Taken: The MISTAKEN Series Complete Third Season (2 page)

I shook my head and turned to face the sidewalk again. “At least fifty.” I smiled to myself. Persistence could be nice. I almost started to feel like it might not hurt
too
much if I agreed to a date. It might be nice to have someone pay attention to me. And he did say that my hair was pretty.

“Dang, I don’t remember the ‘at least’ part. I think you just added that.”

“Maybe.” I smiled again, despite the small pang of guilt I felt in my stomach. It was nice to flirt again. Nice to feel like someone wanted me. I knew it would never happen with Tommy, but the attention was still nice.

“There’s a bonfire tonight down at the beach. I’ll be there if you decide to show up.”

I lifted a brow and turned back to him. “Isn’t that where the high school kids go? To the bonfires?”

He shrugged and slipped his hand into mine. “We aren’t that far out of high school, Becky.”

I let out a long sigh. I knew I looked younger than my nearly twenty-five years, and I knew most of the townspeople thought I was only barely twenty-one. That was what the fake identification I had been given said. I also knew that Tommy was a lot closer to being the same age as the high school kids who hung out at those bonfires than I was. But it still didn’t mean I wanted to hang out with high school students.

I tried to wrestle my hand away, but he tightened his grip. I decided to relax my arm instead of trying to fight him on it again. He had a thing about holding my hand, even though I hated being touched now. But I let it go. I let him hold my hand—let myself be touched by a man in the first time in forever. We were almost back to my little place, anyway, and it wasn’t worth the hassle. “That doesn’t count as number fifty, you know.”

“Sure it does. And the next time I ask, it will be fifty-one. And then you’ll
have
to say yes.” He turned to me again with a smile, walking me to my front door. “And it will be one hundred percent worth it.”

I slipped my key into the lock and swung my door open. I turned back to face him. He was too eager, too overbearing. But I felt a little bad that I had never even given him a chance. I hadn’t ever really even seen him in
that
way—only as the annoying-but-hot-as-hell handyman who came over to fix things once in a while. The guilt of knowing that—that I wasn’t being fair to Tommy—was almost as strong as the guilt I felt over what almost seemed like cheating on Brandon. Except that I
knew
I wasn’t cheating. Talking to this man—having dinner with this man—wouldn’t be cheating. When he leaned in to kiss me, though, I knew that
would
be cheating. And while I thought there might be a sliver of a chance that I could have dinner with another man, there was no way in hell I would ever
kiss
another man, let alone do anything else. Brandon didn’t deserve that. No matter whatever else happened in my life, I knew I would always belong to him—even if I never laid eyes on him again.

I ducked my head away from his and took a step back into the doorway. I shook my head. Tears stung at my eyes and I fought to keep them there.

“That isn’t going to happen today.” It wasn’t fair to him to lead him on. It wasn’t fair to me that Brandon was gone, and that I would never see him again. Nothing about this situation was fair, but I knew I had to move on with my life. I had to give him a chance.

He bowed his head. “It was worth a try.”

I forced a smile. “Maybe after fifty-one…”

He looked down at me, giving me an almost sheepish grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I smiled at him again before I closed the door without another word. Maybe it was worth a try. Maybe it was time to let go of Brandon once and for all.

T
his was exactly
the type of place she would go.

The smell of salt water was thick in the air—almost too thick. It almost made me want to gag, it was so thick. The entire town was within six blocks of the beach, and the beach here was sandy for some reason, not rocky like the other beaches I had seen while driving here. She could build her damned sand castles on this beach. I knew it in my gut—this was exactly the kind of place she would hide. I knew she was here—there was something that just
told
me she was.

And I could feel her.

I hated admitting that—any of that new-age bullshit that my grandmother used to blather on about. The whole I-can-feel-her thing was a little too out there for me—a little too woo-woo—but I knew it was true. It was how I knew she wasn’t dead, even though the rest of the world had given up on her. It was the reason I kept chasing the “Jenna-sightings,” as I had come to call them. It was why I was here in the first place.

At first, there had been hundreds of credible sightings—everywhere from small towns to huge cities overseas. Deciding which of them to follow was a chore, at first. I liked to think that I had whittled it down to a science—the number of different people who had spotted her, the relative locations, the credibility of each of the people reporting them … and my gut. If my gut said there was no way Jen was working as a prostitute in Amsterdam, then there was no way in hell I was going to Amsterdam to check out a sighting. The overseas sightings never made much sense, anyway. There hadn’t been any activity on her passport, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t exposed her to enough of my life for her to know who to contact to get a fake one. I only prayed she hadn’t come to be involved with someone else who
could
get her a fake passport.

The number of reports had dwindled over the past few months—until her father had reentered the presidential race a few days ago. Then they had blossomed once again, almost to the point of being ridiculous. But there was something about this one—this report from a teenage girl. A random social media posting that even her friends probably ignored … something about it screamed at me. I felt it in my gut—this was the one. This one in wherever-the-fuck, Maine. Some random small town where Jen would have fit right in. Some bored girl, forced by her parents to go on a vacation she didn’t want to take, had posted that the lady who sold her a sweatshirt at some stupid gift shop in some podunk town in Maine had looked exactly like Jenna Davis. Jenna Davis with red hair. Some random comment by a pissed off teenager had led me back to her. I knew it. I could feel it in my gut.

