Sweet Revenge (11 page)

West Virginia mountains

Jamie eased into the steaming-hot tub and moaned at how wonderful it felt. Dylan had told her not to overdo, but she’d been having such fun, she had insisted on one more run on the obstacle course. Falling over the wooden hurdle had at first damaged only her pride, but the longer the day went, the more she realized that something else hurt more—her bottom felt as though she’d been kicked.

Thankfully, Dylan hadn’t given the lecture she had expected. Though there’d been a small curve to his mouth and an unusual twinkle in his eyes when he’d helped her up.

She refused to let his amusement or even her soreness bother her. She felt triumphant and excited. The obstacle course had frightened her because she hadn’t been sure she could do something so athletic-looking. And what had she done? She’d overcome her fear and then some. Even Dylan had praised her.

“Jamie?”

At the sound of his voice, Jamie sat up, then winced. “Yes?”

“I’m putting some ointment outside your door. It should help with the aches.”

Since she’d walked back to the cabin like an octogenarian on her last breath, she wasn’t surprised he knew of her aches. What he might be surprised at were the words that sprang to her mind:
Want to rub the ointment on for me?

What would he say if she asked him? He’d refuse, of course. Probably be embarrassed for her when he realized that she was attracted to him. Maybe even feel sorry for her. Because if there was anything that was clear at all, it was that Dylan wasn’t the least bit attracted to her. She was a job and nothing more. How foolish of her to want anything else.

Jamie eased back against the tub. Becoming involved with Dylan would be pointless. She had a job to do. Any and all personal relationships would only get in the way. Besides, the man disapproved of her plans. If they did start a relationship, he’d only try to talk her out of them. That couldn’t happen.

She had two more months before she had to implement the first part of her plan. Whether she would be ready when she got the call she expected, she didn’t know. She just knew she was going for it. This was her one and only shot.

Sometimes, late at night, when she couldn’t sleep and the silence became too much, she would remember. She had told herself and everyone who’d asked that this wasn’t about revenge. But during the dark stillness of the night, when her memories haunted her, she knew that it was a large part of her need. The things he’d planned to do and the things he had done. How could she forget? How could she not want retribution?

Water splashed over the tub’s side as she sat up abruptly. No, she wouldn’t think about those things. Replaying those dark days in her mind was a useless endeavor.

Pulling herself from the bath, she dried quickly and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Then, wiping the steam-filled mirror with a towel so she could see her reflection, she gave herself the same lecture she’d been using for years. She could endure any and all things because of who she was inside. She’d had the best, most loving parents in the world. They had instilled within her a core of steel that had often been dented but had never been, would never be, dissolved.

To others, her soft gray-blue eyes might look vulnerable and innocent, but she knew what lay beyond them. She had endured some horrific events in her life, and though they’d punctured and sliced into her soul, they hadn’t destroyed her.

“Jamie, dinner’s ready.”

Dylan’s voice pulled her back from the dark, as it had so many times before. Would he be surprised about that?

“I’m coming.”

And with those words, Jamie gave the determined nod she’d learned long ago and headed out the door.

Dylan placed the Crock-Pot filled with pot roast, potatoes, and carrots on the table. About to take the rolls out of the oven, he stopped abruptly when Jamie entered the kitchen. How the hell did someone who’d just gone through a grueling day of training look as though she’d spent a relaxing day in a spa? She had to be exhausted and aching in every muscle. Instead, she offered him a sunny smile as she sat at the table.

“This looks wonderful. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“My grandmother. She was an invalid in her later years and talked me through some recipes.”

Remembering the twinkling eyes of his grandmother always did something to Dylan’s heart. Though he’d lived with her for only eight years and had gone through hell before he’d gotten to her, those had been some of the best days of his life.

Jamie took a bite of roast and closed her eyes on a groan of appreciation. All thoughts of his grandmother disappeared as Dylan’s entire mind went blank. One small groan from this woman could make him harder than steel. If she ever truly tried to attract him, he figured, he’d expire.

