Sweet Reward: A Last Chance Rescue Novel

by Christy Reece

  With almost zero time left, her choices were limited. If she tried to take on the two men, there was a good chance that one of the girls would get hurt. With Jared and Dylan fighting with her, she’d have a greater chance of success. Not allowing herself time to hesitate, Mia stripped down to her underwear and threw her clothes in the closet on top of the dead man. Since her gun was too large to conceal, she left it with the clothes. Fortunately, her knife was small enough to hide in her bra. As long as she didn’t move the wrong way, she should be able to avoid a cut.

  “What are you doing?” one of the girls whispered harshly.

  “Improvising,” Mia replied. She went to the end of the line, grabbed the extra handcuff, and attached it to her wrist, careful to make sure it didn’t lock. A glance down the line at the young, frightened girls had her wishing she could come up with something quick to encourage them and ease their fear. She had no time for that. All she could do was issue an important instruction: “When I say ‘Drop’ all of you go to your knees. Okay?” They collectively nodded.

  The two men came through the door. She was taking a chance that they wouldn’t count. Who would suspect that a large group of handcuffed women had grown by one?

  “Where’s Stefano?”

  Apparently, Stefano was the dead man in the closet. No one answered. One of the men, muttering insults at Stefano’s parentage, grabbed the hand of the girl on the other end from Mia and walked out the door. The other man followed behind them.

  Neither Jared nor Dylan had any idea that Noah had been injured. When she entered with the girls, she was quite sure they’d both be shocked, but she also knew they’d maintain their cover. LCR operatives were too well trained to give away their emotions, no matter how surprised.

  The man on the end jerked hard, and all the girls, including Mia, stumbled into the room. Bumping into several of them, Mia maintained her frightened demeanor as she raised her eyes and looked at Jared.

  What the hell? What was Mia doing here? How had she been captured? Where the hell was McCall?

  Either Savage didn’t know Mia or hadn’t spotted her, because he growled like a convincing pervert, giving their key phrase of readiness: “Sweet as candy.”

  Several things happened at once. The door burst open and McCall stood in the doorway, his gun in one hand; his other hand was holding his side, which was covered in blood.

  Mia jerked away from the line of girls and shouted, “Drop!” In one motion, all the girls went to the floor.

  Jared went for François, who’d pulled his gun. After a high kick to rid the man of his weapon, Jared followed with a blow to his jaw. A stunned François teetered before him. One last kick—well placed and controlled—to the man’s throat. The man went down with barely a whimper.

  Turning, Jared watched as Mia whirled and kicked at a man who tried to grab her. Dylan handled the two other men. Only a couple of minutes later, four men lay on the floor.

  Jared spun around, but before he could ask what the hell had happened, he saw McCall, who’d been leaning against the door, go down.

  Dylan caught him before he could hit the floor. Jared went to his other side, and they slowly eased him onto his back. McCall’s skin was ash-gray. Jared checked his pulse and cursed at the too slow beat.

  “I’ve already called for an ambulance,” McCall said, his voice shakier than Jared had ever heard it before. “Should be here soon, along with the police.” His voice went even weaker. “There’s a bald guy handcuffed to the stair rail and a creep under some bushes on the east side of the house.”

  “We’ll take care of them,” Jared assured him.

  He watched as Dylan ripped open McCall’s shirt. The gash was covered with a bandage but blood was still soaking through.

  Jared turned around at a sound. Mia was standing with the young women, talking softly to them. As if she knew he was looking at her, she lifted her gaze to him. Her eyes, dark as midnight, held myriad emotions and thoughts—one of the most obvious was fear. She was afraid McCall was dying.

  “His pulse is weak but steady. Ambulance is on its way.”

  Her full lips trembled as she smiled her thanks and then turned back to the frightened women. Something tightened in his chest … that was the heart of this woman. She felt and cared deeply, but she knew what the priorities were—she was a true professional, in every sense of the word.

