Sweet Revenge (21 page)

Wheels squealed as the bus made a stop, and almost half the bus unloaded. Dylan got to his feet and followed other riders out. He needed to get back to his apartment and make the appropriate contacts. First, he needed McCall to find him a female operative with the specifications this client had requested. And he needed to update his boss about the invitation.

The plan would have to be fluid until he arrived at Reddington’s home and figured out what he faced. Getting there didn’t mean the records were going to be easy to find.

Another job, and equally important, would be finding Raphael and getting him the hell out of there. Dylan just hoped to hell the kid hadn’t gotten caught trying to find the information on his own.

Hailing a taxi in the middle of workday traffic would be pointless. Dylan started down the narrow streets, dodging harried pedestrians, bicyclists, and the occasional streetwalker. Always aware of his surroundings, he knew no one had followed him from the meeting or from the bus. Still, he wasn’t surprised to see a shadowy figure hovering at the corner of his apartment building nor to glimpse a man inside his apartment, passing by the window. How many times was he going to be searched before they realized there was nothing to find?

The goon on the corner was one he recognized from the bar where Armando had set up his test. Figuring the guy knew what could happen to a pissed-off Dylan, he strode toward the creep. “Hey, asshole, you got a reason for being in front of my place … like wanting to get your face flattened?”

It was apparent the guy didn’t speak English, and Dylan didn’t bother to translate. The closer he got, the wider the man’s eyes grew. When Dylan was within ten steps of him, the man whispered,
“Lo siento. Dirección equivocada”
and took off running.

Wrong address, my ass
. Shrugging, Dylan headed inside. The lookout would have been the weakest one. The man in his apartment would be tougher. The meeting with Reddington had left him disgusted and angry. Nice that he now had an outlet for his pent-up rage.

Inside the dingy foyer, which always held an interesting fragrance combination of urine and cinnamon, Dylan stooped down and withdrew his Glock from his ankle holster. He preferred hand-to-hand combat, but going into a room without a weapon drawn was asking for trouble. He didn’t want trouble … he wanted to kick ass.

Easing up the stairway, he stepped lightly around the areas he’d memorized his first day here. Knowing which part of a stairway creaked made a surprise entry so much more fun.

On the fourth-floor landing, Dylan stopped for a listen. Other than a crying baby, a couple of cats screeching outside, and a too-loud television, he heard nothing. His room was at the end of the hallway. Taking the same care he’d used coming up the stairs, he made his way down to within a few feet from his door.

He glanced down at the large crack under the door. One advantage to living in a shitty residence was that there was plenty of space to see beneath the door. The lights were off, but he sensed the man’s presence inside the room.

His hand on the doorknob, Dylan twisted, and was pleased the man had left it unlocked. With his gun at the ready, he exploded into the room, then came to a screeching halt. The man sitting in the lone chair beside the window wasn’t a threat, even though he’d pissed Dylan off on occasion.

Lowering his gun, Dylan flipped a light switch near the door and frowned at the dark countenance of LCR operative Jared Livingston. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Broad shoulders shrugged. “Thought it best to get out of town for a while.”

No other explanation was needed. Livingston walked on thin ice with McCall on a weekly, if not daily, basis.

Dylan holstered his gun and headed to the kitchen. Pulling two beers from the fridge, he returned to the living room and threw a bottle toward the other man. Catching it with one hand, Jared twisted the cap off, took a long drink and sighed. “Thanks. I wanted one but hated to take it without asking.”

Almost choking on his mouthful of beer at the outrageous lie, Dylan swallowed quickly and said, “How very polite of you.”

Livingston took another swallow, then gestured at the window with his bottle. “You take care of the giant outside?”

“Yeah. Barely said boo before he ran. I figured he’d brought a friend who would be here, waiting for me.”

“Wished he had.”

Dylan couldn’t argue, since he’d been looking forward to letting off a little steam. “There’s a boxing gym a block from here.”

“Good.”

Staying in shape on an op wasn’t a huge issue for most operatives. A person could do plenty of physically challenging exercises without special equipment. But releasing pent-up energy wasn’t as easy. Since he’d been looking forward to kicking ass, Dylan was grateful to have a worthy sparring partner.

“We’ll go after I finish my beer.” Dylan stood to begin his nightly search for planted bugs.

“I’ve already checked.”

Nodding his appreciation, he headed to his bedroom to change. Doing a sweep for bugs was as natural to him as taking in air. One slip and an entire op could come crashing down on him, getting him and others killed.