Determined to ignore the now throbbing arousal, he bent his head to his meal. Other than the clang of silverware and a couple more appreciative groans from Jamie, there was silence in the room. And if she groaned one more time, Dylan was going to have to either tell her to shut up or kiss her.

Before he could come up with a solution that wouldn’t hurt her or kill him, she said, “You lived with your grandmother? Where were your parents?”

If there was a question that could dispel any good or normal feelings inside him, Jamie had just nailed it. No way in hell was he going into detail about what happened in his childhood. That was only fodder for horror movies and nightmares.

Softening his answer never entered his head. “Dead.”

Though she jerked a bit at the harsh one-word answer, it didn’t deter her. “What happened?”

“It’s not something I like to talk about.”

“I’m sorry. It’s painful, isn’t it?”

Jamie would know about that kind of pain. Her own parents had been murdered. Her soft eyes were sympathetic and understanding.

Thing was … he couldn’t call what he felt pain. It was sordid and dirty, and he did his damnedest to never think of it, but when he did, pain wasn’t what he felt. Refusing to lie, but still not willing to go there, he shrugged. “I’m just not one who likes to dwell on the past.”

“The past helps define us.”

Dylan snorted. “That’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“What I said … bullshit.”

“So you don’t think what happens in your childhood affects you?”

“That’s not what you said. You said it defines us. We make our own way in this life.”

“I agree, but you have to admit that what happens to us, especially in early childhood, helps shape us. Psychologists will tell you that—”

Dylan’s chair scraped against the hardwood floor as he pushed it back abruptly and stood. He went to the sink and began to rinse the dishes. How the hell had he gotten caught up in an argument about the past? Didn’t matter that part of him agreed with her. Unfortunately, there was no way to end the conversation easily. Fuck it, he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to continue down that road. Turning, he snarled, “My past isn’t up for discussion or analysis. Drop it.”

Her eyes went wide, and he knew he’d shocked her with his behavior. She realized she’d gone too far. Good. Now she knew what was off-limits. He refused to feel any guilt over her hurt feelings.

Instead of apologizing for delving into an area she had no right to go into, instead of crying over hurt feelings, instead of getting up and storming out of the room, Jamie, predictably, did the unpredictable. Leaning back against her chair, she said softly, “So it’s okay that you know every aspect of my life, but I can’t know any of yours.”

“This isn’t a group therapy session. If you need more counseling, I’ll get your therapist to come for a visit.” He turned back to the sink, not wanting to see the damage his words inflicted.

The scraping of her chair against the hardwood floor told him she was leaving. Good. Now they could get back to the business at hand, and she had learned a valuable lesson to boot.

A soft touch on his arm was his first indication that with Jamie, he should never assume anything. Turning, he looked down at her and almost forgot every promise he’d made to himself not to kiss her. She was so damn beautiful, inside and out.

Her expression one of understanding and compassion, she said softly, “Sometimes it helps to talk to a friend about it. Someone who knows what it feels like.”

“Friends? Is that what we are?”

Though her throat convulsed slightly as she swallowed, that was the only sign she gave that she was nervous. “I’d like to think so.”

Dylan pulled away. There was no way he could stay close to her right now and not reveal that friendship was the last thing on his mind. “Think again. We’re not friends. I’m your trainer; you’re my student. That’s it.”

He had been pushing to get her to back off and finally succeeded. Though her eyes went bright as if tears might fall, she maintained the dignity that had impressed him so much when he’d first met her. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

She backed away and headed toward the door. Calling himself every vile name in the book, Dylan closed his eyes and told himself to let her go. He had nothing for her other than knowledge and skill for her training. That was it.

Instead of doing the smart thing, he heard the truth tear from his mouth: “My father killed my mother.”

She stopped at the doorway and turned. The expression on her face wasn’t shock or disgust … it was compassion. Hell, he’d rather have the disgust. It was easier to take.

“When? What happened?” she asked softly.

“When I was a kid.” He shrugged. “He was a mean drunk. One day he went too far.”

“Is that when you went to live with your grandmother?”

If only. “No.”