  In that moment, Jared acknowledged that he had no choice but to give her his complete trust. She had handled the situation like a trained operative. No matter what happened, Mia could take care of herself in any situation. And he was damn glad to be working with her on this case.

  Mia clutched the phone to her ear. “And they’re sure he’s going to be okay?”

  “Absolutely sure.” Samara McCall sounded slightly hoarse, as though she’d been crying, but there was steel there, too. “The doctor snapped at me the last time I asked him that.” She laughed softly and added, “I think he’s insulted that I don’t believe him.”

  Weak with relief and exhaustion, Mia collapsed onto the bed. She’d been frantic to hear how Noah was doing.

  Samara continued, “He’s lost a lot of blood and won’t be able to work for a couple of weeks. As soon as the doctor told him that, he started negotiating for better terms.” She snorted softly. “The man got an earful and a half.”

  Mia swallowed a laugh. Noah’s wife wasn’t one to hold back her opinion, especially if it was in defense of someone she loved. And Samara’s love for her husband was as deep and true as Mia had ever seen.

  “I wish I could have gone to the hospital with him,” Mia said.

  “That was one of the first things he asked about when he woke up. He was concerned you’d come to the hospital and blow your cover.”

  That had been a hard thing to do—watching the ambulance drive away and not knowing how badly Noah was hurt. But she’d had no choice. Since she was about to go undercover, any associations she had would be questioned and scrutinized. The slightest suspicion that she had a connection to Last Chance Rescue would blow up in their faces.

  Fortunately, LCR operative Riley Ingram had arrived just in time. About the same size and coloring as Mia, she had stepped in as a cover. After being briefed about what had gone down, the young operative had walked toward the police with an air of confidence that not even the best interrogator would doubt. She’d simply become the person who’d assisted in taking down human traffickers and had rescued several women. The many talents of LCR operatives never failed to amaze Mia.

  “Is anyone at the hospital with you?” Mia asked. If not, she was going to start making calls. Noah’s wife shouldn’t be there by herself.

  “Are you kidding? I’ve got Angela coordinating phone calls all over the world. Jamie Savage, Dylan’s wife, came by for a few minutes and then took Micah and Evie home so they could get some sleep. Jordan and Eden Montgomery are in with Noah now. And if I’m not mistaken, I see Aidan Thorne, along with Honor and Seth Cavanaugh coming down the hallway.”

  “Sounds like you’re covered then. Give Noah a hug for me. Tell him I’ll call him soon.”

  “Before you go, tell me how you’re getting along with Jared.”

  “Now, that’s a question with many answers.”

  “Want to try one?”

  “He’s the most infuriating, frustrating, and aggravating man I’ve ever known.”

  “And?”

  “He’s also kind, considerate, and incredibly sweet.”

  “You see that, too?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that behind that impervious wall he’s built around himself, there’s a man of deep feelings and emotions. I’m glad you’re perceptive enough to realize that. So many people never look beneath the surface.”

  Odd, but she got the feeling Samara was trying to tell her something without saying the words. As Noah’s wife, she was privy to information most LCR people would never know. And though Samara would never break anyone’s confidence, Mia
knew that the words she spoke had more than just a simple endorsement of Jared behind them.

  Mia didn’t ask for more information, and Samara wouldn’t tell her more anyway. However, she was glad to know that her instincts about him were on target.

  “Uh-oh,” Samara said. “I’ve gotta go. Aidan Thorne just walked into Noah’s room with a brown paper bag. If I know my husband—and believe me, I do—he’s requested a bag full of snacks to see him through the next few days.”

  Mia closed the phone on a laugh. Noah had a notorious sweet tooth that Samara was constantly battling. To know that the man was well enough for a junk food craving gave her immense relief.

  Now, if only Jared would get here. He was still with the police, answering questions and handling the dozens of other things involved in covering their bases on an operation. And Dylan had gone back into hiding. According to Jared, lately Dylan’s assignments had involved keeping an even lower profile than normal.

