Free Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense by Shiloh Walker Page A

minutes and that was exactly how she wanted it.
    The only thing she wasn’t going to burn—yet—were the autographed pages. She wanted to scrutinize those title pages, see if she could recognize the handwriting.
    So far, nothing clicked, but one could never tell.
    Striking one of the long matches she’d bought for the fireplace, she leaned in close and touched it to the kindling at the bottom. She watched as the flame flared, then steadily grew brighter. Once it was crackling away, she added a book. Then another. And another. She hadn’t quite managed to add the fourth when the phone rang.
    Sighing, she picked it up.
    She wasn’t surprised to see Elliot’s store on the caller ID.
    She’d known Becca would figure it out. She’d also known Becca would rat her out. What surprised her was that he hadn’t called before now.
    “Hello?”
    “Did you take that fucking book out of my store?” Elliot snapped.
    “You own a bookstore,” she pointed out. “I imagine you have many people taking books out of your store.” She reached for the ARC, lifting it to study the cover. It was the first time she’d gotten the nicer ARCs, too. This imposter was putting a pall on her success—tarnishing it.
    “You know what book I’m talking about, damn it. You had no fucking right to take my damn book,” he growled.
    “Hmmm.” She carefully ripped out the signed title page before tossing the ARC into the fire. As the flames greedily ate it up, she watched. “Well, we never did get to finish talking. If you want your book back, you come up to my place—we can finish talking, and you can have your book.”
Well, a replacement. One with a
real
autograph
.
    Signed by
her
, damn it. Not some fake.
    And maybe if he saw all of
her
copies, he’d believe her. She had first editions, foreign editions, large-print editions, all of them—things that he wasn’t likely to seejust
anywhere
. And the ARCs. She had ARCs, too, damn it.
    “I’ve got a fucking mess on my hands. I can’t.”
    Her heart sank inside her chest—a heavy stone weight.
    He
had a mess? She was battered from that wreck. Somebody was trying to screw with her life. And somebody was trying to lie about her books. But
he
had a mess?
    So much for that friendship you talked about
, she thought miserably. Self-pity started to rise inside her, but she shoved it down. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to get her through this. She might be half-broken inside and she might jump at her own shadow and she sure as hell was fucked-up beyond fixing. But self-pity wasn’t going to help. There was little room for it in her life.
    “You’ve got a mess, huh?” she asked quietly.
    “A big one, damn it, and I need that book.”
    The impatient, demanding tone in his voice had her frowning, but she didn’t care
why
he wanted the book so much. If he wanted an ARC, he could have one of hers. Reaching for the poker at her side, she nudged the ashy remains of one of the books farther back inside the hearth. It fell apart under the pressure. Distantly, she felt as if she just might do that—fall apart under even the lightest touch, into nothing but bits and pieces.
    “I’m sorry to hear about your mess, Elliot, but I’ve got one of my own. You take care of yours and I’ll muddle through mine and sooner or later, I’ll get your book to you.”
    “If you hadn’t fucking stolen it, you wouldn’t have to worry about going out of your way to bring it back to me, now would you?” he snapped. “I need that damn book back.”
    “Well, I’m a little busy with my own mess … and
stolen
is such a harsh word. Perhaps we should say
borrowed
.”
    “Borrowed. That implies I actually gave you permission, that you didn’t just take off without getting my okay, Lorna’s okay, that you didn’t sneak behind my counter and take it, that you didn’t sneak off without letting anybody know.” His voice was as sharp as broken glass, cold as the arctic ice. “Bring me my fucking