Sweet Revenge (24 page)

With her heart chugging like a locomotive, she gave him a small, twisted smile. “I guess it would look strange to ask for a doggie bag.”

His mouth twitched with a slight humor. “Especially if you don’t have a dog.”

Two things occurred to her simultaneously: Dylan was trying to ease her obvious discomfort with gentle, humorous banter. And he had absolutely no idea who she was. Jamie didn’t know which one amazed her more. When they’d been together, everything he’d said or done had seemed to be designed to either piss her off or turn her on. This compassionate side startled her. And she couldn’t deny the little tingle of satisfaction that he didn’t recognize her. How many times had he told her she wouldn’t be able to pull this off? And now he had no idea that the woman he’d made love to only a few months back, with such focused need and heat, sat across the table from him, inside the enemy’s camp.

The triumphant feeling lasted until she reminded herself that, so far, she’d found out nothing useful in this self-assigned undercover mission. And when he learned her identity, the shit would hit the proverbial fan with a giant, snarling splat.

Since there was nothing she could do about his upcoming fury, she made herself concentrate on the here and now. Keeping the conversation light, she said, “No dog, but I have adopted a line of ants on my balcony.”

He cocked his head in curiosity, and Jamie figured the jig was up. Instead, he said, “You don’t have a distinctive accent, but occasionally I hear a midwestern twang. Where are you from?”

Her ability to disguise her voice was something she’d practiced long and hard to perfect.
Thank you, Aunt Mavis, for making me take speech and diction lessons
.

“You have a good ear, Mr. Wheeler. I spent most of my childhood in Illinois, around the Champaign area. I moved to Chicago to go to school and never left.”

“Until now.”

“Yes.”

Reddington said something to get Dylan’s attention, and he looked away from her. Finally she allowed herself to breathe again. And though she was glad he hadn’t recognized her, she was suddenly deflated. She and Dylan had just had a conversation like any man and woman who’d just met might have. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, she’d seen a spark of attraction in his eyes. So now, not only was she sad because this had been one of the most pleasant conversations she’d ever had with him, she was having jealously pangs—about herself. Could this night get any weirder?

Dylan answered Reddington’s question about deep-sea fishing, aware that it had been asked to turn his attention away from Karen Jennings. Did Reddington not like his hired hands to socialize or was there another reason he wanted to discourage their conversation? Was the woman more to him than just his daughter’s teacher?

The woman didn’t seem Reddington’s type. She was attractive, but in an understated, bland kind of way, almost as if she wanted to blend into the background. Compared to Reddington’s wife, who was exotic and stunningly beautiful, the Jennings woman was like a small, brown sparrow.

Something about the woman drew Dylan to her, though. He liked the intelligence in her voice and her obvious affection for her student. The disquiet she’d felt at Reddington’s comments about his daughter’s potential beauty had been obvious. He saw backbone there. In an odd way, she reminded him of Jamie. Not so much in looks—Jamie was much prettier—but in the way she held herself, turned her head. And the one small smile she’d offered him had reminded him of Jamie’s.

Dylan pulled his thoughts away from Karen Jennings. She wasn’t his concern. He was here to do a job, and the best he could hope for regarding the teacher was that she would have no trouble finding new employment, because soon, her employment here would end.

The exploration of the island this afternoon had been interesting but frustrating. The island was small, maybe about three-quarters of a mile long, and totally secluded. He’d spotted a larger island in the distance, but getting there would require a boat. And that was what he’d found the most frustrating. Finding the files might be a piece of cake compared to the difficulty of getting off the island. So far, his only viable option was hijacking the yacht. As a rule, yachts weren’t the best mode of transportation for a speedy getaway.

Knowing he could do nothing about that until the time came for escape, his mind turned to another worry, this time a major one. Raphael was nowhere to be found. After exploring the island, he’d taken a quick look around the mansion. He’d even located what he thought was probably Reddington’s private office. What he hadn’t found was the kid. Where the hell was he?

And the hell of it was, he couldn’t ask anyone. He wasn’t even supposed to know that Raphael existed. His last hope that the young man was just in another part of the mansion disappeared at dinner. If he was still on the island, he would have attended the dinner.

The thought of something having happened to the intelligent young man who’d been so eager to work for LCR that he’d put his life on the line twice tore at Dylan. The only thing saving Reddington from a severe beating until he came up with Raphael’s location was Dylan’s need to stay undercover. However, before he left here, he would find out about the kid. If Reddington had hurt him, he’d pay.

