Sweet Reward-Last 9

by Christy Reece

  Locking her jaw to keep from telling the asshole what she thought of him, she forced a calm response. “Then what is your point?”

  “That if you want to advance in the Bureau, you keep your associations clean from now on.”

  His point was clear: break it off with Seth. As much as she loved her job, she loved Seth more. Standing, she said, “Is that all, sir?”

  His expression became slyly speculative. “You given any more thought to that job offer you got last week?”

  He was referring to the opportunity to work in the newly formed Child Abduction Unit. Not only was it a coveted position, but the purpose of the unit was the very reason she’d joined the Bureau—something she’d been dreaming about since she was thirteen years old. She had delayed giving an answer for only one reason: Seth.

  “Not yet, sir. I was told I had till the end of the month to answer.”

  “You do. However, with this new development, you might want to consider commiting sooner.”

  Meaning it could be rescinded. Bullshit. She wasn’t going to let Dudley bulldoze or intimidate her. However, pissing him off wasn’t the right path either. “I’ll take that under advisement. Anything else?”

  Dudley shook his head, the light burning even brighter in his eyes. Half the time she thought he was on her side; the other half she could swear he’d just as soon see her leave the Bureau for good.

  Honor turned and walked out of the office. She had to grab her cellphone and get out of the building. She needed to call Seth. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Seth Cavanaugh was many things—arrogant, opinionated, and quite often infuriating; an excellent cook, an incredible dancer, and one of the most wickedly handsome men she’d ever known. Those things and a million more made him the man he was. But one thing she knew without a doubt? Seth was not a murderer.

  Still looking out the window of the car as it headed to the main jailhouse, Seth heard his cellphone ring. Making every effort not to tense up or show any emotion, he kept his eyes averted. His cellphone had been confiscated at his arrest, so there was no point in worrying about who was calling. No point, but it didn’t stop him from doing just that.

  Since he had known the arrest was coming, maybe he should have changed his voice-mail message. Something like: “I’m in jail right now. Leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I make bail. And oh, by the way, I didn’t do it.”

  “Hello.”

  Seth jerked his head around when he heard those words. His cellphone should have been bagged for evidence. What the hell was Greg doing holding it? Seth’s concern about who was calling was buried beneath his concern for Greg. There were only three people, other than Seth, who knew the whole story. The only way this was going to work was to keep it to a minimum. Did Greg know something or was he making exceptions because he figured something was hinky?

  He focused on the one-sided conversation Greg was having on his phone. “Yes, it’s true.” A pause, then: “He’s in handcuffs, I can’t—” Another long pause and then a sighing “All right. Hold on.”

  Twisting around, Greg unlocked the barrier between the front and back seats. “Lean forward, I’ll hold the phone to your ear.”

  Seth held back a sigh. The man knew better than to do what he was doing. Not that Seth was planning to escape—that would defeat the whole purpose. Still, Greg had been on the force too long to commit such a rookie mistake.

  Since giving him a lecture would seem more than strange, Seth leaned forward and put his ear to the phone. “Yes?”

  “Seth?”

  Despite his efforts to maintain control, Seth closed his eyes. Honor. He hadn’t planned on talking to her until he made bail. Had hoped, by then, to be able to come up with something reasonable that she would buy.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve been arrested?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hell, Seth, can you say something besides ‘yes’?”

  Swallowing the pain, he chuckled. “Not much more to say, is there?”

  The shaky breath she released sliced into the cloak of coldness he was trying to maintain. Dammit, all his fault for getting involved with an FBI agent. Maybe if Honor had another profession, he could have told her something she would believe … maybe she would have agreed to wait. No, that wouldn’t have happened anyway. It wasn’t just Honor’s job that was the problem … it was her intelligence.

  Twenty-eight years on this earth, and he’d never had strong feelings for or a need to commit to any of the women he’d dated and then, when he was on the biggest job of his life, he falls for a woman like Honor. Irony sucked.

  “What can I do to help?”

  Shit, not only did he have to fall in love with a beautiful, intelligent woman, she also had the most amazing heart and a deep, fierce loyalty. If there was one thing he could do for her, it was this: “Stay out of it.”

  “But I—”

  “I’ve got an attorney. The charges won’t stick. I’ll be out on bail in a few hours. We can talk then.”

  The silence was painful. He had hurt her, but that had been inevitable. Hell of it was, it was only going to get worse. Dammit, he had known what was coming down.

  “Call me,” she said quietly, and then the line went dead.

  Seth leaned back against the seat once more. He could feel Greg’s eyes on him, but refused to engage in any kind of discussion. If Greg did know what was going on here, talking about it in the vicinity of anyone else would be stupid.

  “You had so much going for you, Cavanaugh. What happened?”

  Seth still didn’t look at him. Maybe Greg didn’t know. He hoped he didn’t. The man was a nice guy, a good cop. Knowing the truth could get him killed.

  SWEET REVENGE

  prologue

  Bustarviejo, Spain

  The night was silent and still. The air, thick and humid, held a feeling of expectancy—as if aware that rescue had finally arrived. Stooped behind a low brick wall, his eyes narrowed into a squint behind powerful binoculars, LCR operative Dylan Savage surveyed the perimeter of the massive property owned by Stanford Reddington.

  The house in front of him held Jamie Kendrick—a young woman who’d been abducted by a maniac and then sold to Stanford Reddington. Purchased for what purpose, Dylan didn’t even want to consider. Their mission was clear: rescue. Their plan: a soft entry. Grab Jamie and get the hell out, hopefully without firing a shot.

  “Everyone in place and ready?” Noah McCall asked quietly. The Last Chance Rescue leader kept his voice calm and low, his tone revealing none of the tension Dylan knew he must feel.

