Morgan Revenge I Will Have

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-7283-9115-1
Verlag: AuthorHouse
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 220 Seiten

Mired in grief over the recent murder of his girlfriend at the hands of his psychotic ex-lover, Jessica, former Navy SEAL turned Wall Street banker Jake Logan is suddenly called back into action. While his team's primary target is international terrorist financier Asyd Omar Batdadi, the mission soon becomes personal when Jake learns that Jessica-a dangerous woman with dissociative identity disorder-is embroiled in the plot. Their efforts to capture Batdadi take Jake and his fellow SEALs to various locations in Europe and the United States, but the wily terrorist eludes them at every turn. In the midst of their hunt, they learn that, with Jessica's help, Batdadi is plotting a bold terrorist strike on American soil. For Batdadi, it is an opportunity to put himself in the 'terrorist hall of fame' alongside the likes of Osama Bin Laden. For Jessica, it is the ultimate form of revenge against the journalists she holds responsible for ruining her life. Battling a ticking clock, international criminal masterminds, and his own grief, Jake strives to transform his troubled relationship with Jessica from a liability into an asset, his only hope of saving thousands of innocent lives-not to mention his soul.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Morgan, Marlene

Leseproben

  5 Jessica stared at her short brunette hair. She looked nothing like her former self. “Jess! She made me look like Gemma to escape the manhunt for her.” Her voice quivered, and tears swelled in her eyes. Jess is scared and won’t tolerate any margin for error, she thought. She diverted her eyes from the mirror and wiped the tears falling down her cheeks. She had always been a blue-eyed blond babe. She was scared Jake would not want her now. Panic rushed through Jessica. She had to explain everything to him. She did not kill Alice or Steve. Jess was responsible, not her. She had blackouts and had no memory of Jess’s crazy acts. She would make Jake understand. She had to. She turned to the computer sitting on the desk in the corner of the hotel room. “I’ll email Jake. If I do it now, Jess won’t know,” she whispered as she sat down. “I think she has memory loss. I’ll be okay. He’ll fix this problem.” She pulled her hands away from the keyboard when the doorbell rang. She got up and opened the door. Two waiters stood in the hall with food trolleys. She stepped to one side so they could wheel them into the room and watched as they put a crisp white tablecloth on the table and set it for breakfast. “Thank you,” she said as the waiters left. When the door closed, she hastened over to the table. “Jess has ordered everything on the menu,” she said as she stared at the table, her eyes gleaming at the yogurts, seasonal fruit, and oatmeal cooked with milk and served with berries. She lifted a domed silver cover to reveal smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. Under another dome was fried eggs and under another was eggs Benedict. She moved down the table and lifted another dome, her nose twitching at the aromas of bacon and grilled tomatoes. From the end of the table, the aroma of freshly baked bread, toast, and percolated coffee intermingled with the smell of bacon. Jessica sat at the breakfast table and poured a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. She pulled a plate with pancakes oozing with butter toward her. She closed her eyes, her mouth watering as she poured hot maple syrup over them. Jessica ate slowly, luxuriating over each item. She finished the last bite of toast and bacon and had another cup of coffee. “Fuck!” She put the cup down. “I didn’t email Jake.” She moved from the breakfast table to the computer, but she was distracted once again when she saw all the news stories related to Jess’s escape from New York. Jess was lucky, that’s for sure. The news reports were full of facts but included no real details on the hunt, beyond the painfully obvious—checkpoints, house-to-house searches, watching airports and bus and train stations, and asking the public for help. Pictures of her as a blonde were all over the Web. Jessica thought that if she survived this mess, if Jake rescued her, she’d do something about her aging, wrinkled face. She’d been in denial for too long about those cracks, her makeup no longer able to cover them. A facelift, a pin and tuck here and there. She pulled at her neck and turned sideways to assess her belly fat. She pouted. “Yes, I’ll make myself young and fresh for Jake.” Also posted all over the Web was her history, how she had dreamed of owning an art gallery and how, in addition to selling art made by others, she had produced a few pieces of her own. She smiled until she read a paragraph that said her life and career had been going well until she had persuaded a colleague to let her hold an exhibition that exclusively carried art by Luke Epstein, an up-and-coming artist and her ex-lover. The article noted that her career had pivoted when a critic and a number of reviewers made comments on Luke’s artwork that she did not like and that she had not been objective. Too late now, she thought. She should’ve been mature and accepted that was the way the art world worked. She’d