I squinted up the staircase but it appeared to go on forever in both directions. How odd! In my current condition, I figured the better option was taking the elevator if I could get it to work.
Which I did.
I punched the button marked Ground Level and was surprised when the elevator shaft moved up instead of down. I had to swallow several times to relieve the pressure in my ears. How far down am I? When I reached Ground level, the doors slid open and I stepped into an enormous foyer containing a sumptuous spread of white leather furniture, low glass tables, a refreshment bar, and a receptionist desk. The woman at the receptionist desk was half-turned away from me talking on the phone. When she didn't immediately look up, I continued to assess my surroundings.
The room was lit by long clusters of hanging white balls. Almost like Christmas lights but bigger. Altogether, it was upscale and elegant, but it still didn't tell me where I was. I couldn't see any signs other than the red exit sign glowing over a pair of double glass doors.
I glanced once more at the receptionist. She remained on the phone, so I decided to try my luck outside. The double glass doors opened automatically when I trod barefoot on the doormat. A few steps forward and I found myself outside on tiled a patio. Overlooking the beach? Palm fronds waved high overhead in dark silhouettes against a moonlit sky, and I could hear the distant crash of surf.
I recognized none of it, and it terrified me. Why can't I remember anything? I frantically searched my memories and could only come up with bits and fragments. My last recollection was flying to Austin in the attempt to pay a visit to Grace's aunt. I remembered stepping off the airplane onto the jet bridge, entering the airport, and . . . nothing. The memory ended there. No, wait. There was something else. The detail wavered a few times, then flashed itself across my foggy brain. I had stopped at the ladies room on my way to baggage claim. I think I was feeling lightheaded or something. That was it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall a blessed thing more.
Why were there so many blanks in my brain? Had I been drugged at some point? I raised a hand to my head. Other than feeling unaccountably weak, my thoughts were crystal clear now, but that didn't mean I was out of danger. Until I figured out where I was and how I'd arrived here, it was probably best to keep out of sight.
In front of me stretched a maze of park-like sidewalks. The sound of voices rose and fell, and music played in the distance. It sounded like a party. Keeping to the shadowy edge of the path, I pressed closer to the music and voices. Walking was a slow and choppy process. I tottered painfully forward one shaky step at a time, praying I wouldn't fall.
Once I got as close as I dared to the party, I hid behind a line of shrubs and slowly parted them for a better view. A large pool deck stretched before me. It was lit by strands of colorful lights stretched across open lattice beams. Two dozen or more men and women in swimsuits and beach wraps talked and mingled over wine and food trays. Another dozen or so waded and floated in the pool. It appeared to be an adult-only event. There were no children present.
The approaching voices of a man and woman to my right made me stiffen in alarm. I straightened and dragged my sluggish limbs as quickly as I could to the edge of the path and pressed my tall, thin frame into a line of ornamental trees. In my disorientation, however, I miscalculated how narrow the copse was and found myself right smack in the middle of the next path. A sob of frustration escaped me.
The man and the woman I'd overheard talking stood only five or six strides ahead of me on the path. He was dark skinned and she was fair complected. Both were dressed in semi-formalwear, and something was strikingly familiar about them.
Then it hit me. They were Stellan's friends — the ones Grace and I had seen kissing at Club Halo. Another strange sound escaped me, causing the two of them to whirl in my direction.
The dark-skinned man's dark, expressive eyes rounded in awe. "Antjie, is that you?"
I tried to respond but seemed unable to make anything more than strange whimpering sounds. I raised my hand to my jaw and pressed my hand against the side of it, wondering why it wouldn't work. I couldn't move it up and down no matter how hard I tried.
The blonde lady's piercing, not-so-friendly blue gaze took on a calculating glint. "You handle her, while I inform Stell," she told her companion.
He looked like he wanted to protest, but she was already sprinting towards the pool area where the party was.
The black man returned his calm and steady gaze to me. He closed the distance between us and held out his hands. "Welcome back, sleeping beauty."
