NUMB - Judy Colella (good beach reads txt) 📗

the FBI months ago, when Atarah was first abducted. As far as I know, they hadn’t been able to locate her, but now that you’ve given them a lead, they’ll probably find her soon.”

Ondine nodded and stood, chewing on her lower lip. “Um, are you thirsty? Might I make you some coffee or tea?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, having suddenly found it difficult to speak. The thought that Atarah and – and her son were definitely alive, and that her whereabouts were somewhat known was incredible news. It meant there was hope. He blinked, remembering Ondine had asked him a question. “Oh. Sorry. Uh, sure, if it isn’t a hassle.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it were. I’m not that polite.” She grinned and went back through the door into whatever space was there – a kitchen, he suspected.

Now what? Should I tell Mom? And what about Jett? Would it be wise to let him in on this, especially since there’s a chance things could go wrong and ‘Tarah doesn’t make it home…shit, shit, shit.

“How’s your brother?”

Strange you should ask. “Better.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, but then came back out into the main room, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“He, well, he didn’t take things very well. I’ll tell you everything when you’re done in there.” He could smell the coffee beginning to brew and found it comforting.

“All right. How do you take yours?”

Five minutes later she had settled her petite frame into the cushions of the love seat once more, tucking her legs up and breathing in the luscious aroma steaming from her coffee mug. “Talk.”

He did. He told her everything, and how, even though Jett was home, he wasn’t certain if his brother’s apparent recovery was complete. “And now I need to access Atarah’s email account so I can delete it. I don’t think it would be good for Jett to be able to read things either to or from her at this point. He needs to eventually get over this, especially if for some reason she – she doesn’t make it back.”

“He would never get over it, Jax, not if she was actually dead. Anyway, I believe she will make it home, and refuse to give up. But you said Jett still can’t speak?”

“He sort of does. Kind of like a raspy whisper, and he says it hurts to talk, so he’s thinking of learning ASL.”

“Which means you’ll all have to learn it, too, then.”

“Yeah. Not sure I’m happy about that, but it’s for his good, not mine. At least Sign Language is English. That ought to make it a little easier.” He took a sip. “Wow, this is really good coffee.”

“Hmm. I cook really well, too.” She raised an eyebrow at him, a tiny grin lifting one corner of her mouth.

“Talented. What do you do for a living, though?” He’d wondered about that when she said she had gone out of town, assuming it had to do with her job.

“I’m a buyer for a modeling agency. I find unusual outfits and clothing designers – they don’t want their models wearing the latest from Paris and all that because the competition is too great. So they’ve started their own niche in the industry. It’s a lot of fun.”

“Are you a model, too?”

She laughed. “Too small, I’m afraid. I mean, yes, being an Amazon is no longer required, but I don’t have the right basic stature or…attitude or something. Don’t want to model, either. Too much crap goes on behind the scenes that I can’t see myself dealing with very well.”

“Yet you’re easily as beautiful as any of them.” The words were out before he could stop himself, and he turned several shades of red, feeling his blush and hating that he had been so filterless.

“Why, Jax, that was extraordinarily nice of you to say – thank you!”

As the blush faded, he marveled at how kind-hearted this lovely girl was. With those few words, she had completely diffused an embarrassing moment that might have sent him running for the door. “Um.” He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.” He sure as heck knew enough about women not to say he was sorry.

Whatever would have been said next was obliterated by a loud crash downstairs. Someone had obviously kicked in the door.

Ondine put her cup on the table and ran for the wall where she’d placed her rifle. “That son of a bitch!” she said, teeth clenched. “He promised he’d break in and get me for always calling the cops on him!”

Jax was on his feet, too. “Look, forgive me for doing the macho guy thing, but may I have that gun? I do know how to use it.”

Her eyes on the door, she handed it to him, nodding.

“Get in the other room,” he hissed.

She got.

A second later, the door was kicked open like the one downstairs, but with a lot less noise since it wasn’t locked.

He aimed at the doorway as a middle-aged man burst in, and who then stopped, gaping, as much at Jax as at what he held.

“Jett?”

“No, you stupid bastard, his brother. You have exactly three seconds to get your ass down those stairs and out of the building before I blow your fucking head off.”

“Oh, wait till you see what I write about you!”

“Wait till you see how much I don’t care.” He took aim.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’m not my brother. One.”

“That’s murder!”

“Two.”

“Ass hole!”

