Taken: The MISTAKEN Series Complete Third Season (30 page)

“
J
enna
, wake up.”

I blinked a few times, not even realizing I had been asleep. I’d had to turn off the television after only a few minutes—even though the news today was totally relevant for once, there was nothing that was actually
news
. It was more speculation than anything. And I was getting tired of hearing that they could neither confirm nor deny what they were reporting—how was that news, anyway?

I sat up, trying to get the crick out of my neck from sleeping in such an awkward position. All I really wanted was to find a warm bed and pull the covers over my head. I definitely knew I couldn’t take any more bad news that night. Or any news, really—I still hadn’t been able to process whether what they were saying on TV was good or bad. The only news I really wanted was to hear was whether or not Brandon had made it through surgery.

“Jenna.” Marian’s voice was sterner that time, probably trying to pull me out of my near-catatonic state.

My voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. “I won’t believe anything they’re saying about my father until I see his cold, dead body lying on a coroner’s table.” If I had learned anything in the time I had known Brandon, it was to take nothing at face value. To not believe anything, even if I saw it with my own two eyes. Even if there was irrefutable evidence, I was never going to believe anyone about anything again. And I wasn’t about to believe some pundit on television saying that my father was dead—not unless I listened for the absence of a heartbeat myself.

She sat down next to me, letting out a long breath. Her exasperation with me now was exactly what I was used to—not the near-empathy that she had been showing me the past few hours.

She folded her hands in her lap. Whatever warmth she had shown me before was gone again. “I don’t blame you. I’m not sure I believe it myself. But under the circumstances, you
are
the only person who can identify his body. We’ll need to get you back to D.C. at some point in the very near future to do just that.”

I held up a palm, almost trying to wave her away. I shook my head—I was never going back to D.C.

“There will be questions. Specifically about your involvement with…” She cleared her throat, as though it was difficult to even say his name. “…Brandon.”

I stared at the wall. I’m sure my eyes were glazed over—it was difficult to try to understand how all the pieces fit together. I just swung my head from side to side again in response. There was no way I was going to be able to deal with this. No way I could figure all of this out.

The sternness in her tone had evaporated again, but there was still only the barest trace of warmth. “The world believes I’m dead, and I have every intention of keeping it that way. You’re going to have to deal with this on your own.”

My voice was quaking. “Right.” I wasn’t really sure what
this
was. Other than identifying the body of my father—I still couldn’t bring myself to admit what I knew had to be true. That whatever it was that had happened, Brandon had somehow been involved.

“You have a legacy to protect. I did my part by getting out of—“

I turned to her, interrupting. “You knew this was going to happen? You knew about all of this, didn’t you?” Tears filled my eyes though I wasn’t really sure why.

“Not … all.” Her voice almost cracked, though I had a difficult time believing that she felt any amount of remorse. “There are many things you don’t understand, Jenna. Many things that took place before you were even born.”

“Right.” I turned back to stare at the wall again, not even wanting to make eye contact with her. “Why don’t you start with what happened in the past few days? That seems like as good a place as any.”

She let out a sigh, shifting in her chair. “To explain that would require me to explain other things. Things I’m not sure you’re ready to hear.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, still not turning to look at her. We seemed to be back to square one—poor, naive Jenna, who can’t handle the truth about anything. I was pretty tired of people thinking that I was too fragile to understand what was going on. But whatever
was
going on this time was so far over my head that her not wanting to tell me probably had nothing to do with my fragility. It was likely more to do with my inability to understand whatever it was that was going on at even the most fundamental level.

What I did understand from the small amount of news coverage I had allowed myself to watch was this: all three candidates for the presidency were dead or missing. There had been some sort of coordinated attack. My father was almost certainly dead—at least that was what they were saying on television. His body was one of the two that had been recovered.

My chest felt tight at the thought, and I wasn’t quite sure if the guilt I was feeling was because he was dead or because I didn’t feel bad that he might be. It was almost a relief thinking the person I believed had caused so much of the disaster my life had become might finally be out of the picture. For good.

I glanced over at Marian before turning back to stare at the wall again. She was supposed to be dead, too, so I knew all about
those
kinds of news stories. Daniel was also supposed to be dead, but I had just spent an entire day with him—how many days ago was that? I couldn’t even remember now, but it hadn’t been that long ago. A few days ago, maybe. I knew I had no reason to ever believe another report that
anyone
was dead, ever again. Not unless I saw it myself. Not unless I pressed my own ear to the chest of that person and listened myself for the lack of a beating heart. I wasn’t even sure I could believe it if I used some kind of stethoscope. I had to believe there were ways of getting those things to trick people like me into believing whatever it was that someone else wanted me to believe. Someone like my father.

I knew I needed to see his body myself, but that would mean leaving this place—whatever it was—and going back to Washington to claim his body. And that wasn’t going to happen. At least not while Brandon’s life was still hanging by a thread in an operating room.