  The vibration of her cellphone had her heart pounding again. Had things worsened for Noah? “Ryker.”

  “Any word?” Jared asked.

  She collapsed back onto the bed. “Yes. The cut was deep, barely missed his spleen. They sewed him up and gave him a transfusion. He’ll be out of commission for a couple of weeks.”

  “Meaning he’ll be giving us hell from home instead of his office.”

  Mia chuckled. “So true.” Noah wasn’t going to let a doctor’s orders keep him from his job. Samara, on the other hand, would probably skin him alive if he did something too strenuous.

  “I’m going to be here for another hour or so. The girls have all been treated, and the authorities are making arrangements for them.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing you,” Mia said softly.

  “Want me to bring anything?” His voice was deeper, more intimate. Mia shivered at the husky tones.

  “Just yourself. I’ll stay up until you get here.”

  “It’s late … you should try to get some sleep.”

  With all the adrenaline now drained from her body, she did feel as though she could sleep for a week. However, she doubted it would be a restful sleep until Jared was back.

  “I’ll doze till you get here. Wake me when you do. Okay?”

  “Yeah.” And though the single word was as innocuous as one could get, she’d heard the delicious promise behind it.

  Mia closed her phone on a smile. Though they hadn’t talked about the op or why she’d appeared, seemingly handcuffed, with the other girls, Mia felt an easing in Jared’s attitude—as if he had finally accepted her as a true equal. She hoped so. For a partnership to work, there had to be trust on both sides. She had complete faith in Jared’s abilities and needed him to feel the same way about her.

  With the knowledge that Jared would be with her shortly, her heavy eyelids drifted closed and she fell asleep with delightful anticipation, knowing that very soon she was going to be woken up in the best way possible.

  sixteen

  Ricard Foundation headquarters

  Philippe stood before the mirror in his private bathroom just off the auditorium. His head turned left and then right as he made sure there were no strands of his thick, wavy blond hair out of place. Since cameras and bad lighting could be so harsh, he had considered applying a small amount of makeup but had changed his mind. If he looked washed out or pale, all the better. People would see him as a grief-ravaged man, mourning the unjust loss of two young people. Their hearts would be touched even more.

  This morning, in preparing for his appearance, he had sprayed a small amount of diluted lemon juice into his eyes. Just enough to make them water, and then he’d rinsed them. Now his light hazel eyes gleamed with unshed tears and were bloodshot, as if he’d cried all night long. He looked the epitome of a successful man who’d been dealt a tremendous personal blow. Two of Ricard’s finest employees were lost forever.

  Both of the families, though grief-stricken, had seemed pleased that he was taking the time to honor their loved ones this way. They knew he was a very important man and for him to disrupt his busy schedule to deliver a formal televised statement in such a splendid manner was a true testament to how very much he cared about his employees.

  He’d also been the one to suggest a double funeral, which would take place tomorrow. Out of the goodness of his heart, he had offered to pay for everything. Of course, he’d really had no choice in the matter. Apparently both Josette and André came from impoverished backgrounds. Before he had intervened, the funerals were going to be small affairs, and with the families’ lack of funds and influence, it was going to take days to get everything arranged. All the wonderful momentum that had been built would be lost. Taking advantage of fresh grief would ensure a successful fund-raising event.

  Philippe would attend the funeral, but he wouldn’t intrude on the family by speaking at the service. The implication was that all attention should be focused on their departed loved ones, not on the celebrity in their midst.

  Of course, they didn’t realize how very beneficial all of this publicity was for him and the foundation. Not only was a double funeral so much more dramatic than two individual events; he didn’t have the time or patience to attend two separate services. One would be exhausting enough.

  The sweet strains of violin music alerted him that the time was near. His expression changed to one of immense grief. He’d practiced several different versions in the mirror and decided that this particular look was the most convincing. A sort of dignified devastation. Seconds later, a light knock sounded at the door and his assistant stuck his head in. “Monsieur Ricard, it is time.”