I pulled open the door to the office of the only real estate agent in town. On a normal day, the jingling of the bells on the other side of the door would have annoyed the hell out of me, but I knew this wasn’t an ordinary day. This was the day I would find her. Get her back. I wasn’t going to get my hopes up—not yet, but this was the most hopeful I had felt since that awful day last October. The day I was taken from her.

I didn’t have time to get lost in the memories of what had happened. I had a small-town real estate agent to charm—to fool into thinking I would actually buy a house in a hell-hole town like this. Those jingling bells actually had me feeling hopeful—almost excited at the prospect of seeing her. I just had to be careful. I knew if Jen caught wind that I was looking for her, she might run. She would probably be stupid not to. Considering I had no idea what Jen was thinking—only that she had to be hiding for some reason—the sight of me should scare the holy hell out of her.

The woman behind the desk smiled at me as she stood up, extending her hand. “Can I help you?”

These days, I normally had to grit my teeth to even force a smile to my face, but not today. Today, it came easily. Today, it almost wasn’t fake. I extended my hand to shake hers. “Yes, I was wondering if you had any beachfront properties available in the area. I’m trying to surprise my fiancée with a new weekend place. We’ve visited here a few times, and she just loves it.” They weren’t all lies. Jen would be my fiancée if I could ever find her, and I had no doubt that she
would
love a place like this. I also knew that even though I was wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, I looked out of place. There was no way I would pass for a local, even if I tried to tell her I lived in one of the other podunk towns dotting the winding highway that ran up the Maine coastline.

She cocked her head—it was pretty obvious that she didn’t do a lot of business. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect the one-woman show she had going on here, but it wasn’t exactly a high-end realty office, either. “So you want a place to spend the weekends? Are you driving in from Bangor, or…?”

Why the fuck do people have to ask so many goddamned questions?
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to keep the smile on my face.

“Boston.” I only prayed that she didn’t know that city any better than I did. Why did it matter where I was going to come from, anyway? I took a deep breath to calm myself—none of this mattered. I just needed to know if Jen was here. I didn’t give a damn about her properties or vacation homes. I only wanted to find Jen.

My answer seemed to satisfy her, because her smile widened. “Boston. Lovely city.” She walked around her desk and took a small stack of flyers from a shelf. “I’ve only been there a few times myself, but what a lovely place.”

I grunted in agreement. I didn’t care any more about Boston than I did this poor excuse for a town. But it was a plausible story, and plausible was all I needed at the moment. I tried to force the frustration I was feeling out of my voice. “Do you have anything available? Because I can go up to Bangor and see what they have listed there if I need to.”

She interrupted. “No, no. You don’t need to do that.” She turned up the charm. “I’m sure I can help you find something lovely to surprise your fiancée.”

“Good. It doesn’t have to be much—just somewhere we can come spend our weekends.” I took another deep breath—as much as I didn’t want to spook Jen into running, I didn’t want to freak this woman out, either. If there was one thing I had learned in the months I had been searching for Jen, it was that real estate agents—especially the small town ones—knew everything there was to know about the town and its residents. If she so much as suspected I was playing her, she would clam up in a heartbeat and it would be that much more difficult to find out if Jen was really here.

“Oh, I can imagine how hectic your life must be in the city. Actually, I can’t imagine. I’ve lived here almost my whole life.”

I nodded. “Really? So you must know the town inside and out.”

“Oh, I do.” She grinned. “Anything you need to know, I’m your girl.” She raised her eyebrow almost suggestively.

I glanced down at her hand and noticed the lack of a wedding ring. I could probably use that to my advantage—not that I had any interest in her, obviously. Even if I hadn’t been there searching for Jen, the woman was much older than me. She was much older than Krystal, my sister, and Krystal was thirteen when I was born. I was playing this wrong—she would give me more answers if I flirted than if I acted like I was head over heels in love with my non-existent fiancée. I smiled, my eyes twinkling at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name…?”

She giggled, almost like a teenager. She extended her hand again. “I’m so silly. I’m Georgia. And you’re…?”

I grasped her hand again, lightly this time, giving it a small squeeze.

“Happy I came to visit you, Georgia.” I smiled again. “Tell me something. Do you get many tourists through here? I’m really looking for a place with a lot of privacy.” I winked at her. “If you know what I mean…”

She giggled again. “Oh, not so many anymore. There’s just the one motel now, and they don’t do a whole lot of business these days. Bob and Carol have let the place get pretty run down, and they make most of their money from the gift shop now. It’s right on the highway, you know, so they get a lot of traffic in there from that. Actually, since they hired that new girl, they’ve been doing pretty well. She’s really business-savvy, that Becky.” She grinned. “I should hire her to get me some more clients like you.”