Her knees weak with relief, Jamie pushed open her bedroom door. Never had she been happier for an evening to end. She had anticipated being uncomfortable. Seeing Reddington up close and personal was something she’d been dreading. Sitting across from Dylan and being someone else had been an additional stress she hadn’t anticipated. And then, before she’d left the table, she had realized a new worry: she had attracted more than one admirer tonight. The thick-necked giant sitting to one side of Reddington had given her a few covert glances during the meal, but when she’d stood to leave the table, the subtlety had disappeared. The look had all but stripped her clothes off and told her exactly what he wanted to do to her. What little food she’d been able to swallow had surged up her throat. She’d whispered a hasty good night and zoomed back to the safety of her room.

A tension headache hammered. Taking off her disguise, swallowing some aspirin, and covering her aching head till morning held great appeal. She couldn’t. Even though Reddington’s presence increased the danger of getting caught, she had to continue to try to get into those files. It was the reason she was here.

Removing her clothes and extra padding, Jamie wiped off her makeup and dressed in her dark sweats. As was her usual routine, she set her alarm for two-fifty
A.M
. and lay down on the bed. If she was lucky, she’d get in about three hours of sleep before she had to get up. She closed her eyes, wondering groggily if, when this job was over, she’d ever be able to go back to sleeping a full night.

The nightmare attacked without warning.

The house was silent. Had night fallen again? With shutters over the small lone window, she had no idea if the sun blazed outside or if the stars were twinkling. Her whole world had become this room
.

She had no idea where she was or what had happened to her. She knew she hurt everywhere and she had a vague sense of violence, but that was all
.

How long had she been here? Days? Weeks? She knew she’d been unconscious at some point. Knew that a doctor or some medical professional had examined her, put bandages on cuts, probed her ribs, and said something about bruising. And she’d felt the bruises between her upper thighs. She had a vague sense of who’d caused her pain, but her mind veered away from thinking
.

Voices outside the door caught her attention. She twisted her head on the pillow and tried to move her body. For some odd reason, she couldn’t. Why? Forcing her fogged brain to think, she told her arm to move. She wasn’t paralyzed—there was feeling there—but something impeded her movement. Her arm tugged, and she heard a clank against the wood frame of the bed. Restrained. She was handcuffed to a bed
.

Her heart thundered; her breathing turned to panting. The pain in her ribs exploded, but she could concentrate on only one thing. She was handcuffed—a prisoner. Who? Why?

The doorknob rattled and light from an open door flooded the dark room. She twisted her head. Two men stood in the doorway. She couldn’t make out their faces. Did she know them? Bright light flashed as someone flipped a switch. Despite the need to see her captors, she closed her eyes against the intense brightness
.

“Damn, she’s ugly. Why’d your dad buy you such an ugly bitch?”

“She’s supposed to be good-looking. My dad got her at a bargain since she’s messed up. The doctor said in a week or two, she’ll start looking better.”

“Hell, I hope so.”

“Look at this.”

Jamie had yet to open her eyes, but when a cool breeze hit her body, they popped open. She looked up at two young men, probably about twenty. They were gazing down at her with the slimiest, most evil expressions she’d ever seen on anyone’s face
.

“Damn, you’re right. Once those bruises go away, we’re going to have some fun.”

A hand came out and touched her breast, and for the first time, Jamie realized why she was cold. The sheet that had been covering her had been taken off. She looked down at the hand on her naked breast. Horrified, her eyes went farther. She was completely nude, covered with bruises, and handcuffed to a bed
.

She looked up at the two strangers and screamed
.

Jamie shot up from the bed and flew across the room to the door. Her hand was on the doorknob before she realized it had been a nightmare. Vivid and all too real, but only a nightmare.

Her breath coming in gasps, she leaned against the wall. Months without even a hint of a nightmare and now, though it had been a mild one, she knew exactly where it had been headed. She checked the clock. Only one-thirty, but she couldn’t lie down again. No way in hell was she inviting more of the same. Other than her therapist, no one knew what had happened during those long, dark days and nights. Damned if she’d give the memories permission to return and wreak their havoc.

Settling into a chair by the window, Jamie concentrated on everything other than the nightmare. And as usual, Dylan came to mind. She’d had a lot of time to think about her time with him. Falling in love with him had been no surprise. She’d been halfway in love with him from the moment she’d met him. She had left the cabin that morning heartbroken and angry, but in retrospect, she’d had no real justification for her anger. Dylan had made it no secret that he intended to get the truth from her. The seduction scene he’d set up the night before she left had infuriated her, until she’d remembered her thoughts before walking into the living room. She’d had seduction plans of her own. Maybe not to get information, but did the reason even matter? She’d been no innocent lamb being taken advantage of by the big bad wolf. Jamie had gone into that room under her own steam, with every intention of having sex with Dylan. To pretend otherwise would be a lie.