As he emptied his pockets, he came across the piece of paper Reddington had given him. For the first time, he glanced down at the requirements and was surprised by not only the detailed specificity of the physical features but also the experience and education sought. Hell, the guy wanted the woman to be able to speak English fluently, have at least a four-year degree and the kind of social skills to host parties. These weren’t the usual kinds of sex-slave requirements. This man was looking for a companion—long-term or just for the night? Whoever he was, there was no doubt the man had major money to spend.

The reasons behind the detailed needs heavy on his mind, he almost missed the bug. A tiny microchip attached to the edge of his right sleeve. Shit, when had that happened? When he’d shaken hands with Reddington or when Armando had bumped up against him earlier that day?

The men were taking no chances, but neither was he. Leaving the bug in place, he changed quickly and walked back into the living room. He held the shirt up and nodded at it, knowing Livingston would catch on. “Got a job. You interested?”

His slate-gray eyes gleaming with knowledge and challenge, the LCR operative asked, “What’s the cut?”

“Twenty percent of my take.”

“Fifty.”

“Thirty.”

“Deal.”

Dylan handed him the paper with the specific requirements. “Got any ideas where we can find one like this?”

Livingston’s eyes widened slightly, revealing the same surprise Dylan had felt. They both knew that not only were specifics like this rare, but the man who wanted this kind of female wasn’t worried about getting caught. This type of woman would have a family, friends … a job. Unlike a homeless person or a prostitute, this person would be missed.

“I can think of a couple of places to hunt.”

Grabbing his keys, Dylan headed to the door. “Let’s talk on the way to the gym.”

Livingston stood and followed Dylan out the door. The gym was the perfect place to take the discussion. Renaldo, a friend to LCR ever since his niece had been rescued by one of their operatives, owned and operated the gym and could vouch for every person who came through the doors. He also had an office in the back with a secure phone line and computer, the two things Dylan didn’t have in his apartment.

For the first time since he’d gotten the invitation, Dylan allowed himself to feel satisfaction. Very soon, Reddington would be behind bars for the rest of his life, and Jamie could finally find the peace she deserved.

seventeen

Reddington’s island

Tonight was the dinner she’d been alternately dreading and anticipating for days. Dreading, because she wasn’t totally sure of her disguise—though sitting at a dinner table with Reddington should answer that question. The anticipation stemmed from the relief she’d feel if she pulled this off.

Instead of taking her usual walk on the beach with Amelia, she headed to her room as soon as she dismissed class. Now, hours later, she stood in front of the mirror and tried to see Jamie Kendrick behind the dark-haired, brown-eyed woman wearing thick glasses and a slightly outdated dress. The padding she wore beneath her clothing added about twenty pounds to her frame, and the soft rubberized mouthpiece she’d had made to place above her gums, along with skillfully applied makeup, made her face seem not only older but fuller and less angular.

Raphael would be at the dinner, too. She’d seen little of the young man, who seemed to spend much of his time with Giselle. The glimpse she’d gotten of them today had made her heart hurt. Even though she’d been standing a distance away from them, she’d heard youthful laughter and had seen a spontaneous hug. It was apparent that they were fond of each other. What would happen when Reddington’s empire crumbled?

Jamie shook her head. There was nothing she could do about broken hearts. She had more than enough on her plate—mainly, how to find the records and then get off the island.

In between teaching the precocious Amelia and dreading tonight’s dinner party, she’d spent hours roaming the island. Though she wanted to find the records and believed Reddington’s office would be the best place to start her search, it had occurred to her that if she needed to get off the island immediately, she’d better have a plan. Her findings weren’t encouraging: a remote island with the beauty of paradise and no visible way to leave it.

Since there was little she could do about that right now, Jamie refocused on her appearance and flashed a smile at her reflection. Did she have the distinctive kind that people would remember? She snorted softly … how incredibly foolish. Reddington sure as hell had never seen her smile.

The dinner chimes she’d only recently gotten used to hearing sounded. Giving herself one last nod of encouragement, Jamie turned and left the room. Time to see if her disguise held up and time to test her mettle.

Raphael took a long swallow of his tropical-fruit drink and waited for Giselle to come down to dinner. His nerves felt as though they were jumping out of his skin tonight. He had to get off the island before he either went crazy or did something even crazier, like kiss Giselle. Falling in love with Reddington’s daughter was an insane thing to do, but so far, he was the only one who knew. If he stayed much longer, he wouldn’t be able to keep his feelings a secret.

He was now ready to admit that he’d been stupid to come here. He’d had no training, formal or otherwise, to do what needed to be done. Each visit he’d made to Reddington’s private office had been pointless. The first time, he’d gotten caught by Giselle. On his second visit, he’d managed to get a good look at the wall safe. Not that it’d done much good—he had no idea how to crack open a safe. It was locked by a combination of a key and a series of numbers. A couple of years ago, he’d seen a movie where a guy tried to break into such a safe and alarms blared throughout the house. The risk was too great for something he knew he couldn’t crack in the first place.

