Sweet Revenge

by Christy Reece

  Regret like bitter bile in his mouth, Dylan fought the intense need to comfort her. Instead, he nodded grimly and said, “I’ll call McCall and let him know.”

  In a voice lifeless and dull, she asked, “Was that what tonight was all about?”

  There was no point in keeping the truth from her. “I couldn’t think of any other way.”

  She didn’t respond to that, just rolled over in bed, her back to him.

  “I think it would be good for you to stay and let Aidan finish up your training. He’s—”

  “What I do or don’t do regarding my training is no longer your concern.”

  “Promise me you won’t try this harebrained thing.

  That you’ll let LCR handle this.”

  “Fine. I won’t do it.”

  “You promise?”

  “I said I won’t. If that’s not enough for you …”

  “Okay, fine. Good. We’ll get him, Jamie. I promise. Why don’t you go and spend some time with McKenna? I’m sure she—”

  “Get out of my room, Dylan.”

  With the ache in his gut intensifying, he could only say, “I’m sorry it had to end this way. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  Again there was no answer.

  Dylan left, closing the door softly behind him. She hated him now, and though he told himself he’d only done it for her own good, the bitter taste in his mouth told him differently. Tonight, before dinner, he’d lost control. That hadn’t been about seducing information from her; it had been about making love to the woman he loved.

  Dylan knew to his soul that he would never make love to another woman ever again. Oh, he’d probably have sex again, at some point, but the part of himself he’d always held back had been revealed with Jamie tonight. Now that part was wrapped up tight, never to be revealed again.

  At dawn, Jamie rose from her bed, got dressed, and started packing. She’d lain awake all night, dry-eyed, torn between an agonizing hurt that went straight through bone and a fury that fueled a determination that no one, not even Dylan Savage, could squelch. Now, hours later, she just felt empty.

  She opened drawers and threw clothes into her suitcase without regard to wrinkles or care. Silence wasn’t a concern, either. Dylan had excellent hearing, so even if she tried to be quiet, he’d be able to hear her. What was the point? He knew she was leaving. And there was no reason to stay. They had used each other to get what they’d needed. Dylan had gotten the information he wanted, and she had gotten the training she needed. Neither of them were happy with the outcome.

  Marching into the bathroom, Jamie dumped her cosmetics into a small bag. She glanced up at the mirror and almost gasped at the stranger looking back at her. Her face was drained of all color and her eyes looked dead—as empty as she felt inside.

  The knowledge that she’d allowed this to happen only intensified her anger. She had known that Dylan wanted whatever information he’d thought she was hiding. He’d made no secret of that. And instead of questioning his motives for his little seduction scene last night, she’d eagerly gone into his arms like a love-starved teenager going out with the high school jock. She’d never been an easy mark, but Dylan hadn’t even had to sweet-talk her. She’d been so damn thrilled that he’d had a change of heart. Never had she felt more disgusted with herself.

  She slammed the drawer closed and turned back to her bedroom. Grabbing her bags, she went into the living room and dropped them on the floor. They thudded loudly. She returned to the bedroom, grabbed the last suitcase, and dropped it beside the others. Without her permission, her gaze went to the closed bedroom door. There was no way he hadn’t heard her … no way he didn’t know she was about to walk out the door.

  She took a shaky breath. Her bags were packed; she was dressed. There was nothing keeping her here, no reason not to leave. Still, she paused. Her eyes on the door, she waited. The clock above the mantel sounded unusually loud in the dead silence. No sounds came from the bedroom.

  With her chin tilted at a defiant angle, she bit her lip to control the slight tremble of her mouth and picked up all three bags. Without a backward glance, she carried them to the door, opened it wide, and stomped out onto the porch. She then turned and pulled the door shut, very quietly.

  She trudged down the steps and headed to the back of the cabin, where her SUV was parked in the detached garage. Practically throwing the bags inside, she got into the vehicle, started it up, and drove away. Once again, not bothering with a backward glance.

  Dylan had almost managed to do something that her past experiences hadn’t been able to accomplish. He’d almost broken her. There was a burning in her chest and a flood of tears just waiting to break behind her eyes. But Jamie knew she was made of sterner stuff. Damned if he would ever know how much he’d hurt her … damned if he would know how much she had loved him.

  And damned if he would know that she hadn’t told him the truth.

  fourteen

  Two months later

  Reddington’s island

  “Aren’t you coming for a swim with me this morning?”

  Looking up from his plate, Raphael almost choked on his breakfast. Giselle stood before him dressed in an almost nonexistent bikini. Her lithe, golden body already slicked down with sunscreen, she was the epitome of a bright and oh-so-beautiful young woman.

  Since normal breath was almost impossible right now, he swallowed the food in his mouth to clear his air passage. In Giselle’s presence, he was either breathless and enchanted or infuriated and impatient. And always, all the time, he was aroused.

  He’d been on Reddington’s island for months. During this time, he’d learned innumerable things, including three absolutes. One was that Stanford Reddington was a brilliant businessman. Second, he’d discovered, to his dismay, that Reddington’s family had no idea of the man’s illegal activities. Third and most disturbing of all: Raphael was in love with Giselle Reddington, the daughter of a human trafficker and slave trader.