When all of this was over, could they start again? He didn’t love her, but the attraction was more than obvious. She smiled at the thought of them going on a real date and behaving like a normal couple. After all that had happened to her in the last couple of years, that sounded so tame, ordinary … and absolutely wonderful.

The alarm beside her bed beeped, letting her know it was time to go and try once again to break into Reddington’s computer. She opened her bedroom door, listened intently, and then peeked out. All clear.

As she made her way down the wide staircase, her steps soft and silent, the uselessness of this act hit her. Sneaking inside and trying yet another password that wasn’t going to work made her want to turn around and head back upstairs. How on earth could she hope to come up with the right one out of trillions of possibilities?

Quietly opening the door to Reddington’s office, Jamie stepped inside, then shut it behind her. Pointless and useless though it was, right now this was all she could do. Hopefully when she and Dylan talked, he’d have a better plan.

“You’re earlier tonight.”

Jamie froze. Horrified, she watched as the chair whirled around and Sarah Reddington rose to her feet behind her husband’s desk.

twenty-one

In a matter of seconds, myriad excuses flitted through Jamie’s mind: I was looking for a book to read. I wanted to use the computer to send an email to a friend. The light is better in here.
What, Jamie, what? Say something!

“Mrs. Reddington, I—”

The older woman held up her hand to stop her. Since Jamie still had no idea what she intended to say, stopping was easy.

“I know you and Raphael come in here every night at three. And even though he’s not here, I assumed you would continue your search.”

Still Jamie had no words. The woman knew she was searching for something. Did she know what?

“I’ve decided to help you.”

Of all the things Jamie expected this woman to say, this would have been the last one. Finally, she managed her first word: “Why?”

“Because it’s past time for it to stop.”

“It?”

“I don’t really know all of what he’s done, though I have my ideas. I only know that living like this is no life at all.”

What had Reddington done to change her mind? Though Sarah looked lovely with her shoulder-length midnight hair pulled back into a severe knot, emphasizing her beautiful bone structure and classic features, Jamie noted that her mouth was slightly swollen and her eyes were red-rimmed and gleamed brightly. She had been crying. The dimmed lights at dinner now made sense. What had the bastard done to hurt her?

“I see the questions on your face,” Sarah Reddington said. “I won’t answer them.”

“I understand.” And she did. Having her own share of painful secrets, she respected the woman’s right to keep hers to herself.

Jamie shot a glance at the desktop computer. “I’ve been trying to open the files. I believe there’s incriminating evidence on them. Evidence that your husband would probably kill to keep hidden.”

A small, sad smile fractured Sarah’s soft mouth. “My children’s safety is all I care about. Dying no longer frightens me as it once did.”

For weeks, Jamie had thought Sarah Reddington was totally clueless about her husband and that she was very much in love with him. When Giselle had been hurt, she had realized that all was not as it seemed. Now the stark pain on the older woman’s face told of something even more ominous and chilling.

The need to comfort the woman was strong, but having no idea what to say, Jamie turned to the reason she was here. “Do you have any idea what password he might be using to protect his files?”

A small breath shuddered through the other woman. “Guinevere.”

“Why Guinevere?”

“Because that’s my real name.”

There was a major story behind that explosive statement, but Mrs. Reddington had made it clear she wasn’t willing to talk about her reasons for helping.

While respecting the woman’s privacy, Jamie felt excitement bloom in her at the thought that this could be the key to everything. Crossing over to the desk, she sat down and clicked on the computer. As she waited for it to start up, she glanced up at the woman who stood behind her and was surprised to see a look of wonder on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

Sarah shook her head. “I’ve never seen it turned on before.”

The thought that in this day and time, anyone other than someone in a third world country had never seen a live computer screen amazed her. It shouldn’t have, though. If the woman had lived here for years, secluded from the world, it only made sense that she’d had no exposure to such things.

When the icons appeared, Jamie took a deep breath. She told herself not to get her hopes up. Guinevere was one name in millions. The chances of it being the right one were beyond remote. Still, her fingers shook as she brought up the list of files and clicked on the first one. After typing in “Guinevere,” she hit Enter and held her breath.

A screen filled with names, dates, and prices appeared. Jamie felt as if she’d won the lottery, Publishers Clearing House, and a game show grand prize all at once.