Since then, he’d been concentrating on the files on the computer. And those results had been about as useless as his efforts with the wall safe.

Noah had tried to warn him that he’d be getting in over his head. And while he respected the LCR leader more than he could express, he hadn’t believed him. Helping in Jamie Kendrick’s rescue had given him a false confidence. And now not only was he behind enemy lines, he was in love with the enemy’s daughter.

“You look handsome but very worried. Is something wrong?”

He turned to face Giselle and swallowed hard. Why did she have to be beautiful not only on the outside but on the inside, too? If she had just been a pretty shell, he could have admired her beauty without losing his heart.

“Not worried. Just thinking about a conversation I need to have with your father.”

“I’m afraid it will have to wait. Mama said he sent a message that something came up and he won’t be back until next weekend.”

Another week would make little difference except for the damage to his sanity. Since that was already gone, there was nothing he could do but wait till next weekend. Maybe by then, he would’ve come up with a reason Reddington would accept for his need to get off the island.

Giselle took his arm and pulled him toward the door. “Dinner is ready. Mrs. Jennings, Amelia’s new teacher, is joining us.”

Resigned to one more week of torture, he followed Giselle. After only catching glimpses of the teacher since she’d been here, he was eager to meet the newest resident of Reddington’s desolate island. Did she know what she’d gotten herself into? Did she know that she was now a virtual prisoner? He hated to think that another person had fallen victim to the man.

The family was already seated when they arrived. Mrs. Reddington sat at one end of the table. To her left was Amelia, and to her right was the dark-haired woman he’d seen only from a distance.

“Sorry we’re late, Mama.”

With a solemn nod of her head, Mrs. Reddington acknowledged the apology. There were strict rules in the household, and being even a few minutes late for dinner was met with disapproval. Raphael had found that out a couple of days after he’d arrived. Reddington had barely talked to him during the meal and, once it was over, had pulled him aside and explained that tardiness would not be tolerated.

When Reddington wasn’t around, the entire household seemed to breathe more easily; still, being late was a habit no one wanted to get into.

Raphael pulled out a chair for Giselle, then sat across from her. The minute he was seated, Sarah Reddington made the introduction. “Raphael, this is Amelia’s new teacher, Karen Jennings.”

Flashing her a smile, he said, “I’ve heard good things about you from Amelia.”

Meeting his smile with a polite one of her own, she said, “And I you. Amelia told me you live in Madrid.”

Raphael nodded. “Mr. Reddington was kind enough to invite me to stay here for a few months.”

He detected a question in her eyes, but she just nodded and smiled, then moved on to a comment for Amelia.

As Raphael ate his excellent meal, he fielded questions from Giselle, made Amelia giggle with his comments, and watched Karen Jennings. Giselle had told him she was a widow who’d lost her husband only a few months ago, in a car accident. She had no children and no real family. There was an air of sadness and isolation about her. Though she joined in the conversation, and smiled on occasion, she seemed to hold herself back with a reserved kind of dignity.

She looked to be about thirty, maybe a little older. And though she was slightly plump, she ate only small amounts of her dinner. Was she nervous about having dinner with the family? If so, it was probably best that Reddington wasn’t here for her first time. The man had the kind of presence that sucked up all available space and energy. It’d taken Raphael over a week before he’d been able to eat a full meal with the man around. Reddington inspired nervousness.

Amelia said something, and Karen responded with a laugh. Raphael jerked at the familiar sound. Where had he heard someone laugh like that? It had a husky, slightly sensuous sound and seemed completely incongruent with her appearance.

“Something about you seems so familiar. Have we met before?”

Since the conversation had been about a book Amelia was reading, everyone turned to look at him. Mrs. Reddington, Giselle, and Amelia all appeared surprised by his question, but Karen had an oddly different reaction. Had he seen a flash of fear in her expression before she covered it with a small smile?

Jamie was sure everyone at the table could hear the sudden pounding of her thundering heart. She had thought she was doing so well, with no gaffes or missteps, and now Raphael had recognized her?

She mentally shook herself out of her terror. After months of preparation, she damn well better not mess this up. With her composure back in place, she shook her head. “I can’t think where that would have been.”

The young man’s eyes flickered strangely, but all he said was “Your laugh reminded me of someone. Can’t place it, though.”

McKenna
. How stupid not to think about that. She and McKenna had almost identical laughs. Even Lucas had commented on the similarities. Disguising her laugh would have been so easy. Knowing there was nothing else she could do, Jamie relied upon her cover. With a sad smile, she said, “My husband once called it infectious. A student of mine happened to be standing close by at the time and asked me what disease I had.”