  When Reddington had invited him for a visit, Raphael had known it was an open-ended invitation. He just hadn’t realized that Reddington would be the one to decide when it was time for Raphael to leave. So far, there’d been no indication that the man was ready to allow that to happen.

  Each day after breakfast, except on Sundays, Raphael spent the morning with Reddington. He had to give the guy credit: he was doing what he’d promised and showing Raphael the ropes of running a multibillion euros enterprise. And Reddington had been right—Raphael was learning much more here than he probably ever would in a university. Problem was, he wasn’t getting what he’d come to the island to learn. Everything Reddington shared with him dealt with only the man’s legitimate businesses.

  Equally alarming, but in a different way, was the fact that Reddington had made it clear that he highly approved of a relationship between Raphael and Giselle. Under ordinary circumstances, Raphael would have been thrilled. To be in love with a beautiful woman and have her adoration, as well as her father’s approval, would be any man’s dream. Unfortunately, nothing about this was ordinary. If and when he got the chance, he planned to find the information LCR needed. Even though her father was a slimy criminal, Raphael knew Giselle would never forgive him.

  A small, gurgling laugh reminded him that he’d yet to answer Giselle’s question. “Raphael, you look like you’re in a trance. Are you okay?”

  He grinned. “Just enjoying the view.”

  Laughing softly, she whirled around. “It just arrived yesterday. You like?”

  “Like” was too mild a word for his thoughts. Hard to believe that a seventeen-year-old girl could be so unaware of her own beauty. He had no doubt that Giselle knew of her appeal, but she didn’t use her looks as a weapon, as did many young attractive girls he’d been around. She had a sweet personality and a self-deprecating humor he found delightful. Problem was, he could do nothing but admire her from afar.

  “It’s beautiful, as are you.”

  Her smile went even brig
hter, and she dropped into a chair across from him. “Thank you, Raphael. You always say kind things. Will you go swimming with me this morning?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Your father gave me several projects to work on, and I’m eager to get started on them.”

  Her full lips came out in a little pretend pout, and Raphael groaned under his breath. If she ever realized what she did to him, the “let’s just be friends” discussion he’d had with her would be meaningless.

  “Sundays are supposed to be spent with those you care about.” Her dark eyes gleaming with a sweetly teasing wickedness, she added, “Does that mean you don’t care about me?”

  “You know better. I just want to make a good impression on your father.”

  She got to her feet. “How about sailing with me this afternoon? The weather’s supposed to be perfect.”

  Unable to resist, Raphael nodded. “I’ll meet you on the boat at one o’clock. Okay?”

  “Perfect. I’ll pack a picnic for us.” Blowing him a kiss, she turned and disappeared down the stairs that led to the beach.

  Raphael waited for several minutes to make sure she didn’t come back. Sunday was the one day the entire family did their own thing. Reddington rarely came down for breakfast on Sundays, preferring to spend the morning in his suite with his wife. And Giselle was correct—Sundays were generally work-free on the island … at least for everyone but the servants.

  Work wasn’t exactly what Raphael had planned, either. At least not anything Reddington would approve of. Last week, he’d noticed that the large portrait of Reddington’s father that hung in the man’s study was crooked. Not an odd occurrence by normal standards, but Reddington was anything but normal. He was meticulous and incredibly anal about everything.

  After months of subtle searching of the entire island, Raphael had come up with nothing to show for it. According to LCR sources, Reddington kept all of his private files and records at his home. Raphael had almost despaired of finding anything until he’d seen the crooked frame. Could Reddington be so cheesy and old-fashioned as to have a safe or secret hiding place behind the framed picture of his father?

  Raphael set his napkin beside his plate and stood. Even though Sundays were relaxed and informal on the island, he was rarely alone. If he wasn’t with Reddington, then either Giselle was around or Reddington’s younger daughter, Amelia, was regaling him with questions about his travels.

  He had been on the island for a couple of weeks when he’d realized something not only disturbing but downright cruel: the family never left the island. Though they seemed content, Raphael wondered if they had ever asked Reddington why he kept them prisoner.

  Taking care to appear as if he was indeed going to work, Raphael grabbed the files he’d brought down with him. He didn’t want to get caught in the man’s private office. Most of the time, they conducted business in a larger office on the third floor of the mansion.

  Reddington’s private office was on the first floor of the mansion and much smaller. Raphael had been allowed in it only a few times. If he did get caught, he had the credible excuse of needing a computer to compile some spreadsheets. After a lengthy and exhaustive search, he’d realized that this was the only computer on the island. Incredible as it seemed, the man was determined that no unapproved information reach his family. The Internet was filled with the scandal of Jamie Kendrick’s accusations.

  Keeping his island insulated from the world was a full-time job, and Reddington employed several people who appeared to have only one priority: keeping his family in the dark.

  With the files under his arm, Raphael made a beeline to the man’s office. If he acted as if he had every right to be there, no one should give it a second thought.

