Taylor's father disappears one day and she takes it upon herself to find him and in the process, she loses almost everything that she had.
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When Taylor's life turns topsy-turvy, upside-down, and backwards, she's in desperate need of getting every...
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I HATE him. I hate my damn father so much! Every time I think about what he did, I grow angrier by the minute. He is the worst human being. There is no point in him being a doctor if he doesn't help anybody. If he is the most disrespectful person I know. He lied to me, told me he needed Scott Davis and his family to protect him when in actuality the CIA was. And he told me I needed to date the damn asshole too. It didn't make sense. He doesn't deserve protection for whatever he did. Especially when his lie was to leave us so we would be safe.
They'd found us. The bad guys had found us. They'd taken David and I was angry.
He lied. The Davis family were just some people he owed money to because in high school they had made a bet- or college or whatever. What an idiot I was to believe they could even help him. Why should he even get any help. Now I need to be put under protection because of his secrets, his lies, his mistakes.
"Did he have a narrow nose?" the sketch artist asked. I narrowed my eyes at him, I couldn't recall the man's face as I stared at the empty paper.
Apparently, Tank wasn't an FBI agent, he had just stolen the badge and pretended to woo me with his wit. Maybe that is what he had planned for me. To lure me out so he could get his revenge or whatever he wanted. He had to know I existed to be able to kidnap me. That was probably what the first meeting was for.
I think that I had chosen the right side. The side with Matt and the CIA. I couldn't even be sure anymore, they were all people. Just some with more power and respect than others. Clearly this was an international issue. I just wish someone would tell me what happened.
"Ma'am, did this man who claimed to be Tank have a narrow or wide nose?" The man asked again, patiently looking at me. I looked at my side, Matt patiently seated, now in his official suit, holding my hand. He squeezed it tightly and nodded.
"No, his nose was wide, he looked like a Frenchman." I said, "With a very dark tan that he could pass for an Indian. I believe he was Indian."
"Right," he continued to draw, "is this the man?" He asked as he finished his sketch. It was scribbles that somehow resembles Tank. I was astonished at this man's ability to draw.
"No, he had rounder cheeks, and. . ." I paused, I could barely remember what Tank looked like. "He. . . had a scar, above his lip, very small and unnoticeable. It seemed more like a birthmark" I was surprised that I had even remembered that minor detail.
"I'm sure by now his name wasn't Tank." I muttered aloud, an obvious statement. The artist continued to draw and my patience wore thin. It had only been a day since David's kidnap and I was growing wearier by the minute.
Could they have killed him by now. I doubt they would kill him, maybe I can find a way to contact them and exchange my life for David's. Surely, I would get them a better ransom. But it is a very real possibility that they might hurt him.
