The TAKEN! Series - Books 1-4 (Taken! Box Set)

by Remington Kane

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes, but Gabby is in the kitchen.”

  “Tell her that I couldn’t sleep and went for a drive.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’ll explain when I get home.”

  “Do you need me?”

  Jessica looked down at Jackson Poole and smiled. Not many people will patronize a plastic surgeon whose face looks like a Picasso, nor will many women fall prey to his charms.

  “No, what I did, I needed to do alone.”

  There was silence on the line for a moment, but then she heard him ask a question.

  “He came back to hurt her, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s dangerous to roam about in the night.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “When will you be home?”

  “Soon, and baby?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, and Jessica, please be careful,”

  “I will, see you soon.”

  She put her phone away and went back to work.

  Twenty minutes later, two police officers responded to an anonymous tip and discovered Jackson Poole. His assailant, presumably a prowler, was never found.

  PART THREE – UNFINISHED BUSINESS

  CHAPTER 10

  He gave Jessica a kiss and then watched as she put on her earphones and climbed aboard the treadmill. He moved up the basement steps as if he were gliding and exited out the back door that sat off the kitchen.

  The cold hit him the moment he stepped outside and he could see his breath leave in a mist of white, as a steady fall of snow added to the already blanketed landscape.

  He spent two minutes stretching by the porch railing as he limbered up in preparation to run. When he was ready, he headed east, towards the impotent sun, which on this winter’s day did little to warm the earth.

  Their property was secluded, their acreage large, and although their house was of modest size, they had designed it together and it suited them to perfection.

  He ran along a snow-covered trail that in the summer was bordered by wildflowers, but that now wound its way between layers of dead leaves and fallen branches. His pace was a steady one, and before long, he emerged out onto a little used county road and felt his body adjust to his demands, and if not for the feel of the ground beneath his feet, he would have sworn he was floating.

  Two miles later, he rounded a curve and saw a curious sight. A car, an older model, parked onto the narrow shoulder, its engine running, its door unlocked, and, its driver missing.

  He halted his run and gazed about, thinking that perhaps the call of nature was great and that the driver was behind a tree or a bush, relieving themselves. He looked along the shoulder and saw the single set of boot prints left in the snow and decided to track them to their source.

  When the tracks continued on deep into the woods, he quickened his pace. The prints were headed northwest, headed directly for their home and his instincts were telling him to hurry, yet to also be quiet, lest his new prey turn and become predator.

  He saw him just as the house came into view and the intruder was already on their property. The man was dressed much like himself in a running suit and ankle-high boots with a knit cap upon his head.

  He told himself that the man was harmless, that he was just some lost motorist looking about for a local to guide him back to the main highway. He told himself this, but he did not believe it.

  As he crept ever closer, he watched the man move stealthily about his home’s exterior while checking for an unlocked door or window, and knew that by now the perimeter alarms would be warning Jessica of his presence, but then he remembered the earphones, she was wearing earphones when he left her.

  As he moved along, he silently cursed himself for not backing up the alarm with accompanying strobe lights that would blink incessantly in concert with the sound. He made a mental note to fix that hole in their defenses even as he stalked ever closer to their uninvited guest.

  The man unzipped his jacket and out came a gun with a short, stout sound suppressor attached. The man was staring downward, and he realized that there was a basement window there, a basement window that offered a view of their home gym.

  As the man aimed the gun at the window, he was still forty feet away and knew that he would never reach him in time. Without breaking his stride, he scooped up a snow-covered rock and in one smooth motion hurled it at his target. The rock struck the man in the small of his back and caused him to fire high, and his shot hit the side of the house.

  The gunman turned quickly, nearly as quickly as he could, and he realized that if he tried to tackle him that he would be shot dead. As the man fired, he leapt behind a stack of firewood and wished that he had a gun instead of the folding knife secured in the side of his boot.

  The man came at him boldly, without speaking a word, and there was nowhere to run. The cord of firewood he hid behind stood six feet high and he had just cut it the previous day.

  As he bent his knees and pressed his back against the logs, he listened.

  From the right, the man was approaching from the right.

  He swung the ax he had used to cut the wood and hit the man in his gun hand. The weapon fell to the ground along with a finger, and he followed through with a backhand swing and smashed the man on the side of the head with the flat of the axe blade. The man tumbled unconscious atop the snowy ground and lay there in a heap.

  Even as the man fell, Jessica was sprinting out of the house with a gun in her hand.

  “Oh God, are you alright?”

  “I’m fine, but as you can see we have a visitor.”

  After retrieving the man’s gun, he checked him for ID and additional weapons and found neither.

  “Who is he?” Jessica said.

  “I don’t know, but I think he was sent here to kill you.”

  “What? Why would anyone want me dead?”

  He looked down at the injured man as his blood ran as cold as the air about them.

  “I don’t know who would want you dead, but he does.”

  “I’m calling the police,” Jessica said, as she turned to go back into the house.