Again, only strange moans dribbled from my mouth.
He clasped both my hands in his cool ones. "My name is Ivan."
My hands trembled in his. I didn't know whether to fear him or trust him.
"There now, Antjie," he soothed. "Everything's going to be okay. I promise. The reason you're having trouble speaking is because you were in a terrible accident that damaged your jaw. However, you're a patient at the world's most innovative restoration and rehabilitation center, and a very good surgeon friend of mine is going to fix you."
The blonde woman returned to us with haste. Another tall, very familiar Russian strode by her side. His hair was shorter than I remembered and his gaze far darker and more bitter, but it was him.
"Stellan?" I gasped and swayed on my feet despite Ivan's grip on me. Of course, the only thing that came out of me was an unintelligible, strangled sound.
He was dead!
Which meant none of this was really happening. I had to be dreaming or hallucinating or losing my mind. I blinked a few times and re-opened my eyes. Stellan was still standing there.
Did that mean I was dead, too? My knees gave out and I slumped forward.
Ivan caught me and lifted me in his arms as if I weighed no more than one of the exotic flowers swaying in the night breeze along the garden path. "Well, she recognizes you. I'd say that's a promising sign, doc."
My head swiveled between the two men, and Ivan's arms sure felt real. If I wasn't dreaming, then it meant . . . Stellan was alive? It was too much to take in. Overwrought, I moaned again and dropped my head against Ivan's broad shoulder. Stellan was alive, and . . . My mind raced feverishly over all the things I could recall. Omigod!
How could I have forgotten? It should have been the first thing on my mind when I awoke from my accident. There was a chance Bax was alive, if there anything to that silly little text I'd received from his burner phone the day of the funeral. And if Bax had survived the car crash, maybe Grace had too.
Fat, hot tears wedged their way from beneath my eyelids, soaking the top of Ivan's expensive looking brown suit. My shoulders shook and my chest heaved as my emotions kicked in to overdrive. I tried to regain control of myself and failed entirely. Like flood waters crashing through a broken levee, all my grief and frustrations and frantic hopes unleashed themselves in a huge, raging torrent.
I wept all the way back to the surgical center. Instead of taking me down in the elevator as I expected, Stellan and Ivan calmly and gently settled me into a hospital bed on the main floor.
I shook my head wildly when Stellan tried to re-insert an I.V. My poor arms looked like blue, purple and orange pincushions already.
"Okay, then." He took a seat on a silver stool and swiveled closer to my bedside. "We'll save that for later."
Ivan hiked up a hip on the wide window ledge, and the blonde woman draped herself in the white leather lounge chair next to him.
A nurse busted into the room and bent over me with a warm damp cloth to swab at my swollen face. It felt good. I tried to smile my thanks to her, but my jaw wouldn't cooperate.
"We'll be starting shock treatments in the morning on the lower part of your face." Stellan leaned closer to peer at my chin, frowning as he clasped it gently and moved it back and forth with long, cool fingers. "I don't know how long it will take, but I'm optimistic. You've healed nicely up to this point. Better than expected, for which we're all grateful." He gla
nced down at my left arm. "I see you've recovered the use of your arm, too," he noted with supreme satisfaction in his voice.
I held my arm out in front of me and turned it from side to side, puzzled at his statement. It looked fine to me.
"You don't remember?" He sounded incredulous. "It got blown off by the car bomb."
Car bomb? My gaze flew to Ivan's. He'd mentioned an accident but nothing about a bomb.
Ivan nodded somberly at me.
"No?" He studied my expression. "Well, we'll have to tell you all about it. Soon." He reached for a notepad and pen. "While you slept, I completed all your cosmetic work. I don't know if you've had the chance to look in the mirror yet, but I promise you look like the same lovely young woman you did before the explosion."
A commotion in the doorway of my hospital room made all our heads turn in unison.