And the same went for Brandon—if they came out and told me he hadn’t survived, I wasn’t going to believe it until I witnessed it for myself. Until I held his cold, dead hand and pressed my ear to his chest one last time. I was never going to blindly trust anyone again. At least I had been able to learn that lesson, even if it had taken me years to do it.

I was finally able to get enough of a breath to speak again, my throat still thick with whatever it was I was feeling. Guilt, maybe. “The men…” My voice cracked again. I knew I needed to hear the answers to the questions I had, even if it meant that what Brandon had said earlier was true. Even if it meant finding out he wasn’t who I thought he was. “The photos of the men they showed me when they were questioning me. Were they the killers?”

She made almost a
tsk
sound with her tongue, shaking her head. “I don’t know what they showed you, Jenna. I wasn’t there.”

My gaze narrowed, but I didn’t turn to face her. “But you know.”

She made a sound through her nose, showing her annoyance with me again. “What I know and what I do not know really isn’t of any concern in this particular situation.”

I turned to her, lifting a brow. “I think it’s the most important concern. To me.”

She shook her head, breaking her momentary gaze away from mine. “Very well. But it’s a long story, Jenna. As I said, it started before you were born.” She glanced over at me, almost wincing before turning away again. “And you should also know, that what has happened in the past several months was done for your protection. Not as punishment.
That
is the most important thing for you to understand.”

Tears filled my eyes again and I turned back to stare at the wall, unable and unwilling to meet her gaze. It seemed like the safest thing to do at that moment. If I fell apart—if I began to cry or sob the way I was sure I was about to do, Marian would shut down. She wouldn’t tell me anything, using my tears as a reason to keep me in the dark even longer.

What she didn’t understand was that it wasn’t sadness that was upsetting me. I felt fully able to handle whatever it was she could throw at me—including the little barbs and digs that she seemed to relish.

She had interrupted my thoughts before I was even able to formulate a response to her. “I’m not the best person to relay this story, though. Not the more recent aspects. But the past…” Her voice broke, almost as though
she
was the one who was going to be too overcome with overwhelm or sorrow. “The past is one thing I know all too well.”

There was a long pause before she continued. “Lance and I had a long affair, Jenna.”

Lance. I flipped through the names I had stored in my memory, and it didn’t occur to me immediately. It had taken a long moment before I was able to remember the where I had heard the name before.

Lance Richardson. Brandon’s father. The investigator who was killed when he got just a little too close to whatever it was my father was doing. The boating accident that had killed both of Brandon’s parents and left him with a fear of water from which he had never recovered.

And everyone seemed to know that it had been no accident. The bodies of his parents were never found. And Brandon had never really recovered, either.

“The boy.” She let out a long sigh. “I don’t know how to tell you this…” She folded her hands in her lap again and began pulling on her fingers.

I hadn’t ever seen her nervous—not like this. She had always had nerves of steel, at least around me.

She cleared her throat, steeling herself. “I don’t…” She cleared her throat once more, turning to meet my gaze. “I knew that boy. I … Jenna, that boy did not have blue eyes. Lance had brown eyes. His mother…” She shook her head, clenching her jaw for a moment. “How do I say this to you? The boy who died in that accident—
died
. Brandon Richardson
died
. When he was five years old. And he was a beautiful little boy, Jenna. A beautiful little boy who had brown hair and brown eyes. And he
died
. With his father and mother.”

“That’s not true. Brandon is
here
, Marian. He remembers that day—“

She cut me off with a shake of her head. “He
thinks
he remembers that day. He isn’t who he says he is, Jenna.”

M
y mouth slackened
and my eyes widened at the statement. I knew I must have misheard her. My thoughts were scrambling to make sense of that information if it was even true. I tried to process what she had said, but it didn’t make sense. Nothing had made sense for a long time, but this seemed even more outrageous.

Krystal. Krystal was his sister—there was no way she would have gone along with a replacement brother. She would have known. She would have
had to have
known.

I turned to meet Marian’s gaze. “What about Krystal? Why would she have gone along with that? You’re wrong—you have to be.” I shook my head to myself, trying to convince myself that it was all another lie.

“Krystal was a young woman when it happened. She had been at boarding school and never really knew the boy. It wasn’t difficult for them to convince her. She lost her mother that day. I think she wanted to believe that she still had a family.” She cleared her throat again. “It isn’t hard to convince grieving people of anything.”

Krystal and Brandon weren’t related. She had told me that—it was the reason she hadn’t been able to help him when he was hurt the last time. The DNA hadn’t matched when they were tested. It hadn’t made any sense to me at the time. But I thought I was finally beginning to understand.

“Does she know now?” It was hard to breathe—my chest felt so constricted under the weight of this information, even though there was something else in my emotions. It was a lot of information to take in, but it was the
truth
. Finally, something that made sense.

Marian nodded. “She began piecing things together after
his
little accident last year.” She emphasized the word
his
as though Brandon wasn’t even a real person. “It was why we needed to get you away from him. No one is completely sure who he is or what he’s doing. He probably isn’t even sure.”

I nodded, turning away from her again. Things were finally coming into focus—not much, but a little. Maybe he did know that he wasn’t really the same person who had been in that boating accident.