“But how …?”

The discussion had gone on long enough. Just because he’d revealed something only a handful of people even knew about him, that didn’t mean he was going to spill the entire sordid story. “It’s not important. I just …” Hell, he just what? He shrugged and said, “I’m sorry I was a jerk. Okay?”

Though he saw the questions shimmering in her eyes, he was glad she did nothing more than say, “Thank you for telling me.”

Before he could say anything else, she turned to the door and walked out of the room. The breath rushed from Dylan with a giant, rasping wheeze. Holy hell, why had he shared that with her? He could have apologized without divulging part of his shitty life story.

Cursing his stupidity, Dylan proceeded to put the leftovers away and wash the few dishes they’d used. Normally Jamie would have offered, but he figured she wanted to get away from him, and he was glad. Having her around was a distraction he didn’t need right now.

Besides the fact that sharing such intimate information wasn’t his thing, letting her be aware of his past might have one valuable aspect. She now knew that he was the son of a cold-blooded killer. Hard not to be disgusted by that fact. Those glimpses of hero worship and attraction he’d seen in her eyes would now be completely gone.

At that thought, a deep pit opened up in his stomach and something kicked him hard and deep. Ignoring the pain, Dylan resumed what he’d been doing since he’d met her: burying his need beneath a mountain of denial.

eight

Reddington’s island

Raphael stepped off the boat and onto dry land at last. Nerves and seasickness weren’t a good combination. The first half of the trip, he’d had his head in a bucket. The last half, he’d been praying for death.

The nerves might not have been so bad if not for the intrusive, full-body patdown and then having his phone confiscated before he was even allowed inside the limousine. Now, two plane rides and two boat trips later, he was on solid ground, and it was his sincerest hope that the trip was at an end. No wonder no one could find Reddington. Here Raphael was at the man’s home and he still had no real idea of where it was. Having been told to stay below while on the boats had crushed his chances of identifying his location.

In between bouts of sickness, he’d worked up the courage to ask one of Reddington’s men where they were going and had gotten an abrupt answer: “Canary Islands.”

Not terribly helpful, since that was a big freaking area. And since they’d taken his phone, Noah couldn’t track him. So, for better or worse, he was on his own. Raphael straightened his shoulders. What better way to prove that he was capable and mature enough to be an LCR operative?

“Raphael, my boy, welcome to my home.”

Stanford Reddington’s booming voice jerked him out of his thoughts, reminding him that he had a role to play. Staying on Reddington’s good side was imperative.

Holding out his hand, he firmly shook the older man’s. “It’s good to see you, sir. Thank you again for this opportunity.”

The first time he had met Reddington, he’d been surprised. The man was no more than five foot seven, and though he looked like he’d put on some weight since Raphael had last seen him, he was still a small man. As if in apology for his unimpressive size, Mother Nature had gifted him with a thick head of silver hair—prematurely silver since the man was probably only in his forties. That, along with sharply piercing blue eyes and the most dramatic voice Raphael had ever heard, created an image of a powerful and successful man.

“Did you have a good trip?”

Raphael grimaced and shook his head. No use lying about it. Reddington’s men had never made a derogatory comment to his face, but he’d seen their amusement. “Unfortunately, I suffered from some airsickness and seasickness, but I’m much better.”

“Excellent. The trip is grueling, I admit, but it’s necessary.” Reddington’s smile held more than a little condescension. “When one is a wealthy, powerful man, one collects enemies and has to take precautions. Protecting my family is of the utmost importance.”

Yeah … right
.

“But don’t you think the trip was worth it?” At those words, Reddington spread his arms wide.

No way could Raphael deny the beauty of the setting. Just standing on the pier, he was able to see a pristine expanse of shoreline that looked miles long. Down the beach, another larger pier extended farther out into the water. Attached to one side of it was a pool house. Even from this distance, Raphael could see water glistening from a giant swimming pool. Up on a hill above the beach, surrounded by giant palms, fruit trees, and exotic flowers, was a massive Spanish-style villa.

“It’s beautiful, sir.”

