Page 67 of Shelter for Shay
Her voice dropped. “The night Adam Lawrence was killed.”
His jaw ticked. “There were other times, but yes, that night.”
“She refused,” Shay whispered.
“She got cold feet. Said she wasn’t part of it anymore. But by then, my assistant was already unraveling things I couldn’t afford to have unraveled.” Blake turned toward the window, watching wind push against the pane. “I cleaned up the mess. That was the end of it.”
Shay felt ice in her veins. “You killed him.”
Blake didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
She struggled in the chair, fury rising in her throat. “Then why keep coming back? Why watch us? Why keep tabs on my entire life if you didn’t give a damn?”
He finally turned back to her.
“Because it was easier than killing you,” he said plainly. “You were leverage. A failsafe. As long as you didn’t know who you were, I was safe. If Margaret ever turned on me, if she ever decided to hand anything over to the Feds—you’d be my shield. And she knew it.”
Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. “She died anyway.”
“She got sentimental,” he muttered. “Started poking around old accounts. Asking questions she shouldn’t. And then she got sloppy. Left behind traces I couldn’t afford to exist.”
“Did you have a hand in her death? In her illness?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I didn’t have to. Mother Nature took care of that. But I made sure she was denied clinical trials. Experimental medications. Especially after she decided she couldn’t stomach taking my money anymore.”
Shay wanted to scream. She wanted to sink her teeth into him. Instead, she forced herself to breathe.
“So what now?” she rasped. “The trial’s over. You burned the whole thing to the ground. Why keep me alive?”
He stepped closer, his tone shifting—colder now.
“Because the only way this ends clean for me… is if you and your boyfriend disappear.”
Her heart stuttered. “You don’t just disappear a Navy SEAL.”
“And you shouldn’t underestimate your father.” Blake crouched down, eye level with her now. “See, I’ve already fed the police photos—ones that paint Moose as your kidnapper. I’ll even leave the murder weapon on him when the time comes. A disgruntled ex-sailor who never quite got over his past. It’s a neat little bow.”
“No one’s going to believe that.”
“They don’t have to believe it. They just have to buy it long enough for me to get out clean.”
He rose to his full height again. “Moose will come for you. That’s a certainty. And when he does, he dies. And you? You die in the crossfire.”
Shay’s blood went cold. “You’re going to kill us both.”
He shrugged. “It’s the simplest ending. No loose ends. No leverage. No legacy. Just silence.”
He turned toward the door, calling over his shoulder, “You’re right. I’ve already won, Shay. I just have to make it look messy on the way out.”
Then he was gone—leaving her alone in a creaking cabin deep in the woods, with darkness pressing against the windows and death closing in from both sides.
And suddenly, Shay couldn’t breathe.
Her chest locked up, lungs refusing to expand as panic closed in like a vise. Her skin felt too tight, her heartbeat wild and ragged in her ears. The restraints on her wrists burned now, raw and unrelenting, a sick reminder that she was trapped. Not metaphorically. Not emotionally.
Truly. Literally. Trapped.
She stared at the door he’d just disappeared through, half expecting him to come back—to finish it now. To make good on the threat.
