closing her eyes. “I was the little princess, and she was our mother’s best girl. Then Mama went away. I don’t understand all of that, although …” She opened her eyes and stared at the quiet cop standing at Elliot’s side. “You said she died in childbirth.”

“Yes.”

Tears stung her eyes, threatening to fall. She blinked them back. “You know, in the scheme of things, it hasn’t been that long since she died. You don’t think about women still dying from childbirth in this country. But it happens a lot more often than people realize.” She pressed her lips together.
I had a mother, a brother. I loved them. And at least my mother loved me
. She tried to hold on to that, but the horror in her mind was still so huge. Just then, she couldn’t think about any of that,
so she made herself focus on the puzzle—the mystery, the riddle. She’d always been good at puzzles. Figuring out the answer …

“Me,” she whispered. “It was me. Or, at least, I’m part of it. She was supposed to take care of me—I was Mama’s princess. I remember her telling me that, and then suddenly I wasn’t the princess and she wasn’t Mama’s helper, because the baby was there.”

“She blamed the baby,” Hilliard said quietly.

“Yes.”

Elliot, grim-eyed, just stared at her. “Doesn’t that pretty much mean the same thing? That she’s crazy?”

“There are all kinds of crazy, Elliot,” Shay murmured. And deep inside, she felt even sicker than she’d felt earlier.

Jethro’s words came back to her. She’d blocked out a lot of what he’d always ranted about, railed about.
He’s gone, you little bitch … because you had to be the princess. He’s gone …

“Leslie blamed the baby, and then Jethro blamed me,” Shay said.

None of it would make any sense to the logical, rational mind, but they definitely weren’t dealing with rational or logical minds.

“He blamed you?” Elliot’s voice was a dangerous, dark rasp.

Looking up, she stared at him.

Hilliard, wisely, turned away, casually strolling out of hearing distance as Elliot reached over and caught Shay’s arm, drawing her closer. “Did you just say that fucker blamed
you
?”

“Yes.” She started to touch the scars on her face but made herself stop. Maybe it was time to have them removed. All of them. “I told you how he ranted, how he yelled and everything. A lot of it just didn’t make sense. He said shit about how he was gone—I never knew who
the bastard was talking about, but he meant Jeffrey. He blamed me.” Her voice hitched and she stopped, waiting until she knew she could breathe, could speak without crying. “He’d rant at me about how it was my fault and he’d yell at me because I forgot. That was why he hated me … he blamed me. All that time, he blamed
me
.”

“How could he blame you?”

A watery laugh escaped her. “Elliot … I don’t know. He was drunk most of the time, pissed off over being in jail …”

Closing her eyes, she thought back to all the times her stepfather had yelled. Were there other memories? Maybe, she thought; she almost remembered hearing other sounds … like a man crying. Turning around, she looked back at the stone. Her brother’s stone had nothing on it, save his name, his date of birth, and his date of death. It was pitifully naked. It should say something more. She’d have it changed if she had anything to say about it.

But her mother’s stone read:
Beloved Wife
. It said nothing about her children, but it mentioned that she was a wife.

“I think he loved my mother. I think he blamed the baby … maybe while he was in prison, he started feeling guilty over that and the guilt just … hell.” She shook her head, stared off into the distance at the mountains. “I don’t know. All of this is coming from a time that I can barely remember, and it’s not like I wasn’t fucked up to hell and back at the time.”

“You’re not fucked up—and you weren’t then.
They
were fucked up,” Elliot snarled. He pulled her against him, the motion abrupt and jerky, as though he just couldn’t handle not having her close for another second. Burying his face against her neck, he muttered, “I
want to kill them, Shay. Both of them. For what they did to you then, what she’s doing to you now.”

Caught in the circle of his arms, the warmth of the sun beating down on them, with his heart beating against her cheek, she closed her eyes and let herself lean against him. Here, right here, she felt safe. Felt wanted, needed … almost normal, even. If only she could just stay here …