I gulped, not sure I wanted the answer to the question I knew I needed the answer to most. “And the men. The men in the pictures?”

“Again, Jenna, I don’t know what you saw. But…” She hesitated though I wasn’t sure why. “But I imagine they may be similar to the man you call Brandon. Yes.”

“And what does that mean?” My stomach turned, my heart racing as I waited for the answer—it was what I had feared about Brandon all along.

“I don’t know exactly. But someone clearly does—it’s why they stopped questioning the two of you.”

I slumped back in my chair, closing my eyes. I tried to get to the answer myself. Tried to reason with myself who Brandon was or might have been.

What did I even know about him? I knew he loved me—it was the only answer I kept coming up with. Whatever else he was,
whoever
else he was, he loved me. I knew that much. That wasn’t something that could be programmed into someone—love wasn’t something people could fake. And it wasn’t like I hadn’t tested him—it wasn’t as though I hadn’t pushed him away as hard as I possibly could. And it wasn’t like I hadn’t used every excuse anyone had given me to try to end things with him. He hadn’t given up on me any of those times. And I knew I couldn’t give up on him. Not now. Not when he needed me most.

I
had thought
I knew what physical pain was. Having my guts hacked open had been a nightmare and I still remembered how much it hurt back then if I even
attempted
to move.

But this … this was totally different. It hurt to
breathe
. How in the hell could it hurt to fucking
breathe
? Every time I even attempted to pull air into my lungs, it felt like I was being stabbed with a flaming sword through the left side of my chest.

I opened my eyes and fuck if that didn’t hurt like hell, too. But at least both eyes opened this time. I had a vague recollection that I hadn’t been able to open one of them the last time I had tried, but both of them seemed to be functioning now. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

My head was still foggy, and I knew I must be on some kind of narcotic. Not that it was helping to dull even a tiny fragment of the pain—it didn’t seem to be doing anything but keeping me from being able to leave wherever I was being held.

I
am
being held. Aren’t I
?

I couldn’t remember where I was or what had happened. The last thing I really remembered had been seeing Jen outside the casino and then … blackness. Someone had to have jumped me, but I couldn’t remember.

The only thing I really knew for sure was that whoever had done this to me was going to pay. I’d find out who was behind this latest whatever-this-was and snap his neck like a twig.

The room was too bright—I couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t tell where I was. And it hurt to move my head, too. It was almost as though I had taken the beating of my life, every muscle in my body aching as much as I could ever remember. And the pain in my chest—it was like nothing I had ever felt before. Way worse than any broken ribs I’d had in the past. Not that it had happened many times, but there had definitely been a few.

I closed my eyes, mostly so I could see her again. Jen was there if my eyes were closed, and there was something comforting about that. I could almost smell her if I thought about it. I could almost taste her skin; the memory of her was so vivid if I just let my mind go there. If I just let go and allowed myself to imagine it.

It was over, though. Something inside me knew it was, but I longed to just hold her one last time. Whatever it was I had been sent here to do—it was hard to remember now—I knew it was over now. I wasn’t sure
how
I knew, but I did.

I wasn’t sure what they were going to do with me now. I knew they weren’t just going to let me go out into society and actually
live
. Maybe there would be another mission. Or maybe they would just dispose of me now, the way they had with so many others. I had always seemed to manage to get out of those situations somehow, proving my worth and displaying my allegiance. It had saved my life more than once, so I knew there was a chance it would again.

But it would mean leaving Jen for good.

The men in those photos … I didn’t know them. But I knew who they were—they were just like me. Men who weren’t really the people everyone thought they were. Not that any of us actually knew who we were—I didn’t, anyway. I hadn’t ever
met
anyone else like me, but I knew they existed. Other people knew, too. Ryan knew—how he had found out, I still wasn’t sure—but he had wanted what I had so badly he thought he could threaten me with death for it.

As if death was a bad thing. If I hadn’t had it drilled into my head so many times that death was not an option, I would have died a long time ago.

Death would have been an absolute luxury, but it seemed like they were never quite done with me. And now I didn’t really
want
to die—I just wanted a normal life with the woman I loved. I had done everything that had ever been asked of me. I had numbed myself into believing I hadn’t ever done the things I had locked away in that secret part of my mind that only I knew about. The part that somehow opened when I was near Jen—the part of me that could
feel
.

It was a double-edged sword, for sure. Allowing myself to feel what I did for her came with a price—it made me remember that I wasn’t the man she thought I was.

And I didn’t know exactly who I was, either. Only that I had dreams that were a little too realistic. Nightmares about things I had done that I was pretty sure were real—I just couldn’t remember with any certainty.

She wouldn’t be able to accept that. Hell,
I
couldn’t accept it. It was why I’d had to drink. It was why I was able to stop drinking when she had disappeared—when I was able to lock that part of myself up again. It hurt too much to let any of those memories—or whatever they were—leak out of that secured compartment in my brain.

But they were beginning to leak out again. And I wasn’t sure what it meant for Jen or for me.