“Then, one night, he got drunk and started hitting on me. Lucky and all her three pounds of fur didn’t like that. She went after my dad.”
He paused. Jamie held her breath, the pain in her chest almost unbearable. The bastard had killed Dylan’s mother in front of him. There was no telling what he would do to an innocent puppy.
“He was furious, of course. He grabbed her and threw her out of the truck. I was surprised he didn’t choke her, but he had other things on his mind—namely beating the shit out of me. I passed out, and when I woke up, we were at another truck stop.
“He was sleeping off his drunk, snoring so loud I knew he wouldn’t wake up for a while. That was when I realized I had to do something. I’d never had the courage before, but Lucky was the best thing that had ever happened to me.” He shrugged and said again, “I had to do something.
“So, I grabbed the cash from my dad’s wallet and took his truck keys. Then I got out of the truck and went looking for Lucky.”
“Did you find her?”
“Yeah, took me all night, but I guess you could say I got lucky again. We were only about fifteen miles from where he’d thrown her out. It took me all night and most of the day, but I found the rest stop and Lucky was still there, almost like she knew I’d be coming back for her.”
“Was she okay?”
“She had a broken leg and a gash on her head, but the instant she saw me, her tail went to wagging. I don’t think anyone’s ever been that happy to see me.”
Jamie didn’t say it, but she knew exactly how Lucky had felt. That was the way she’d felt when Dylan had rescued her.
“Since I’d taken my dad’s keys, I felt safe in walking down the main highway. Finally, a state trooper saw me and stopped.”
He fell silent again. Jamie was terrified to ask, but she had to know. “He didn’t take you back to your father, did he?”
“No, he took me to the police station, gave me something to eat, gave Lucky some water, and asked me what had happened. I guess with all the bruises on my face, he knew it was something bad. I told him everything. Within hours, I was in a foster home while they tried to hunt down my dad … and then my next of kin.
“I didn’t know it at the time, but my grandmother, my mother’s mother, was still around. My mom had lost touch with her years ago. So, in a week’s time, I moved to Georgia to live with her and my dad went to jail.”
“Did you tell the cops about your mother?”
Again he was silent for so long, she knew that what was coming was hard for him.
“Yeah. Took them over a month to find her, since I couldn’t remember the exact place. Turns out, to avoid the death penalty, my dad cut a deal with the prosecutor and told them where she was.” His voice grew thick. “I overheard my grandmother on the phone when they found her body. There were claw marks on the walls of the well.” He swallowed hard. “She had tried to climb out of the well.”
Her eyes closed against her tears, but that didn’t stop them from escaping. The guilt he’d felt for not saving his mother had been compounded with the knowledge that the fall hadn’t killed her.
“You were seven years old, Dylan. There’s no way you could have helped her.”
“Part of me agrees with you, but there’s another part that tells me I should have found a way. I should have escaped and told someone.”
“He would have killed you.”
He shrugged. “I still should’ve tried.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died in prison about five years into his life sentence.”
“What happened to Lucky?”
“She came with me. Fortunately, my grandmother lived on a farm and loved animals. Lucky was with me until my second year of college.”
“How old were you when you went to live with your grandmother?”
“Twelve.”
For five years, that little boy had endured hell with his abusive son-of-a-bitch father.
“Of course, it wasn’t the easiest transition. I loved living with my grandmother, but since I’d never gone to school—hell, I could barely spell my name—I had to do a whole lot of catching up.”
And he’d gone on to earn a degree in English and a master’s in psychology. Jamie didn’t know if she’d ever been so awed by anyone in her entire life.
“Is your grandmother still alive?”
“No, she died a year after I graduated from college. She gave me every advantage. She was a great grandmother.”
“Is your mother the reason you started working with LCR?”
“One of the reasons … the biggest reason.”
“Something else happened?”
Dylan dropped his arms and rolled away from her. He hadn’t talked for this long in years. Every muscle in his body felt locked tight. He needed to get up and move around. Jamie sat up in bed, and though her questioning eyes followed him, she didn’t speak.
Grabbing a bottle of water from a tray by the window, he guzzled half of it down. “Remember I told you I was once married?”
“Yes. You said an old boyfriend killed her.”
He nodded. “Turns out, she had several boyfriends, even after we were married. When I found out, I told her to leave. She started crying … said that one of her ex-boyfriends was a psycho and had threatened to kill her. I didn’t believe her. I filed for divorce the next day. Two weeks later, I found out she’d told me the truth. Her body was found in his trunk … he’d strangled her to death.”
“That wasn’t your fault, Dylan.”
His eyes on the parking lot three floors beneath them, Dylan shrugged. “Maybe not, but having one more person’s death on my conscience was more than I could handle. I’d heard about Last Chance Rescue. I called McCall and asked him for an interview. A couple of days later, he hired me.”
“What did you do before you went to work for LCR?”
Almost embarrassed not to have told her this before, he said, “I was a high school English teacher in Dublin, Georgia.”
The delighted smile she gave him made him wish even more that he’d told her earlier. Then she sat up straighter and said, “Do you know how grateful I am that you decided to work for LCR?”
“Someone else would have rescued you, Jamie. I just happened to be the one who opened the door.”
“Maybe so, but I’m glad it was you.”
He set the water bottle down. “I’m going to take a shower. If Adela comes to the door with our clothes, don’t open it. Come get me. Okay?”