wanted to show her support for Luke. I was fucking stupid to remove anyone who had spoken unfavorably about Luke’s work from my mailing list, she thought, tears forming in her eyes. I can see that now. She wiped her face and continued reading. The reporter had written that one of the reviewers, Luke’s ex-girlfriend, argued with her, criticizing her lack of objectivity. The argument had become heated, and Jessica had informed the woman that she was no longer welcome in her gallery. Fucking bitch! The article finished by stating that Jessica had not realized her error in judgment until the next morning’s reviews. Not only were Luke’s reviews poor, but one of the reviewers had also accused Jessica of attempting to control her own press. The article said she had forgotten the most basic rule: the press always had the last word. Jessica thought about how Luke’s bitch ex-girlfriend had spread the word to other critics. She had underestimated their influence. They had the power to destroy her, and they had done just that, leaving her broke, pregnant, and alone. “Fucking Luke didn’t stay around to help me pick up the pieces,” she said, tears rolling down her face. Another article said she suffered from dissociative identity disorder (previously known as multiple personality disorder). The article stated that DID stemmed from a trauma experienced in her childhood. The dissociative aspect was a coping mechanism that she used to dissociate herself from a situation that was too traumatic or painful to assimilate with her conscious self. She found the article interesting and continued reading. She thought Jess was right about their split identities. The article explained how Jess continually had power over her behavior, and highly distinct memory variations fluctuated with her split personality. The article concluded by stating that when Jess’s personality revealed itself and controlled her behavior and thoughts, it was called “switching,” and the switch could take anywhere from seconds to minutes to days. Beth had not explained her condition in simple terms like the article had. She looked to see who had written it. Perhaps she could have a therapy session with the author. She saw the name Edward Bernstein of the Wall Street Journal. “Everybody knows. Fuck you, Jake. You told them about our private shit. I have no chance of owning an art gallery now, no fucking chance. I’m finished.” One shock piled atop another when Jessica read that the enormous machinery of the United States military intelligence, the CIA, and the NSA was searching for her. She had made it onto their most-wanted list. Her face turned white, and a wave of nausea washed over her. “Jake, please come. I need you.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as her fingers moved to the keyboard of her MacBook. Jake, I’m sorry about Alice. She could never be my friend, but I did not want her dead, and I didn’t kill her. Jess murdered Alice because she would not leave. She also murdered Steve because he was working with Beth to help me control Jess. You have to help me. If Jess finds out I’m emailing you, she’ll kill what’s left of me. Holy cow! I saw the breaking news. There was an explosion at Alice’s funeral. I don’t know how it happened! I swear to God it had nothing to do with me. Jess doesn’t have the power to do that. No, she can’t do that! You can’t blame us for that mess. Wait! Fuck! Did she do that? Jess has new friends. You have to believe me. I didn’t know. Give me a chance. I’ll talk to Jess. I promise! But understand she keeps her cards close to her chest. I’ll try. Oh God! Are you even still alive? Who will take care of me? I’m not that cute blonde that you fell in love with. Jess made me look like Gemma. At times you were a total waste of space, but we don’t need to argue. Jess has new friends, and they are taking care of me far better than you ever did, but we know that’s because you can’t ever make an effort. Babies, a nice house, and a generous allowance were all I wanted and all I still want. You were so fucking mean, but that is in the past now. Jess has shown her reach if you are not nice to me. We’re staying at the Ritz in Paris, and you should have seen the breakfast Jess ordered. Amazing! Later today we’re meeting Jess’s friend. I’m excited because he’s bringing a whole wardrobe of clothes and accessories. I still have feelings for you and have not forgotten my frozen eggs. We still have a future once you explain to the police that I’m not responsible for Jess’s actions. I need your help. Will you come? I have chest pains and can’t control Jess by myself. Will you come? All my love, Jessica What the fuck did you do? Jess demanded after Jessica sent the email. “Nothing!” Stupid bitch! What did you do? Jessica jumped when the phone rang. Don’t pick up! We have to get the fuck out. Jessica grabbed her purse and walked out of the room. Stupid, you can’t take the elevator. Take the stairs. When Jessica emerged in the lobby, she did not notice the woman standing at the reception desk. She was dressed in a long black dress, and a blue silk burka covered her head and chest and fell down to her knees. She followed Jessica out of the hotel. Jessica smiled at the tattooed, beanie-wearing man who warmly welcomed her when she entered a bohemian café. The narrow entrance at the front gave way to a sober...