Jax almost laughed at the lameness of that, but instead, said, “Three” and pulled the trigger.

The blast was incredibly loud in the open space of the studio. The reporter, whimpering, was on the ground, curled up, hands over his ears before the echoes died away. Jax went to him, shoved him in the backside with the toe of one shoe and told him to get up.

The man curled in tighter on himself.

“Great. What are you, two years old? Get the hell up and leave. I never miss, dude, but I do have mercy – the first time. If I have to fire again, that mercy will be gone and you’ll be dead. What were you going to do to the young lady if I hadn’t been here? Beat her up? Rape her? Or just scare her? Whichever it was, you’d still have proven yourself to be a total coward. So go ahead and write your story. I have enough connections to have one written about you that would assure you of being unemployed for the rest of your goddam life. GET OUT!!!”

The man uncurled enough to look up at Jax and see what was in his eyes. He was on his feet and out the door in seconds. His rush down the stairs took the form of him jumping several steps at a time, and then he was gone.

Jax, who had followed him out and watched his wild descent, returned and shut the studio door, put the safety back on the rifle, leaned it against the wall and turned around.

Ondine, her eyes huge, was biting one knuckle.

“Are you okay?”

Her answer was to rush forward and throw her arms around him.

Wow! The big-guy-defending-the-fair-maiden thing actually works? Dang! He returned her hug, gently, and noticed how good she smelled. How soft her hair was. Uh-oh.

And then she pulled back and looked up into his eyes, gratitude and something that looked like humor shining in hers.

That was all it took. He gave her a half-smile, admitting that his long-established bachelorhood seemed to have met a sudden and unexpected end.

*15*

 

 

Merely going to St. Petersburg and taking her back wasn’t going to be enough. Kobienko needed to get some revenge in the process, and as much as he adored Atarah, he felt she had betrayed him, and thus should be punished. Letting the French doctor have her for a while should have been torture enough, but his twisted sense of justice wouldn't let him be satisfied with that. So when his search had finally yielded an address, he chose to wait. Eventually, the girl would find a way to contact either her family or government. In that case, his lying-in-wait – what was it they called it in America? A stakeout? – yes, this would put him in place to carry out his plan for vengeance.

His lips curled upward as he thought about what he’d do. If government agents showed up, he’d follow them inside, shoot them if necessary, and then rape her until she bled before tying her up and hauling her back to the clinic. If her moron of a husband arrived, he’d inject the young man with a serum that caused instant paralysis, make him watch as he raped his wife, and then make Atarah watch as he dismembered her husband. Oh, yes, this would be wonderful. After that, she wouldn’t dare defy him again. Besides, she might understand that his love for her was so great, he was willing to do those disgusting things for her alone.

A light went on in the window of the second-floor apartment which he now knew was hers, and he leaned back against the door of the building across the street where he’d been watching for several hours. After seeing her go inside with her little brat – he had plans for that creature, too – he had stepped deeper into the shadowy recess around the door and begun what would probably be another long, unfruitful vigil. Oh, how he longed to run over there, let her know he’d found her, and make her his. All night long. And dear Dr. Chevon would have to settle for slightly used goods...unless he chose not to tell her he'd found Atarah. Yes. That would work, especially since it would probably take a long time for the sculptress to recover from what he was going to do to her.

He sighed, content that at least he could get to her now, any time he wished. And for the time being, that would have to do.

 

*******

 

Jett sat in the living room, staring at the floor between his feet, pondering what he had been told by the FBI agent. That afternoon, his mother and Jax had gone somewhere – shopping, they said, for a book of some kind on safe exercises following severe injuries. Not that he needed it. The physical therapists at the Foundation had shown him all the things he could do to continue rebuilding his musculature.

The exercises and therapy had worked, too, but there wasn’t a thing anyone could do about the nerve damage. He’d been told by his therapist – a man from whom Jett had demanded complete honesty, and who had therefore rendered it – that every time he participated in any kind of track or field event, every time he practiced his skills, any time he so much as did simple exercises, he would for the rest of his life experience one of several levels of pain, depending on how strenuous the activity was. Maybe that was what his mother thought this book could help him with.

Irrelevant now, though. As was everything except what the man on the phone had said. Russia. Somewhere in Russia. Atarah. Alive, safe, and with a two- to three-month-old child. What?

How was this possible? Why wouldn’t she have contacted him herself? Had he only imagined that her love for