  The tasteful but obvious wealth of the mansion no longer awed him. When he’d first arrived, he’d figured he’d looked like a kid making his first visit to an amusement park. The opulence had been overwhelming. After he’d gotten over his initial shock, he’d reminded himself where Reddington’s money had come from—the wealth was nothing more than a façade to cover evil.

  Looking neither left nor right, he entered the private office. This was the first time he’d gone in alone. The office was about half the size of Reddington’s other office. There was a large desk on one side, with a computer the only thing on it; two sofas situated together in one area; a conference table and six chairs across the room; and, in a discreet corner, a fully stocked bar.

  Raphael headed immediately to the computer. If someone came in, he needed to be able to show what he was working on. Opening the folders he’d brought with him, he spent half an hour developing a spreadsheet and inputting numbers. Then, satisfied with the ruse, he stood and went to the painting. He noted that it had been straightened and figured the minute Reddington had seen the tilt, he’d immediately set it to rights.

  The condescending image of Reddington’s father stared down at Raphael as he eased the picture aside. He was so intent on his task, he didn’t hear the door open until it was too late.

  “Raphael, what are you doing?”

  Last Chance Rescue headquarters

  Noah flipped through his thick file of notes on Reddington. He’d been through them so many times he knew them by heart, but still he searched. What information they had on the man was a whole lot of nothing. They knew his family had moved to Madrid from Newark, New Jersey, when Stanford was still a child. Horace Reddington had held strong Mafia ties, but things had gone wrong, and he’d fled in disgrace.

  Horace died when Stanford was in his early twenties. From all accounts, the elder Reddington had had several legitimate businesses and did slave trading only on the side. After Horace’s death, Stanford maintained those legitimate businesses, but he used them as cover for the less savory but much more lucrative business of human trafficking and slavery.

  Each bit of information they had on Reddington should have added up to something—at the very least, the location of his hideout. But no records could be found to tie him to any locations other than the homes Noah and the rest of the world knew about. And none of these places was where Reddington was hidden away.

  At the sound of a soft sigh from the other end of the conference table, he looked up from the file. McKenna and Lucas sat together, reading their copies of the information. Jared Livingston sat across from Noah. The gloomy, dour expressions of the three LCR operatives reflected his own thoughts.

  Lucas closed the file in front of him. “What about Raphael? Anything else from him?”

  Noah shrugged. “Nothing but those two damnably vague emails. The one about canceling his subscription to The Lark magazine. And then the one about a month after he arrived at Reddington’s.” He held up the sheet of paper with the printed email, though he had memorized the short, uninformative message by heart: “Dude, forgot all about our lunch plans. Sorry about that. Will call you in a few months when I get back.”

  McKenna sighed her frustration. “He’s already been there almost four months. Just how much longer is he supposed to stay?”

  A familiar tension swept through Noah. He should have figured out a way to prepare Raphael better. Should have given him an untraceable device instead of the cellphone Reddington’s men had made him discard. Hell, he should have found a way to keep the kid from going. Now, not only did they not know where Raphael was, they had no way to find out if he had been caught snooping. Noah refused to consider that Reddington might have disposed of him. Just what the hell did the bastard want with the kid?

  Aware that McKenna was waiting for some kind of response to her rhetorical question, Noah said, “Dylan will get him.”

  “What’s Savage’s status?” Lucas asked.

  “He’s in Madrid. Embedded. Using the name John Wheeler. He’s already attended two auctions. Reddington wasn’t at either of them. The bastard’s second-in-command, Armando, has taken a liking to him. When we arranged for Dylan to bring him two attractive candidates for their auction, that sealed the deal
.”

  “How’d that happen?” For the first time since he’d walked into the conference room, Livingston spoke.

  “The women are LCR operatives. They took down the purchasers and handed them over to the authorities.”

  “I wish the information Jamie gave us had panned out,” McKenna said. “Going in as a domestic would’ve been a good setup.”

  “If and when he ever hires another domestic, we’re ready to go. Our people confirmed that he does use Superior Services. Problem is, he doesn’t use them that often. Hasn’t hired a new employee from them in over a year.” He shot her a searching look. “Any word from Jamie?”

  “Not for a couple of weeks. She’s teaching this summer, so I know she’s busy.”

  Everyone had been relieved when Jamie had announced that she was returning to teaching. What no one, especially McKenna, had expected was that she’d return to the States to work.

  Noah had seen Jamie right before she’d headed back to the United States. Though she had thanked him for arranging the training and told him she hoped Reddington could be caught soon, he’d seen a toughness and grimness that hadn’t been there before. Had she gotten that way from her training or from the obvious anger she had at Dylan? At the mere mention of his name, an expression had come into her eyes that warned him not to go further.

  Dylan had been even more closemouthed. He’d returned to Paris, gotten his assignment, and stormed out the door. Noah hadn’t asked about what had happened. He had known going in that he was assigning his operative the toughest job he’d ever been given. Dylan had been doing his best to deny his feelings. Being that close to Jamie had to have been tough, especially since he’d been delving for information, too.

  And now Dylan was doing everything he could to work his way inside Reddington’s organization and then his home. If he could do that, he could rescue Raphael and get the information they needed. And the revenge Jamie had wanted.