“Is that what you’re looking for?”

With excitement numbing her mouth, unable to articulate a sound, Jamie nodded.

“These are names of people he sold, aren’t they?”

Recognizing the pain in Mrs. Reddington’s voice, Jamie twisted her head to look up at her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She opened a drawer and said, “Do you need paper to write them down?”

Jamie shook her head and withdrew the flash drives from her pocket. She inserted one into a port. “I’ll copy them onto this.”

Her eyes wide with amazement again, Sarah said, “All of that can go into something that small?”

“Yes.” Quickly saving the information to the drive, Jamie clicked on another file. She dared not hope it was the same password, but she had to give it a try. And once again, the file opened.

For half an hour, Jamie opened file after file and copied the information. Mrs. Reddington stood behind her, unmoving. What had this woman gone through in her lifetime? At one time, Jamie had worried what would happen to Sarah and the children once Reddington was behind bars. Now she knew that whatever happened, not only would be it better than what she had to deal with now, but that Sarah Reddington was apparently ready to meet those challenges.

When the last file had been copied, Jamie carefully closed it, shut down the computer, and stood. She turned to Mrs. Reddington, unsure of what she should say. The risk this woman had taken awed her. If her husband ever found out … Jamie mentally shook her head. He would never find out; she would make sure of that.

“Thank you for this.”

“Did he hurt you, too?”

The sad words gave Jamie even more insight into the older woman’s life. “Yes, he did. He …” What could she say? The woman knew that her husband was a corrupt, evil man. Did she know that her son was a perverted sex fiend? Hadn’t she been through enough? Problem was, if these files incriminated her son too, Mrs. Reddington would certainly know soon. Wouldn’t it be kinder to go ahead and tell her?

She started: “Mrs. Reddington, your son … he …” Good Lord, she couldn’t do it. How do you tell a mother that her son is a sadistic pervert?

The expression on Sarah’s face made it unnecessary. She might not know the details, but she knew. Her sad words “He’s like his father in many ways” confirmed it.

“I’m very sorry.”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”

Coming right after the nightmare she’d had earlier, these words almost made Jamie cry. Never had she thought to hear an apology, especially from the mother of her abuser.

“I’m fine now.” She pocketed the flash drive. The later it got, the more the risk of getting caught increased. “I’d better go.”

“When will you leave?”

“Tomorrow, maybe.” She couldn’t tell her about Dylan. The less the woman knew, the better her chances of being able to hide everything from her husband.

Mrs. Reddington nodded. “I’ll stay in here for a few minutes. It would be best if no one sees us together.”

“You and the children can come with me. You don’t have to stay here.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

Instead of giving a direct answer, Sarah shook her head. “I’ll wait out the storm here.”

Jamie went to the door and opened it softly. Then she turned, unable to leave without asking one last question. “Why did you stay all these years?”

With stark desolation in her eyes, Sarah whispered, “There are thousands of excuses and reasons I could give you. Funny, but none of them seem valid any longer. I only know I can’t live this way anymore.”

Dylan woke the next morning, rock hard and angry—never a good combination. During the little sleep he’d managed, he’d been plagued with odd, erotic dreams. Since he’d met Jamie, sex dreams had become a frequent occurrence. Now a new twist had been added, because the woman he’d met last night, Karen Jennings, had been in a few of them. He told himself that being attracted to another woman meant he was moving on and accepting that there was no future with Jamie. While that might have been true, he couldn’t deny the guilt, almost as if he had been unfaithful.

That wasn’t the reason he was angry. Last night had been a total waste of time. He’d waited until the household had settled down. Three-fifteen in the morning should have been prime searching time. He had believed that until he’d gotten to Reddington’s office and had heard voices. The door and walls were too thick to hear what they were saying, but he’d heard at least two distinctive, if muffled, voices.

Since he couldn’t just hang out in the hallway, hoping they’d leave, he’d returned to his room and waited. Half an hour later, he’d gone back and found the office empty. Not that it’d done any good. He’d found a safe that most assuredly had an alarm attached to it and a computer with the most sophisticated password-protection device he’d seen. Going undercover with Reddington was going to be a breeze compared to breaking into his files.

After nothing but invalid password messages to show for his time, he’d given up. He’d just have to figure out a way to get Reddington’s passwords. Some of the desk drawers had been locked. Maybe the man had written them down somewhere. Tonight he’d concentrate on the drawers, along with the ones in the credenza.