Axel and Nico burst through the doorway. I blinked, unable to believe my brothers were here. Joy exploded in my chest, and a fresh round of tears bubbled forth. I was thrilled they were here and longed to be assured Mother, Father, and Ski were well, too. I held my arms out to them.
"Hey there, shrimp." Axel's voice crackled with emotion, and he leaned in to give me a cautious hug.
I made a humming sound in the back of my throat.
Nico stood at the foot of my bed and lightly squeezed my feet through the blankets. He nodded at me, dark eyes misted with the same emotions I was feeling.
Both of them were wearing black slacks and white shirts with badges marked SECURITY. Emblazoned in metallic red and silver thread beneath their badges was a logo in the shape of a female silhouette. The words The Body Park were cleverly woven through her.
So that's where we were? The Body Park? I'd never heard of it. Grace had mentioned Stellan was heading to medical school, but that was it. Come to think of it, that was odd, too. Why was he heading to medical school when he was already a surgeon? I had so many questions, but unfortunately I couldn't voice any of them tonight.
"As we suspected, she can't talk yet," Stellan explained to my brothers. "But I'm hoping she can write."
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Axel eagerly reached for the notepad and pen in Stellan's hands and thrust it at me.
In shaky letters, I wrote, How are Mother, Father, and Ski? and held it up to him.
His eyes clouded, and he exchanged a glance with Nico before answering. "They're good. Worried about you. We can't wait to tell 'em you're awake at last."
I scratched out my next message: How long have I been in a coma?
He and Nico exchanged another glance. Both seemed to be blinking back tears. Axel swallowed. "Little over ten months."
Nearly a whole freaking year? I felt my eyes bug out. Oh no! What about Bax's text?
I feverishly started to write again, trying to explain to them I thought Colonel Baxter Livingston had tried to contact me after his and Grace's tragic car accident. He texted me during their funeral!!! I punctuated my words with a long line of exclamation marks.
"Bax Livingston is the person who texted you that day?" Axel looked like he wanted to throttle me. "What did he say?"
Don't you DARE call me crazy! I wrote. But he sent me an emoji ant.
"A what?" Stellan exclaimed.
"It's a picture. Like this." Nico dug a cell phone from his pocket, punched a few buttons, and held up the screen for him to read.
"Give me that!" A livid-faced Ivan leaped from the window ledge to swipe the phone from my brother's hands. "You know it's against regulations to use personal electronic devices on the island. I can't even begin to cite how many security violations you . . ." His voice dwindled to a low growl.
So we were on an island. One where we weren't allowed to use our cell phones. I eyed my brothers, looking for answers. Axel offered me a slight shake of his head, but Nico was busy sneering at Ivan. He didn't look the least repentant, making me wonder how many other rules he'd been breaking.
I know it was the colonel, I continued to write. He and Grace are the only ones who ever called me Ant. I tried to dial him back, but the phone was disconnected. Yes, the most logical explanation is that is was merely a delayed message due to crappy phone service, but it gave me hope. That's when I decided to either find them alive or bring their killers to justice, whatever the case . . .
Stellan's gaze seemed to redden when he read my message. He turned wild, bloodshot eyes to Ivan. "If Grace's father survived the crash, that could mean—"
He stood abruptly and moved to the edge of the window, staring blindly into the darkness. The blond woman cast me a venomous glance as if I were guilty of something unforgivable. It was strange considering I'd just given Stellan hope the woman he loved and her father might still be alive.
Ivan ended his staring contest with Nico and moved with panther-like grace to the door of my hospital room. "I'm on it."
Stellan
I left Antjie in the joyful presence of Axel and Nico who, at my request, coaxed her into allowing the nurse to re-insert her I.V. Until we got her jaw working again, it was an all liquid diet for her.
Once they left her room for the night, my nurses were under orders to give her a small shot of vampire blood, enough to heal her puncture wounds from the recent I.V. needles.
Olga walked with me to the elevator leading down to our administrative offices deep in The Web. She didn't speak a word the entire way, for which I was grateful. I was poor company at the moment. My mind was in utter rotten turmoil. I'd just discovered my wife might be alive, but I had no idea where to even begin looking for her.
