by Peak, Renna
We went through a gate of some kind after Cade punched something into a keypad. It was the third one he’d had to punch numbers into since we had pulled through the entrance of this place. Jen might not have thought it was a prison, but it sure as hell seemed like it to me. What the hell kind of place made you enter a security code three times to get through if it wasn’t some kind of prison?
We finally pulled up to what I had first assumed was the main house—until I looked to the east and saw what had to be the main house—it was about ten times as big as the place we were at.
This didn’t seem real. None of this seemed real—that people actually lived like this. That Jen’s family had this much money—I mean, I knew they had money, but nothing like this. This was outrageous. This was … too much. Way too much. And the place we were being taken wasn’t even the main fucking house and it was the biggest house I had ever seen—until I looked east.
The look on my face must have given me away. She took my hand after we exited the car and looked up at me, smiling. “This is the carriage house.”
“Carriage house.” What the fuck is a carriage house? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I just felt completely out of my element even being here—it was over the top. Way the fuck over the top. I knew that Jen’s mother’s family was as close to royalty as this country had ever seen, but I was pretty sure most people didn’t have a fucking clue that they lived like this.
She forced a smile. I knew she could see I was uncomfortable—hell, it was impossible to hide. Anyone would have been uncomfortable here. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t ever realized any of this about Jen before. That this was the kind of life she had lived. Some heiress… That’s what she was. An heiress. And I had known that all along, I just hadn’t put it together until now. Until this was staring me in the face.
“It’s not mine, Brandon. This is all Marian’s. I had only been here a couple of times before … before.” She forced another smile as we walked through the doorway. “I didn’t grow up like this. I mean, the carriage house isn’t too much smaller than the house in Virginia where I grew up, but the main house…” Her voice drifted off as she looked up at me. “I’m not like this. You know that.”
I nodded. I did know that. I knew she wasn’t like this, but the whole this house isn’t that much smaller than the house I grew up in thing bothered me. I had money. I had a lot of money—but not this kind of money. I could do every dirty job from here to California, and I would never have this kind of money. I couldn’t give her this life.
And she seemed to know what I was thinking, because her forced smile turned into a real one. She touched my shoulder. “Brandon, this isn’t the life I want. I’d rather live in that shack in Waterville than a place like this. I’d rather live anyplace in Waterville than a place like—”
“Waterville? Is that where you’ve been all this time?”
I sucked in a breath at the booming voice that greeted us from the hallway. I recognized it immediately, and by the loss of color in her face, I knew that Jen had, too.
He walked over to us, smiling at me. I couldn’t read it—that smile. I couldn’t tell if it meant I was a dead man or if he was really happy to see me. He turned and smiled down at Jen. “I’ve missed you, Jenna. But I’m glad we have our family back together.”
Her mouth hung open for a moment before she found her words. “Hi, Dad.”
Taken #3
The MISTAKEN Series - Part Fifteen
1
Tap, tap, tap.
I watched the brown leather shoe rise and fall on the tile floor, and the sound of its tapping was all I could hear. It was like the air had been sucked from the room, turning it into an echo chamber, the sound of the tapping of his shoe the only thing capable of making any noise at all.
I knew he was waiting for me to say something. The tingling in my chest and sudden lightheadedness made it difficult to believe that my father was actually standing in front of me. But there was something else—the fact that he wasn’t surprised to see Brandon shouldn’t have been shocking at all. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t known they had been working together all along. It wasn’t as though his sister hadn’t told me everything—everything she knew, anyway. I had thought it didn’t matter. I had told myself over and over again that the fact that the man who loved me had also betrayed me didn’t mean anything. That what he had done for my father in the past didn’t matter anymore. That one day our love would triumph—it was the story I had told myself over the past nine months. It was one of the only things that kept me going—kept me believing that we would be together again someday.
Brandon slipped his hand into mine, giving it a squeeze. My stomach hardened, but I didn’t pull my hand away. There was something sweet about it—something that almost said that we would get through this mess together.
“I’m glad to see that the rumors of your death weren’t true.”
I could only stare at his shoe, tapping impatiently in front of me. I hoped that the words he was saying were true—that he really was happy that I was alive, but from everything I had experienced over the past year or so, I was pretty sure anything kind he might have had to say to me would be insincere.
“You don’t have anything to say for yourself, Jenna?”
I finally lifted my gaze from his tapping foot to look into his eyes. I had always thought I could read my father—we had been close at one time. But I knew that even if I thought I could read him, I didn’t know him at all. I knew that even though the woman who had raised me had finally decided that it wasn’t me who was the enemy and had decided once and for all to turn on the man who had betrayed us both, that the little I knew about him only scratched the surface of the things he had done in the past.