Everyone laughed politely. Okay, so it was a lame joke, but at least it took the attention off Raphael’s comment.

“What was your husband’s name?” Giselle asked.

Grateful that the conversation had shifted, Jamie said, “Sam.”

“How long has he been gone?”

The warm sympathy in Giselle’s question almost made Jamie smile. She really was a kind and lovely person.

“I lost him less than a year ago. We were childhood sweethearts. I thought we would grow old together, but we were married less than six years.”

The silence that followed was the awkward kind that often came after someone said something that made people uncomfortable. For Jamie, it was a welcome relief. Even Raphael looked ill at ease.

Letting out a steadying breath, she took another bite of her tasteless meal. Any other time she would have enjoyed the grilled prawns, but nerves and appetite weren’t a good combination.

Thankfully, Mrs. Reddington moved on to another topic of conversation, and the awkwardness passed. For the rest of the meal, Jamie made a point of not laughing. She was almost sure Raphael hadn’t made the connection, but she wasn’t going to chance it.

When she’d learned that Reddington wasn’t going to attend the dinner, she’d been enormously relieved, thinking she’d been granted a temporary reprieve. Since she and Raphael had never met, she’d convinced herself that he would pose no problem. Thanks to her overconfidence, she’d almost blown it.

At last, dessert arrived, and Jamie relaxed. Now her only concern was to survive this last course, get back to her room, and come to grips with her nerves. The lemon pie that appeared in front of her changed all of that. The instant she saw it, Dylan immediately came to her mind. Lemon pie was his favorite dessert. Tears sprang to her eyes, and a lump developed in her throat. Great, why couldn’t she have conjured these tears when she was talking about her poor dead husband? Getting all emotional over lemon pie was going to look damn stupid.

Thankfully, everyone seemed immersed in devouring the dessert, leaving her to be sappy over the pie all by herself. Able to take only one bite before her throat closed up on her, she carefully returned her fork to the table.

“Did you not like the pie, Mrs. Jennings?” Amelia asked.

Hoping her eyes didn’t show any remaining tears, she lifted her gaze to the little girl. “Oh yes, it was wonderful. I’m just full from the delicious meal.”

“I’m sorry Stanford couldn’t be here tonight,” said Mrs. Reddington. “He relishes our family dinners.”

“I look forward to seeing him next week.”

Jamie stood and addressed the table without meeting anyone’s eyes. “Will you excuse me, please? I feel a slight headache coming on.” A mild understatement as she suddenly became aware of the vicious pounding at her right temple … no doubt caused by tension and nerves.

“Of course,” Sarah Reddington said. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“I’m sure a good night’s sleep will work wonders.” After pressing an affectionate hand to Amelia’s shoulder, Jamie turned around and, as sedately and calmly as she could, fled.

She made it back to her room in record time. Of all the freaking times to get emotional about Dylan, this was probably the worst. For months she had worked on her cover, perfecting and refining it. She had continued her training and had even added to it with the contacts she’d made. The hurt Dylan had dealt her had been firmly squashed. And now, because of a stupid dessert, all of those feelings had reappeared.

Locking her bedroom door, Jamie tore off her clothes, stripped off the padded bodysuit and underwear, pulled out her mouthpiece, and headed to the shower. A deep ache in her chest told her she needed immediate privacy. The shower was the only place she knew she could go.

She turned the water to full blast, stepped inside, and let go. Sobs, guttural and soul-deep, exploded. Her forehead pressed against the shower wall, Jamie cried for so many things: Dylan’s betrayal, her stupidity in falling in love with him after he’d made it clear he wanted information from her, the knowledge that she’d given her heart and body to a man she really didn’t know. After her rescue, she’d made the decision to get control of her life, to stop being a victim, which was one of the many reasons she had been determined to do this job. Instead, she’d found herself right back in victim mode. And it made her damn mad.

Straightening her shoulders, Jamie inhaled a steamy, bracing breath. The tearfest was over, and her emotions were on lockdown once more. Even though her head continued to pound, her body felt lighter, freer. Maybe this was what she’d needed: a good, girly cry to get it over and done with.

She quickly washed the makeup from her face and turned the water off. Then, grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around herself and headed back to her bedroom. She had a lot of things to think of and plans to make. One more week before Reddington arrived. Could she find what she needed before then? And when she did, how was she going to get off the island?

With her mind back on her purpose, she dressed in loose, dark clothing and slicked her wet hair up, pinning the mass into a bun. If anyone saw her, the loose clothing should hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing her padding. Now all she needed to do was wait until the household was sound asleep; then she would begin. On her first day here, she’d been given a tour of the mansion, and she knew exactly where she planned to start her search: Reddington’s private office.