“Let’s not be so formal. Call me Stan.”

Swallowing back the panic at what this man would do to him if he ever found out Raphael was here as a spy, he nodded his agreement. “Stan it is.”

“Let’s head up to the house and get you settled.” Since Raphael stood a good five inches above Reddington, the older man wrapped a strong arm around his waist and pushed him forward. “After you refresh yourself, you can come down to lunch and meet the rest of the family.”

“Lance is here?”

The mouth that had been smiling so pleasantly, now twisted with bitterness. “No, unfortunately, Lance is still away.”

Raphael hadn’t seen Lance since the night of Jamie Kendrick’s rescue. He’d done what Noah had told him to do: unlock the back door and then stay the hell out of the way. To avoid suspicion, the police had arrested Raphael along with all the other men that night. Noah had retrieved him hours later.

Stanford Reddington and his son seemed to have little in common except, perhaps, morals. They looked nothing alike. Lance was tall and slender, with brown hair and light blue eyes. And where Stanford was always friendly and personable, Lance was belligerent and sarcastic. It had been a huge disappointment to Raphael when he’d heard that Lance and his father weren’t going to prison.

“So Lance is still in Germany?”

“Yes, though I’m hopeful he’ll be able to come home for a visit soon.” Putting the smile back in place, Stanford beamed up at Raphael. “Perhaps he’ll make it home before you have to leave.”

The nod Raphael gave was as noncommittal as he could manage. The invitation hadn’t come with a timeline. How long Reddington intended for him to stay, he didn’t know. But as long as he was here, he planned to make the best use of his time.

Smiling down at the man who seemed to like him a little too much, Raphael said, “That would be wonderful.”

As Reddington led him up a long walkway, Raphael took in the grandeur. Had the man’s legitimate businesses bought him his wealth or was slave trading responsible for all of this?

Stepping onto a tiled patio, Stanford threw his arms out again in an extravagant, grandiose way—something he seemed to do a lot. “Welcome home, Raphael.”

Before Raphael could question Reddington’s strange wording, he heard a sound behind him.

“Papa?”

The musical, feminine voice had both men turning their heads. All the breath left Raphael’s body. The girl was beautiful: tall, slender, with long black hair and large, dark brown eyes. She wore a short yellow dress, revealing smooth golden skin and the longest, sleekest legs Raphael had ever seen.

“Giselle, my love. This is the young man I told you about. Come say hello.”

Dry-mouthed and speechless, Raphael stood rooted to the ground as she came closer.

“Raphael, this is my oldest daughter, Giselle.”

He knew he held out his hand, because he could feel her small, soft hand in his. Words were a different matter. The best he could do was offer her a nod.

Thankfully, she seemed fine with his nonverbal greeting. “It’s nice to meet you, Raphael. Papa has talked of nothing but how pleased he is about your coming for a visit.”

With a warm and friendly smile, she waited silently for him to respond. And Raphael would have loved to do just that; unfortunately, he couldn’t get his mouth to work. He wasn’t usually shy or awkward, but this beautiful girl left him speechless.

Apparently realizing that he wasn’t going to speak, she turned to her father. “Mama told me to tell you we’re having lunch on the second-floor terrace today.”

“Excellent. Raphael and I will join you in a moment.”

With one last smile, she glided away from them. There was no way he could make his eyes move away until she disappeared from sight. Even knowing that her father could see his expression, Raphael couldn’t force himself to do the smart or wise thing.

“I see my Giselle has caught your eye.”

Finally words returned to Raphael’s brain. Clearing his throat, he turned to the older man and said, “She’s lovely.”

Instead of looking disturbed that Raphael had practically salivated over his daughter in front of him, Reddington’s face brightened with the broadest, friendliest smile he’d ever seen from the man. “Exactly what I was hoping for.”

With those enigmatic words, he pushed Raphael forward. “Let me show you to your room, and then you can meet the rest of the family.”

Feeling as though the earth had just shifted on its axis, Raphael followed the man inside. What was the real reason Reddington had invited him here?