“I did what I had to do.” I sucked in a shaky breath. Leaving this life behind had been my only choice. It was the only choice given to me by the people who claimed to be helping me, anyway. And this scene wasn’t one I had pictured ever happening. I had pictured Brandon finding me and whisking me away to some far-off place where no one would ever find us, and I have envisioned it so many times. But facing my father—I hadn’t wanted to even think about the possibility of needing to do that again. It might have been some sort of reverse-wishful thinking, but I had hoped I wouldn’t ever have to face him again. I had planned to live that life forever—the plain life in the rural Maine town where I only looked like Jenna Davis. I had thought I had run so far from that reality that I believed I wouldn’t ever have to face it again. Running had seemed like the right option at the time. The only option.
He nodded, turning his gaze to Brandon. “Considering this delivery is about eight months overdue, we may have to renegotiate your compensation.” He glanced at me again before turning back to Brandon. “Not that I’m not happy to have my daughter back.”
“Of course.” Brandon gave my hand another small squeeze, turning to face me.
I looked over at him. There was something in his gaze—something I couldn’t quite read. Something that said things were about to get ugly, but I needed to trust him.
“Where is he?” My father cocked his head, giving Brandon an expectant look. His foot began the incessant tapping again.
Brandon cleared his throat, his brow furrowing slightly before he turned his gaze from mine and back to my father. “He wasn’t there.”
My father’s gaze narrowed. “You guaranteed me. You said—”
The shake of Brandon’s head cut him off. “I never guaranteed anything. I told you I thought he would be with her. That he would most likely be with her.”
My father’s voice lowered, almost to a growl. “I don’t have time for this.” He turned his gaze to mine before turning it back to Brandon. “We don’t have time for this. The election is in four months. You realize that, correct? Four months.” He shook his head, his gaze darting between the two of us. “No time for this.”
Brandon rolled his eyes.
The show of disrespect caused my father’s g
aze to narrow even further. “I’m not about to explain the intricacies of a presidential campaign to you, Brandon. If you can’t understand the pressure I’m under as a third-party candidate…” He let out a long sigh, turning back to me. His gaze and voice softened. “Jenna, you of all people can understand. If you know where he is, you need to tell us. I know I made things difficult for you before the two of you ran off, but I know you understand how important this is to me. How important this is to our family. I have a legitimate chance at an upset victory. Having you back will give us a huge advantage with the family voters.” He nodded, a small smile coming to his lips. “You just need to tell me where he is.”
I felt my eyebrows knit together. “Where who is? Who is ‘he?’” I had only been standing in that foyer for a few minutes, but it already felt too familiar. It already felt the same as it always had—that I was missing some big piece of the puzzle. That everyone else knew what was going on except for me. It was like the dream everyone has where they show up at school for a test, but they realize they’ve never even been to the class. It was like a big chunk of my life was missing—like I had been in the middle of that weird dream, unable to figure out how I had even come to be there.
My father let out a long sigh. “Daniel.” The way the name hung in the air, I almost expected my father to add the requisite, “Duh,” to the end of the statement.
Duh. Duh, Jenna. Daniel. His name wasn’t one that had even entered my consciousness in the past nine months. I hadn’t seen him—he never showed up for the stupid press conference that our fathers wanted us to attend, and I had run off to Montana that day with Brandon, anyway.
I shook my head. “Why would I have been with Daniel?”
Brandon squeezed my hand again, harder this time. It almost seemed like a warning, telling me to shut up. He lifted his gaze to mine, a forced smile on his lips. “Because you two left together that day. The day in D.C. You left together.”
I was almost sure that my father didn’t hear the barely audible emphasis Brandon had used on the word together. I knew that this was what he had been trying to telegraph to me with his gaze—to play along with whatever he said. It certainly didn’t seem like a bad idea—it wasn’t as though I had prepared myself for this confrontation—at least not for it to happen tonight.
I nodded. “Right. We left D.C. together, but I haven’t seen him since that day.”
His hand tightened around mine again, much more gently this time, and the tiny smile that formed on his lips before he turned back to my father was genuine.
Brandon set his jaw. “We’ll find him. There are only a few places he could be if he wasn’t with Jen. And we need to also consider the possibility—”
“We would know if he was dead.” His gaze darted to mine for a split second—almost with a look of regret—before he turned it back to Brandon. “If he was really dead.”
I was surprised by the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. Coupled with my sudden desire to punch the stucco wall next to me, the flash of rage shocked me. I was almost relieved when it passed almost as quickly as it arrived. I’d had plenty of time in the past several months to think about the Daniel Conspiracy, as I had come to call it in my head. It was the one thing that still wasn’t clear to me—the one question I still had about what in the hell all of this was about. I knew about the arranged marriage part of it—I had known about that from the beginning. But how everyone in my life had conspired to fake his death and keep that fact from me still made no sense. And it didn’t seem like anyone was going to be willing to explain it to me any time soon.
I was sure my father saw how my teeth had gritted together at the mention of Daniel. He cocked his head. “Where did you go? Where was the last place you saw him?”
Brandon cleared his throat again. “It’s been a long day. I’m sure Jen wasn’t prepared to have to deal with an inquisition tonight. We can all sit down and figure this out in the morning.”