Today he faced an interesting challenge: meeting Lancelot Reddington and, instead of beating the shit out of him, actually teaching him how to determine the dollar value of human flesh.

With a snort of disgust, Dylan pulled himself out of bed. At least he had good accommodations. The view from his balcony looked out over the ocean. Would be nice if he could sit out there and drink coffee. Unfortunately, Reddington expected him for a breakfast meeting in—Dylan checked his watch—twenty minutes.

After a quick shower, he pulled on a pair of faded jeans, a T-shirt, and his oldest pair of running shoes. Dylan had never seen Reddington in anything other than a suit. Even Armando and his other goons dressed like they were businessmen. Maybe it was the man’s attempt at feeling less like a sleaze. It amused Dylan to dress in the complete opposite style. Pissing Reddington off this way was a petty indulgence, but he’d take what he could get.

He arrived at the south patio to find Reddington, Armando, and Bruno just sitting down to eat. Apparently this was going to be a working breakfast, which suited him fine. Having Reddington’s wife and daughter around, not to mention the schoolteacher, would only be a distraction.

A slight tick in Reddington’s jaw told Dylan that the man was still pissed about something. The obvious argument he’d had with his wife seconds after they’d arrived must’ve been something else. Last night, the anger had been seething but toned down. Today, he didn’t bother to hide his displeasure.

And when Reddington described the reason for his anger, Dylan’s day got considerably brighter.

“My daughter had an accident a couple of days ago and hurt her leg. Instead of handling the injury here on the island, she and her boyfriend chose to defy my orders to never leave the island. She’s in a hospital on La Rosa.”

He turned to Armando. “Since you’re going to collect Lance this afternoon, I want you to go earlier and pick up Giselle and Raphael as well.” He expression hardened. “They must come home immediately.”

As Armando gave his reassurance, Dylan’s mind tried to get into Raphael’s head. Would the kid take the chance he’d been given and get the hell away? Raphael was a smart kid, but just how did he feel about Reddington’s daughter? Reddington had referred to him as his daughter’s boyfriend.

The optimism Dylan had felt at learning that Raphael had gotten away disappeared. Armando would have no qualms about using force. The kid was untrained, unable to defend himself.

“Want me to help Armando?” he asked. “Might give Lance and me a chance to get to know each other.”

Armando shook his head emphatically. “I can handle the job.” The glare he shot Dylan was telling. Apparently, the admiration the man had for Dylan had morphed into jealousy. Great, just what he needed: a jealous psycho.

Reddington nodded. “I have full faith that Armando will return with Giselle, Raphael, and Lance.”

Dylan shrugged as if he didn’t care. Arguing would only create suspicion. The best he could hope for was that Raphael’s good sense and instincts had told him to run while he could. “What do you want me to do today?”

“You and Bruno can both take the day off. Lie on the beach. Enjoy the beauty of my home.”

Wouldn’t hurt to take another look around. Unless Armando was using the yacht to retrieve Reddington’s kids and Raphael, there was another way to get off the island. Maybe things were looking up after all.

“I think I’ll pay that pretty teacher a visit.”

Dylan’s head jerked up at Bruno’s statement.
What the hell?

Reddington chuckled. “I thought I saw interest in your eyes last night. Be warned, though. She’s newly widowed and may not be interested.”

Bruno smiled. “I can be very persuasive.”

“No.” The word was out of Dylan’s mouth before he could consider the consequences, but damned if he’d regret it. The image of this hulking giant getting close enough to touch Karen Jennings caused Dylan’s breakfast to surge up his throat.

“So you have an interest in the little teacher, too,” Reddington said. “Interesting.”

“I called her first,” Bruno grumbled.

Dylan swallowed a comeback that would only rile the bastard. Defending a lady’s honor wasn’t something John Wheeler would do. Men like Wheeler and Bruno wanted women for only one thing.

Turning to Reddington, he said, “You told me I could have my pick of two women at the next auction. Instead of taking two then, I’ll go ahead and take this woman as my bonus.”

Bruno opened his mouth to speak, but Reddington raised his hand to stop him. A glint in his eyes told Dylan he wasn’t going to like what the man was about to say.

“It’s true, you did ask for two women as a bonus. But Bruno asked for this woman first. I think the best way to solve the problem is to have a competition.”

“What kind of competition?” Bruno asked.

Reddington eyed Dylan up and down and then turned back to Bruno. “Wheeler here doesn’t have as much bulk as you do, but I’ve heard he’s quite talented. And I’ve seen you in action. Let’s see who’s the toughest. Winner gets to court the teacher.”