  On missions, McCall acted as though ice ran through his veins. That was an attitude Dylan had adopted long before he’d joined LCR. Never let them see you flinch. He’d learned that lesson as a child. Staying expressionless had saved his ass more than once.

  Dylan answered with a soft “Ready.”

  Adrenaline surged as the three other people on the op answered in the affirmative. Any second now …

  “Go,” McCall whispered.

  Staying low, Dylan and McCall ran toward the back door that their informant, Raphael, had promised would be unlocked. Noah eased the door open … Dylan peered inside. Scanning the large kitchen, he briefly noted that not only did the room look like a pigsty, it stank of old food and stale alcohol. The messy space had one thing in its favor: no people.

  Dylan entered first, McCall behind him. Dim light filtered from a greasy bulb over the stove revealed the remains of last night’s dinner and four dirty plates on the counter. Four here, including Jamie?

  In the middle of the kitchen, the men stopped … waited … listened. On cue, a loud, thudding knock sounded at the front door. A moment of dead silence, then lights came on as someone stomped toward the door. The instant the front door opened, Dylan and McCall moved.

  Guns at the ready, their steps silent, they made their way to the next room. At the entrance
to the living room, McCall went in one direction, Dylan the other. Sticking his head into a small den and a bathroom, Dylan found nothing other than furniture and more evidence that slobs lived here.

  One minute later, they met in the middle of the living room. The loud protestations coming from the front of the house reassured them that the home owner would be occupied for several more moments.

  His black eyes glittering with cold determination, McCall mouthed silently, “Anything?”

  Dylan shook his head.

  Both men turned and headed up the stairway. Halting at the top of the stairs, they assessed the area. Bright lights from the first floor allowed them to see three rooms to check on this floor. McCall jerked his head at the stairs to the third floor.

  With a quick nod, Dylan headed upstairs. At the top of the small landing, he stopped and listened. The only sounds were the distant mumblings of Reddington as he argued with the Spanish police. Two rooms to check here. The door to one of the rooms stood open. Easing his head in, he looked around. A storage room, filled with furniture and boxes.

  Swiftly, silently, Dylan moved across the hallway, toward the closed door of the other room. His ear to the wood, he listened and heard a soft, trembling sigh.

  He put his hand on the doorknob. Locked. Pulling a small tool from the belt at his waist, he inserted it into the keyhole. At the sweet sound of a click, he twisted the knob, eased the door open, and stepped inside. The room, midnight dark and deathly quiet, held the musky scent of sour sweat and felt heavy with fear, confirming what he already knew: she was here.

  The softest whisper of sound put him on alert; half a second later, a small body leaped onto his back. Not wanting to hurt or frighten her further, Dylan dropped to the floor with Jamie Kendrick hanging on to his shoulders.

  She ground her knee into the small of his back and spoke in a harsh, raspy voice, “Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

  Admiration and compassion slammed into him. She was tough. Good. She would need to stay that way. “I’m here to rescue you, Jamie.”

  With a soft, laughing sob, she said mockingly, “Yeah, my knight in shining armor.”

  “I’m with Last Chance Rescue.”

  After a long pause, she whispered hoarsely, “What’s that?”

  “A rescue organization.”

  Another long pause. Finally, a shaky, tear-filled voice asked, “Are you for real?”

  “Yes.” He waited two heartbeats, giving her time to absorb the information. Then, since time was of the essence, he said, “We need to get out of here.”

  Her slight weight eased off his back, and he felt her shift away from him.

  Getting to his feet, Dylan took a flashlight from his utility belt and clicked it on. His heart thudded and crashed as he got his first glimpse of slender, petite Jamie Kendrick. Perched on the edge of a bed, she’d snagged a sheet to cover herself. Untamed, golden-brown hair draped over her bare shoulders. Gray-blue eyes shimmered with tears; white teeth bit at her lips as if to control their trembling. The thin sheet covering her nude body couldn’t hide her uncontrollable shaking. Despite his reassurance, she was terrified that this was a trick.

  “Found her,” he whispered softly into his mic.

  “Get her out,” McCall answered softly. “Reddington’s still at the door, arguing. I’ve got one bastard down, two more on the run.”

  “Affirmative,” Dylan answered.

  There was no time for more reassurance. They needed to get their asses out of here … now. He took a step toward her. “Let’s go.”

  She lifted a hand to tighten the sheet around her, and he saw the handcuff dangling from her wrist. Pulling a standard key from his belt, he reached for her. Admiration grew in him as he watched her stiffen but refuse to back away. He unlocked the cuff from her bruised, raw wrist and then let her go. The last thing she probably wanted was for a man to touch her. Unfortunately, he was going to have to do more than just touch her if they were to get out of here in one piece.

  With a sweep of his flashlight over the room, Dylan took another quick scan. No clothing. He pulled his black cotton T-shirt over his head and handed it to her. “Put this on.” Giving her a brief moment of privacy, he went to the door to peer out. Still quiet.

  At the sound of a small, relieved sigh, he glanced over his shoulder. She was ready. Her feet were bare, and her body swayed as she tried to stand. The T-shirt swallowed her, landing just above her wobbling knees.

  “It’ll be easier for both of us if you let me carry you out.” He wasn’t asking for permission, but he didn’t want to scare her by just lifting her without warning.

  “I can walk.”

  “You’re barefoot and weak. We need to get out of here as fast as we can.” Giving her no time to argue, Dylan reached for her and scooped her into his arms. Her body was shaking with terror, but she didn’t fight him, and that was all he needed.

  He made a rapid exit from the room and strode quickly toward the stairway. As they got halfway down the stairs, the distant blast of gunfire ramped up the tension. Shit! No way was he not getting her out of here alive. Holding her tighter against his chest, he whispered, “Hang on, sweetheart.”

  Lowering his head, Dylan ran like hell.