My father’s gaze narrowed again. He knew. I could see he was aware that something else was going on—that things weren’t as they seemed. “It has been a long day.” He turned his gaze back to mine. “I know you might not believe it, but I am happy to see you, Jenna. I honestly have missed you.”
I could only nod in response. There had been a time when those words would have made tears come to my eyes—where I would have legitimately become misty-eyed at the kind words my father was saying. But even though he sounded genuine, I knew nothing could be farther from the truth. My stomach hardened at the truth of the situation. There was nothing genuine or real about Patrick Davis. There was nothing that he missed about me other than having me available as a pawn in whatever game he was playing at the time. It had become abundantly clear to me over the past months that the only reason my father cared at all about me was because of the woman who had given birth to me—because of the increased value that put on my head.
It was still hard to believe that I had lived a quarter of a century with no idea of who I really was. And the truth still made my head spin when I thought about it.
“We should get some sleep.” Brandon nodded, turning back to me. “We should all get some rest. Tomorrow will be a big day.”
My father shook his head. “I’ll have someone show you to one of the guest rooms, Jenna.” His gaze darted back to Brandon, narrowing again. “You’ll understand that I won’t be allowing your … reunion under my roof.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Your roof?” I was surprised at the sarcasm in my voice—maybe I really was tired. I couldn’t remember ever speaking to my father like that or insinuating anything about the relationship that he and my mother shared. Or didn’t share.
“Yes, my roof, Jenna. It may be known as the Hennessey Compound, but community property laws still make it at least half mine.” He smiled. “At least.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. But I could tell by the way he was joking about his relationship—or lack thereof—with Marian that he didn’t know. I could tell that he had no idea that I had spent the first five months of my disappearance at this very compound, under this same roof that he was claiming belonged to him. If he had known, there wouldn’t have been any jokes about it at all.
I pressed my lips together to keep a smile from forming on them. I knew I couldn’t give away that information—not yet. “Where is Marian?”
My father lifted a brow. “When my plane landed, the staff told me she had gone to the main house to go to bed. They said she wasn’t feeling well.”
I nodded. “And you just happened to be headed here? To Maine? Today?” I knew I was playing with fire. I knew that if I said too much, it would give away Marian’s role in my disappearing act.
“I flew here as soon as I heard Brandon had found you.”
I glanced over at Brandon. Something wasn’t adding up. He kept his gaze focused on my father, his hand barely tightening around mine again. I could almost hear him saying the words trust me in his slight grasp.
I nodded, turning back to my father. “I see.” I gave Brandon one last glance before letting go of his hand. “I think I would like to go to bed. We can hash this out in the morning. And maybe one of you can tell me then why Daniel would have anything to do with the outcome of a presidential campaign.”
2
“Follow me, son.”
I could almost feel the bile rise into my throat at that word—son. I couldn’t stand that he had taken to calling me by that term of endearment, and my upper lip twitched as I forced myself not to sneer.
Jen had already disappeared up the stairs, accompanied by what I could only assume was one of the maids that were running around the house. There was almost a sense of panic among the many staff members—people were moving just a little too quickly and were just a little too quiet. Or maybe it was all in my head. It was just as likely that this was how they always behaved when Senator Davis was around. But there just seemed to be something—something I couldn’t put my finger on.
I followed h
im past the formal living room and into a smaller living area that opened into the formal dining room. Calling it a living area was a bit of a joke—everything was so pristine that it didn’t look like the house had ever been lived in. Or used.
He walked over to the bar in the far corner of the room before turning to me. “Still scotch, right? Neat?”
I shook my head. “Club soda is fine.”
He snickered. “Right. I forgot that you had given up the drink.” He turned back to the bar. “I think you can fall off the wagon for one night to help me celebrate the return of my daughter.”
I stood in the center of the room, almost frozen. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. There wasn’t supposed to be some “celebration” of Jen’s return to her father’s nest. The only celebration was supposed to be our making love on a beach somewhere—somewhere where I was sure he would be unable to find us. Or at least be unable to harm us. It wasn’t the finding I had been worried about so much as it was the other bullshit. The threats and the making good on those threats that I knew he was capable of. Capable of handing off to someone willing to harm us, anyway. His hands were clean. They always had been and I knew they always would be.
He poured the drinks and walked back to me, placing a glass in my hand. He lifted his tumbler of amber liquid in the air. “To Jenna.”
I lifted my own glass. “To Jenna.” I took a small sip, almost wincing at the burn of the alcohol on my tongue. I hadn’t given up alcohol because I thought I was addicted to it. I had never had any sense that I was an alcoholic or addict of any kind—I just didn’t like the man I became when I drank. I didn’t like that I was almost able to do the things that this man asked me to do if I had enough to drink. Since I had witnessed what had become of Amanda and known that I was drunk enough that day to have done the job her step-brother had been only too happy to finish, I hadn’t touched the stuff. Not even once. What I had told Jen in her broken-down shack had been true—I hadn’t had a drop to drink since I had seen her last.