Midnight Medusa Read Online Free PDF Page B

symbols she couldn’t read. Chinese? Korean? Japanese? She just didn’t know. Renata saw thousands of cars, bicycles, and even the occasional covered rickshaw pass beneath her, but from the isolation of her skyscraper tower, there was no way to call for rescue.
    Except for the oriental bathroom with the stylized waterfall tub, Damon’s penthouse was thoroughly Western in its sensibilities. The floor was black marble. The sofas were leather. The accent pieces—mostly Greek amphorae—were genuine antiques. The apartment was spacious, sparse and masculine. Renata might have marveled at the luxury were it not for the advanced security system that had turned this apartment into her prison.
    Until they were safely ensconced behind the steel doors and motion sensors, Damon hadn’t allowed her any privacy, but inside the penthouse, he gave her his bedroom and contented himself to sleep on one of the sofas.
    And as soon as he left her alone, in the darkness that shielded her from the monitors, she slipped the little business card and the sketch wrapped around it out of her bra, and into the pillowcase beneath her head.
     
    In the morning, Renata wandered into the wood-slatted bathroom and saw that a bath had been drawn for her. Fed by an artificial stream trickling over a decorative rock outcropping, the foaming bath beckoned. She peeled off the green dress she hoped never to see again, then climbed into the tub.
    “There are new clothes for you on the bed,” Damon said, interrupting her tranquility. He was standing in the doorway without a care for her privacy. Instinctively, Renata sank lower into the water, letting the bubbles cover her nudity.
    She knew he wanted her to say something, but she was silent.
    “I had to guess at your size,” Damon said. “But my people did their best. If you make a list of things you need, I’ll make sure that you have garments to wear that are more to your liking.”
    Again, Renata knew he was looking for a response, but she gave him none. Instead, she reached for a sponge and pulled it under the water, letting the rough texture scrape across her fingertips and awaken her inner sculptress. Or her inner gorgon. Which was which?
    Damon crossed his arms. “You’re still not speaking to me, then.” It was a statement, not a question, but instead of retreating and leaving her alone, he stepped into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub.
    Renata felt exposed. She wanted to tell him not to sit so close to her, but that admission of discomfort would make her even more vulnerable. A few moments more of awkward silence passed before Damon asked her, “Is there something I can get you, Renata? Is there something you want?”
    “I want my mother,” Renata said, before the thought had even fully formed in her mind.
    He seemed uncomfortable. “Do you really want to involve your foster mother in this?”
    “I want my real mother, but not you or anybody else can give her to me, because the soldier took her away.”
    “Tell me,” Damon said.
    Renata didn’t like talking about it. It was her pain. Her sin. Her secret. She could express herself in sculpture, but it had taken her therapist years to get her to open up. Did he really think he could handle what she had to say? “After the explosion, I was badly burned,” Renata said, tentatively. “My mother tried to take me to a refugee camp for help. As we hurried down the scorched side of the road, she kept telling me to be quiet, that the enemy would hear me screaming, but I was in so much pain. I couldn’t stop and so the soldier heard us. He pointed a gun at us and took her into the woods. I heard my mother cry out, over and over, but I never saw her again.”
    The rush of the waterfall over the rock garden filled the room as if to hush her sad tale, and Damon was silent for a long time. “It wasn’t your fault.”
    “Yes, it was my fault. If I had been quiet, they wouldn’t have taken her,” Renata cried, and her eyes made clear