  “No police, if he doesn’t want to talk, the police can’t make him.”

  Jessica stared up at him.

  “But you can,”

  He looked into her eyes and nodded. “Oh yes,”

  ***

  Jessica kept watch over the man, while he trekked out to the car that was left running on the road. He drove it back to the house and parked it in the garage. The car had been stolen; as evidenced by the broken ignition housing and the screwdriver protruding from it.

  He gave the car a quick search and found nothing that looked as if it belonged to their mystery man, and also made certain that the car contained no GPS tracking devices that would lead anyone looking for it to their home.

  After removing the riding mower from the shed, he dragged the man inside and secured him to the dirt floor by pinning his wrists and ankles with a set of metal croquet wickets, which he pounded into the hard earth with the help of a two-pound hammer.

  Jessica gazed down at the man. He was about their age, with an average build, and dark hair sprouted out from under his cap. His tan was deep and obviously acquired over many years, but his face remained lineless, except for a jagged scar on his chin.

  “What will you do once he tells you what you want to know?”

  “If I think he can still be useful, I’ll use him; once he’s no longer useful, then, his time is up.”

  “Do we really need to kill him?”

  “He tried to kill us.”

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  “You should go inside.”

  “Why?”

  “He may not want to talk. If I have to make him talk... it will be brutal.”

  Jessica gazed at him.

  “You always amaze me.”

  “In what way?”

 
“You are both the gentlest and the most ruthless person I know.”

  He broke eye contact as he hung his head.

  “I know my failings; you don’t have to remind me.”

  She reached up and raised his head until he was looking at her again.

  “The ruthlessness, or rather, the willingness and ability to do whatever needs to be done, those aren’t failings; in a way, those qualities make you the perfect man.”

  On the ground, their visitor moaned, as his head lolled from side to side, but his eyes had yet to open.

  Jessica stood on her toes and gave him a kiss.

  “I’ll be inside.”

  After she left the shed, he turned on the light and closed the door. A few moments later, the man awakened and blinked rapidly at the naked bulb hanging from the middle of the slanted, knotty pine ceiling. Then, he let out a cry, as the pain from his damaged hand pulsed.

  “My hand, oh hell look at my hand.”

  “Who wants my wife dead?”

  The man squinted against the light as he gazed up at him.

  “You’re the husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “You did this to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you were just some computer geek or something?”

  “Who wants my wife dead?”

  “Listen, buddy, this was nothing personal. I was just hired to do a job. Now stop fucking around and call the cops.”

  He shook his head.

  “No police,”

  “What?”

  “Who wants my wife dead?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Who wants my wife dead?”

  “I said go fuck yourself.”

  He reached over to a shelf and picked up a pair of gardening shears; next, he bent down and began snipping off the thumb on the man’s good hand. The man screamed and thrashed about, which was why he only succeeded in severing half of the digit, and was also why the cut was so ragged.

  It took over a minute until the man stopped writhing, and when at last he appeared recovered enough to talk, he asked again.

  “Who wants my wife dead?”

  “I’m... I’m going to kill you. Do you hear me! I’m going to fucking kill—”

  Three and a half fingers later, he had a name.

  As the man begged to be let go, he saw no further advantage to be gained, and with a single blow, split his head open with the axe.

  He went to the garage, retrieved the stolen car, and backed it up beside the shed. After wrapping the body in plastic sheeting that remained from spring planting, he dumped the corpse, fingers and all, into the trunk along with the gun and placed a red, plastic gas container beside them.

  From a hook, he took down a set of old, paint-splattered coveralls and put them on before taking out his phone and making a call.

  “Jessica, I need you to follow me in your car.”

  “All right, anything else?”

  “Bring a pair of my jeans, a sweatshirt, my sneakers, and a wet towel with you, preferably an old one.”

  “I’ll be right out.”

  They drove for just under an hour before he pulled off the highway and onto a cracked, neglected road that dead-ended into the parking lot of an abandoned factory.

  He rammed the stolen car against the locked gate until the rusty padlock broke and the thick chain it was threaded through fell to the ground. After driving to the rear of the building, he parked, and Jessica walked over with his clothes and the towel.

  He handed her his phone and keys along with the folding knife from his boot and then stripped naked. After wiping himself down with the towel, he redressed, opened the trunk, and tossed the towel inside along with his blood-splattered clothing and the coveralls.

  When he poured the gasoline, he divided it equally between the trunk and the car’s interior. After motioning Jessica away, he reached inside and pushed in the cigarette lighter. Once it was hot, he took several steps back and tossed it into the trunk.

  The gas ignited in a great Whoosh and they got into her car and drove towards home.

  Jessica glanced over at him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,”

  “Did he give you a name?”

  “Yes,” he said, and then he told her who wanted her dead.

  Upon hearing the name, she nearly swerved off the road, but then she recovered and returned to the middle of the lane.

  “What do we do now?”

  He looked out into the gathering gloom of an early winter’s eve and uttered five words.