  Squeezing his eyes tight to gather a bit more moisture, Philippe neatened the pages of his carefully worded speech and headed out the door. By the time he finished, every person in the large auditorium would be sobbing, along with those watching at home. And the best part of all was that purses, wallets, and checkbooks worldwide would start opening.

  His face somber and grief-ravaged, Philippe stood at the podium and gazed out at the standing-room-only crowd; most were Ricard Foundation employees, along with several members of the press. Two large photographs of Josette and André stood side by side in front of the podium. He’d paid an enormous amount of money to get their photographs enlarged and framed for today’s event. And he had graciously offered them to the families, so they could use them for tomorrow’s funeral. It would, of course, be a closed-coffin funeral. Philippe had fought his amusement when he’d learned that Josette had already designated herself to be cremated. Irony could be so entertaining sometimes.

  As he began his carefully thought out speech, he never moved his eyes to the typed words lying before him. He’d learned early on that to give a heartfelt speech people believed in, he had to memorize the text; that way, people wouldn’t be distracted by the speechmaker looking at his notes or using fillers to allow for thought. He was known for his moving speeches, and many people credited them with the phenomenal success of the foundation’s fund-raising.

  He kept his words brief and just emotional enough not to come off as tacky. As he was completing his thoughts, his assistant walked onto the stage, headed toward him. Philippe was so stunned, he actually stumbled over his words. What would possess the man to interrupt him, especially at such a pivotal time? People were practically salivating to donate the shirts off their backs. This kind of interruption could ruin everything.

  His expression grave, Higgins handed his employer a piece of paper and then backed away. Philippe’s eyes dropped to the hastily scrawled note. As the words penetrated, his opinion of Higgins rose significantly. Why, he might well have to give the man a raise. What perfect timing!

  Philippe lifted glazed, tear-filled eyes to the audience. “I’m afraid we’ve been dealt another serious blow. Our immense grief is not at an end. I’ve just learned that another one of our beloved employees, Paul Raymond, was on his way to work this morning and had an accident.”

  He paused to swallow aud
ibly, ostensibly to compose himself as he delivered the final blow. A carefully placed pause could build wonderful momentum. He added, “He was pronounced dead at the scene.” One more slight pause; then, in a trembling voice, he finished with “The Ricard family is overwhelmed with sorrow.”

  The gasps that followed his announcement were gratifyingly reassuring. Philippe quickly left the podium, obviously overcome with emotion. The audience was silent, rendered immobile, stunned and saddened that such heinous things had happened to such a worthwhile cause. Once out of sight, Philippe nodded his satisfaction. All in all, not a bad fund-raising day … not bad at all.

  Jared, munching on a piece of toast, watched the performance of a lifetime. The man couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d asked for the funds outright. It took more than just ego to do what Ricard was doing; it took the kind of narcissistic confidence that could lead to conscienceless acts. Had Ricard’s high opinion of himself taken him that far?

  He shot a glance over at Mia to see if she was equally disgusted at the line of bullshit Ricard was spewing. Silent tears rolled down her face.

  “Shit, you’re not buying his act, are you?”

  She threw him a watery, exasperated look. “I wasn’t even listening to him. I’m thinking about that poor couple that lost their lives. To think they were probably going to get engaged, and now, instead of a wedding, they’re going to have a funeral together.”

  How the hell did she function with all those emotions? No wonder she could sleep so deeply. Emotions that close to the surface must be exhausting.

  She grinned at him. “You think I’m a big sap, don’t you?”

  “You do seem to feel things intensely.”

  She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. “It’s who I am. I made the decision years ago to be the real me … not what people expected me to be.”

  That’s what he had decided after his divorce, too. Only his real self was a humorless asshole and Mia’s was a warm, caring person. So how was it that two people who seemed to have so little in common with each other could burn up the sheets so well together?