We found Ivan in our security headquarters barking orders to the four-man tech team on duty. "I want to know everything there is to know about this man. Birth certificate, medical records, college transcripts, marriage certificate, Army service records, distant cousins, distant cousins of their distant cousins . . . I want to know every city he ever visited, how many shirts he owned, the color of the socks he wore . . ."
Ivan was on such a roll I would have found it comical under normal circumstances.
In response to his words, fingers flew over keyboards, and monitors flashed like mad. One large, circular screen wrapped its way nearly around the room, enlarging a compilation of the data generated by the techs.
"There!" Ivan stabbed one long finger at a red dot on the wide screen. "Hold up, Alexei. I think you found something."
Olga moved silently to his side to peer at the dot. She was wearing one of her slinky one-piece pantsuits she favored. This one was black silk, sleeveless, with a faux turtleneck, and wide, flowy legs that swished softly when she walked.
"It's his retirement paperwork from the U.S. Army, sir."
"How's that possible?" Ivan paced the floor in front of the wide screen, examining the data more closely. "He supposedly died in a car crash several weeks earlier."
"Not according to this, sir."
"Did you check for a death certificate?"
"There's not one, sir."
"Follow the money, then." It was the next logical step. I strode to Alexei and leaned over his computer. "Can you tell if he's collecting his retirement?"
"Yes, sir, but . . ." The young man resumed typing and pulled up a series of financial statements. They flashed on his screen and fanned out like an array of playing cards, one behind the other.
"But what?" I was on edge, so much so I was about to snap in two.
"He has his retirement check going to a U.S. bank account in Washington D.C. From there, it transfers each month to a Swiss account. There's no way to tell where he's at, what he's spending it on, whether he lives in country or out of country. . . I'm afraid it's a dead end, sir." The young Russian darted a harried glance across the room at Ivan, awaiting his direction.
"Keep digging," Ivan ordered
I closed my eyes and pivoted away from Alexei, running a hand through my hair. No, it wasn't a dead end. Not completely. It proved Colonel Baxter Livingston was alive and retired somewhere in the world. It also meant t
he whole fatal car crash incident had likely been staged. But why?
I wanted to howl my frustration through the roof.
"You have to give him credit." Ivan sounded admiring. He also sounded like he was standing directly in front of me.
I opened my eyes. "Maybe someday. After I find my wife." And only if I found her alive. Otherwise, he had some serious explaining to do to me personally. None of which I could promise he would survive.
The door to the security room opened and closed with a firm clicking sound behind us. Olga's scent faded, alerting me to the fact she was the one who'd left the room.
"They thought you were dead. The whole world did," Ivan reminded, staring hard at the closed door. His expression was inscrutable. "A man of his skills and background. Wow!" He shook his head in wonder, his gaze sliding back to mine. "With everything that was in the news about your uncle's ties to the mafia and the allegations that the explosion on your ship was the work of terrorism . . . Do you really blame him for taking his daughter and running?"
I gave a mirthless laugh, practically shaking with the need to punch someone or break something. "I want to." I desperately wanted someone to blame. "But I can't." I fisted my hands at my sides.
"They literally disappeared in plain sight," Ivan mused, stuffing his hands in his pockets and resuming his pacing. "Probably had some help staging the explosion. Got plenty of media coverage to ensure the likes of Anatoly picked up on the story. It was. . .kind of a genius move, if you think about it. Everybody thinks you're dead and stops looking for you." He froze and pivoted slowly to face me. "That's it."
I raised my brows at him.
"He waited a few months after your ship exploded before filing for his retirement. Maybe he waited until the investigation died down, until he was sure no one was looking for his daughter anymore."
"And this helps us how?"
"They might be living off the grid for all intents and purposes, but there should still be a trail if we look hard enough. I say we widen our search to include others. Like Grace. She's his dependent. Or was. She would be on his medical insurance, that sort of thing."
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