Business-savvy.
I didn’t know Jen like that, but I did know she had an MBA that she never used. It wasn’t a stretch to think that she could be business-savvy. She was an intelligent woman—it was one of the things I loved most about her. That she could carry on an intelligent conversation, unlike so many other women I had had the misfortune of spending time with… It didn’t matter. I had to find out if this Becky woman was really Jen. It matched with what the girl had posted about her vacation in this town—that the woman in the gift shop here looked exactly like Jen. It had to be the same person.

I winked at Georgia again. “I’ll tell you what, Georgia. It was a long drive in, and I’m pretty beat. I think I’ll go get a room at that motel. Why don’t you get a list of places together, and I’ll come back first thing in the morning and you can show them to me. Sound like a plan?”

The woman beamed at me, nodding. “There are at least four homes here that I can show you. I’ll make sure they’re ready for you to see, and you can pick out your favorite for that fiancée of yours.”

I nodded, turning for the door. I was relieved that she hadn’t asked for my name or for a business card. I hated lying about my name—it always made the job more difficult. “Thanks, Georgia. I’ll be by first thing in the morning.”

I almost felt a pang of guilt as I slid behind the wheel of the rental car. I knew I wouldn’t be back in the morning—I knew there was no way I would even spend the night here. This was all going to be over in a matter of hours. I would know her when I saw her—I would know if Becky was really Jen. And if it was her, I was getting both of us the hell out of here as quickly as was humanly possible.

I drove the short distance to the motel—there was no mistaking it. It was the only motel in town, and probably the only one for at least a twenty-mile stretch of highway. And, like Georgia had said, it was pretty run down. I could almost hear Jen telling me it was shabby-chic, only there was nothing chic about it. It was a dive.

I pulled up outside the motel, on the side of the gift shop where the Becky-person worked. My breath was suddenly bottled up in my chest and I felt a fluttering in my gut. I wasn’t sure if I was more nervous or hopeful that I had finally found her. After all these months, I was almost sure I had finally found her.

I tried to ignore my racing heart as I slid out from behind the wheel. I wasn’t even sure how I was going to play this—how I was going to approach her. I didn’t want to scare her—I knew there had to be a reason she hadn’t contacted me. She must have been afraid after everything that happened. After spending however much time she had alone—I couldn’t even imagine how afraid she must have felt when she found out I was gone. But I couldn’t help but feel some amount of hope—I had imagined our reunion so many times. The look she would have in her eyes, how any fear she might have would melt away when she saw me. How I would take her in my arms—how I would kiss her. Claim her. Make her remember how much I loved her. Because Christ, if there was one thing in life that I was still sure about, it was that I loved her more than I could even explain.

I blew out a long breath and swung open the glass door. There were a few customers there—people milling about, pawing through the touristy merchandise that stuffed the store. I noticed a long hallway that led back into what might have been a residence. The gift shop also served as the lobby of the motel, which was across the parking lot from where I had left my car. It was a strange setup—having the buildings detached like that. From what I had seen of the motel itself, it probably should have been condemned. I couldn’t imagine anyone actually staying there. I doubted that this place had many overnight visitors, but by the merchandise in the store area, it didn’t look like getting people to stay in the motel was the point. Someone had turned the lobby into a large gift shop, and it was pretty obvious that selling all this “Welcome to Maine” crap was where this place made its money.

There was a man behind the counter, but no sign of Jen. The man had to be at least as old as her father—seventy at best, probably even older. He looked up and must have seen me staring. He smiled when I finally made eye contact with him, giving me a nod.

I still wasn’t sure how I was going to approach this encounter—what I was going to say to him to find out if this Becky person was really my Jen. This wasn’t one of the scenarios I had rehearsed in my head on my drive from Bangor. It wasn’t one of the scenes I had played out on the long flight here. But I knew I needed to do something. I approached the counter, forcing a smile.

He nodded at me again. “Can I help you?”

I scraped my hand across my stubble-lined jaw, trying to come up with some reason to talk to the old guy. “Great place you have here.”

His smiled widened. “Thanks. The wife and I like it just fine.”

I ignored the pang in my stomach. Surely, he wasn’t talking about Jen—she couldn’t have married him. I hoped she wouldn’t have, but it stung, nonetheless. “How long have you had the place?”

His smile fell just a bit. “Oh, Carol and I have had it probably close to thirty years. It was supposed to be our retirement project.”

I felt my smile widen, almost relieved that he hadn’t been talking about Jen when he referred to his wife. I motioned behind me with my hand. “Love the gift shop. My brother runs a little inn on the Oregon coast. I’ll have to tell him about it. Seems like a great way to make some extra money.”

He nodded. “It’s been a godsend. We were only selling thimbles and spoons until a few months ago.”

I lifted a brow. “Oh? What changed?”

He paused for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. “We got some new help is all.”

I felt another pang in my chest. I could see that he knew something about me wasn’t right. I had to force myself to keep the smile on my face. “New help? I know my brother has a terrible time keeping anyone. The local help where he lives isn’t very reliable. I’m sure he’d love to know your secret.”