Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(68)

Shannon, in hospitality mode, had not acknowledged him other than to look up and smile at him briefly. She finished the checkin, handed the guest a key, and asked if she needed help with her bag—an old canvas duffel, army green. The guest shook her head and picked up the duffel. She seemed to pause for a moment, looking at Shannon, and then she turned. And Show gasped. She was young, early twenties, maybe, but she was almost a carbon copy of Shannon—the same eyes, the same lips, the same cleft in her chin. The same face, though this younger version was noticeably freckled. She was slight, without Shannon’s pinup curves, and her hair was wildly curly instead of Shannon’s soft waves, but there was no way in all the vast universe that these two women were not related in some way.

Shannon had not appeared to recognize her, however. She had very little contact with her family, so she might not know everybody. Was this a niece, one of her brothers’ kids? Was it a fluke, then, or was this girl trying to reconnect with family? What was going on?

The mystery guest sent on her way upstairs, Shannon came over to him with a smile.

“Hi! Didn’t expect to see you until later. Something up?”

He took her into his arms and kissed her. “Do you know that girl?”

“Who—the new guest? No. She’s a walk-in, actually. Her name is Adrienne Renard. Why? Do you know her?”

He went straight for the point. “Hon, she’s got to be a relation. She looks so much like you she could be your own daughter.”

Shannon’s reaction was immediate, extreme, and shocking. She paled at once, her porcelain skin becoming ghostly. Her eyes huge and terrified, she pushed away from him and stared up at the top of staircase.

Then she turned on her heel and ran— ran—back to her apartment.

Shocked, Show stood glued to the floor as his brain whirred. An array of random jigsaw pieces of memory began to settle into place: Her refusal to talk about her past. Her discomfort with Gia. Her frustration when he told her why he and Holly had gotten married. More little moments that had seemed random quirks now began to fit together and make a picture, and Show stood with his mouth open, staring at the space that had a moment before held his old lady, before she’d turned away from him and bolted. He waited for the image to emerge.

Was that girl who’d just checked in Shannon’s daughter?

No. That didn’t make any sense. How would she not recognize her? Why would she not say? Even as the picture became clear, it simply made no sense.

What made sense was that the thing she’d been hiding from him and everyone else was big. It was massive. And even after all these months, after everything they’d worked through to be together, she had not trusted him enough to tell him. He had opened his goddamn soul to her, told her everything, and she had kept something like this from him? His temples pulsed with rage.

He got moving, storming after her, through her office and into her apartment. She wasn’t there. But her bedroom door was closed, and he strode through the sitting room and wrapped his paw around the knob.

It didn’t budge. She’d locked it. Goddammit! He curled his hand into a fist and pounded on the door, rattling it in its frame.

“SHANNON! OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!”

No response of any kind from within. He pounded again. “SHANNON! GODDAMMIT! WHAT THE

FUCK IS GOING ON? LET ME IN!!”

Nothing. So he took a step back and kicked the door in.

She was packing.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN



She had to go, and she had to go now.

With only that thought in her head, Shannon ran into her apartment and back to her bedroom. She slammed the door and locked it, then pulled the first suitcase she came to out of the closet and threw it on the bed, unzipping it and flipping it open. She grabbed clothes randomly from the closet and her dresser drawers, not even paying attention to what she was throwing in.

Then Show was bellowing outside the door, pounding so hard the sound made her jump with every slam of his fist on wood. But she otherwise ignored him. He was the last person she wanted to face. No, he wasn’t. He was the second-to-last. The last person had just checked in.

With a huge, deafening crack, the door crashed open, and Shannon screamed and froze, a wad of silk panties in her hands. Show was filling the doorway, panting. His fists were clenched, and his wrath was written across his livid face.

His eyes went to the suitcase and then to the clothes in her hand. “What the holy f*ck are you doing?”

His voice was so low it surprised her, after the crescendo of his shouts outside the door. But his fury was palpable.

“I have to go.” She threw the panties in the suitcase and turned for another handful, then decided she had enough. She could buy more. She just needed to go. Turning back to the bed, she flipped the suitcase closed and zipped it up.

“What? Shannon, you have to stop and talk. Now.” Still his voice was low and measured, but it came through his gritted teeth.

She pulled the suitcase off the bed, then realized that he was still in the doorway, blocking her path. She had to go! She had to go! She had to go right now! Her head was empty of everything but the need to get out.

“You have to move! I have to get out of here! I have to go!”

“No f*cking way. You’re not going anywhere.”

She didn’t think about what she did next. She hoisted the suitcase in both her hands, swinging it at him with all her might.