  “This time we kill him.”

  Jessica nodded in solemn agreement, and then made a left and pulled back onto the highway.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE PAST

  When she was twenty, Jessica White was the receptionist for a psychiatrist who ran a private practice in the city of Boston. Dr. Caroline Harte was a friend of Jessica’s father and her list of patients was not only substantial, but also tended to be wealthy.

  Dr. Harte took Jessica under her wing and the pre-med student learned as much by working for her as she did from any of her professors.

  Dr. Harte was forty-six, happily married, and the mother of four children who ranged in age from eight to seventeen. Although she looked her age, the doctor was still beautiful, and her flaming red hair and large green eyes attracted as much attention as her curvaceous figure did.

  One person who found her irresistible, was a young man named Gregory Zubek.

  Zubek was the only child of Karl Zubek, a Polish immigrant who had come to this country with a mere twenty million dollars and at the time of Gregory’s... troubles, was on the verge of becoming a billionaire.

  Karl Zubek was seventy-one, and Gregory was the product of a union with his third wife, a British citizen, who fled back to London five years after Gregory was born. When she departed, she took a multi-million dollar settlement with her, but left behind her son.

  Sandra Zubek, Gregory’s mother, was, like Dr. Harte, a voluptuous redhead with green eyes.

  This simple coincidence would seal Dr. Harte’s fate.

  ***

  Early on a Tuesday afternoon, Jessica was rearranging Dr. Harte’s schedule for the following week, when Gregory Zubek walked into the office.

  Gregory was of average height, good-looking and always well dressed, on this day he also carried a bouquet of yellow roses with him.

  Jessica came from behind her desk to intercept him; however, Gregory waved her off and strode into the doctor’s inner office. Dr. Harte was seated behind her desk with a pad and pen in her hands. Seated before the doctor was a plump woman with too much make-up who had obviously been crying, because her face was streaked with mascara,

  Dr. Harte stood in a rush.

  “What’s going on here? Mr. Zubek, you can’t just barge in whenever you want.”

  Gregory walked towards her while smiling, oblivious to the angst he was causing.

  “I wanted to see you, Caroline, and look, I’ve brought you roses.”

  The plump woman got up and headed for the door.

  “Mrs. Muldoon?” Dr. Harte called. “I apologize for this interruption and of course there will be no charge for this session. Please call later and Jessica will make a new appointment.”

  The woman kept going as if she hadn’t heard the doctor, and a moment later, the sound of a door closing reached their ears.

  “Mr. Zubek, I—”

  “Gregory, Caroline, I’ve told you to call me Gregory.”

  “Mr. Zubek, please leave or I will call the police.”

  “The police? What the hell for?”

  “You are disrupting my practice, and quite frankly, I fear you might be dangerous.”

  Gregory looked puzzled.

  “Dangerous? Me? Caroline, don’t you know that I love you?”

  Jessica stood behind him, watching, as her curiosity and interest about the workings of the human psyche kept her fascinated.

  Gregory wa
lked up close to the doctor and handed her the roses.

  “They’re not nearly as beautiful as you are, but I thought of you when I saw them.”

  The doctor looked over at Jessica.

  “Ms. White, please return to your desk, and close the door on your way out.”

  Jessica hesitated for just a second, before saying, “Yes, Dr. Harte,” She then did as the doctor requested and was sitting behind her desk when the shouting erupted, and even a solid oak door did little to filter the sounds.

  The doctor was furious and, between Gregory’s bouts of begging and crying, kept telling Gregory that his behavior was not only unacceptable, but also unwanted. In the end, Gregory left the office in a fury of his own and slammed the outer door on his way out.

  The doctor stood in her office doorway.

  “He needs help, he’s obsessed with me, and given our age difference, I’ve no doubt it’s some issue with his mother.”

  “Are you all right, Doctor?”

  The doctor smiled at Jessica.

  “I’m fine. I hated being so harsh with Mr. Zubek, but it was best that I disavowed him of the idea that there could ever be anything between us. His fantasy about me had to be destroyed.”

  “Maybe you should speak to his father?”

  “I have; he accused me of attempting to seduce Gregory.”

  “What?”

  “I suspect that Gregory can do no wrong in Mr. Zubek’s eyes.” The doctor looked at her watch. “Didn’t you have a lunch date with that boyfriend of yours?”

  Jessica realized the time and jumped up from her chair.

  “Oh, I’m running late, but I’ll be back on time.”

  “Don’t rush dear, and tell... what’s your boyfriend’s name again?”

  Jessica told her, and the doctor nodded.

  “Yes, I don’t know why I have trouble remembering it; it’s such a simple name. Tell him I said hello, and remind him that you’re coming to our anniversary party on the twentieth.”

  “We may not make it; he’s not much for parties.”

  The doctor searched Jessica’s eyes.

  “There’s a story behind that boy, isn’t there?”

  Jessica stiffened at the doctor’s perceptiveness, but met her gaze.

  “What do you mean?”