The instant he had her agreement, Dylan went inside the bathroom and closed the door. He’d almost rather take a beating than talk about his past. The nightmares would hit him tonight. Whenever he thought about his mother and her whimpering cries of pain, they always came. The demons in his mind would wait until he was deeply asleep and then they would attack, much the way his father had when he was a kid.
Standing under a hot, scalding shower, Dylan refused to regret telling Jamie the truth. She deserved to know it all. How screwed up his childhood had been and, consequently, the garbage that still permeated his being. He told himself it was better this way … but for the life of him, he couldn’t think why.
twenty-seven
Dressed in navy cotton pants and a light blue button-down shirt, Jamie watched Dylan, grim-faced, stand at the window, his eyes searching the parking lot. Ten minutes left before they were due to leave and he’d said maybe ten words to her. Looked like things were back to normal.
After last night, she’d naïvely thought that was behind them. That they’d made a connection nothing could sever. So much for optimism. If anything, he looked even more forbidding than usual, which she’d thought was impossible.
She wanted to confront him … ask him why he was acting like this again. Now wasn’t the time, though. Personal issues were going to have to wait until this was over. Once they were safe and Reddington’s files were in the right hands, she was determined to talk this out with him. Even if he didn’t love her,
he felt something for her. She refused to let him deny that.
“You comfortable with the plan?”
Jamie nodded. “You’ll go first … the man watching us out front is outside and to the right, behind the large bush with the red flowers.” Jared Livingston, one of the LCR operatives who’d arrived yesterday, had called with this information. Jared would be taking out the man at the back of the hotel. LCR operative Aidan Thorne would be handling the man at the service entrance.
“Count to thirty,” Dylan said, “then come behind me. Be aware of your surroundings, but look neither left nor right. You zero in on that front entrance and get the hell out the door. The vehicle will be on your left—a dark gray Suburban. The back door will be open. All you need to do is dive in and they’ll take off.”
“And you’ll be right behind me. Right?”
He nodded. “Once Reddington’s goons are taken care of, Livingston, Thorne, and I will be right behind you.”
Standing beside him, she looked out at the still-dark sky and then back at him. “This is going to work, isn’t it?”
His expression briefly softened. “Yes. Everything will be fine.”
Before she could say anything else, he glanced at his watch and said, “Let’s get the backpack on you. It’s almost time.”
Jamie turned, and when he placed the pack on her back, she slipped her arms through the straps. Dylan came around to her front and secured it across her chest. Feeling the need to see him look less serious, if only for a moment, she quipped, “After escaping Armando and a barrage of bullets, this should be a cakewalk.”
Instead of the amusement she was looking for, Dylan gripped the straps of the backpack, pulled her against him, and crushed her mouth with his. Before she could gather her wits to respond, he pulled away and growled, “Let’s go.”
Opening the door a crack, he peered out and then disappeared, closing the door behind him. The instant the door shut, Jamie started counting. When she got to twenty-five, she put her hand on the door. At thirty, she turned the knob and took off down the hallway.
Dylan had told her to use the elevator. He’d said for a small, older hotel, it was in surprisingly good shape. If she used the stairwell, she might get caught by one of Reddington’s men. Her pace quick but steady, she jumped into the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. So far, so good.
Jamie entered the small lobby. As early as it was, she wasn’t surprised that no one was around. Her eyes focused on the door, fifteen feet in front of her. When she heard the footsteps behind her, she sped up. At the entrance, a hard hand grabbed her shoulder and an unfamiliar voice snapped, “Stop!”
Twisting around, Jamie aimed her fist at the man’s face and connected hard with his nose.
She pivoted quickly and took off running. When she got out to the portico, she spotted the gray Suburban Dylan had described—the back door was open. She heard the gunshot just as she flew into its back. Landing on the seat, Jamie jumped up to her knees and looked out the rear window. Dylan and another man were fighting. Then she saw Dylan fall. Jamie screamed and put her hand on the door. For the first time, she realized the vehicle was moving, zipping through the parking lot, leaving the hotel … leaving Dylan behind.
She shouted over her shoulder at the driver, “Stop! Dylan’s down. We have to go back.”
The driver didn’t acknowledge her, but the person sitting on the seat beside her did. A person she hadn’t even noticed because she’d been so intent on watching Dylan. A soft hand touched her arm and a woman’s voice said, “He’ll be fine, Jamie. Don’t worry.”
Jamie turned to see McKenna beside her. The joy of seeing her sister was put on hold by the sheer terror of having watched Dylan fall to the ground. “We have to go back, Kenna. They’re hurting him.”
“Thorne and Livingston are there with him. They’ll take care of him.” The crisp British voice came from the driver—her brother-in-law, Lucas.
“But I—”
“He’ll be fine,” McKenna said again. “I promise.”
Jamie glanced helplessly at the hotel, which was quickly disappearing from her view. Then, unable to do anything else, she did the only thing that made sense in the midst of all the craziness—she threw herself into her sister’s arms.
“Ah, shit,” Dylan mumbled.
“You know a man’s going to live when he wakes up cursing.”
Aidan Thorne’s toothpaste-ad grin was almost too bright for Dylan’s blinding headache. He tried to move and groaned at the agony. Hell, how much did his head weigh? And where the hell was he? Why was …?
Jamie! Dylan bolted upright and then severely regretted the movement. His stomach roiled and bile shot up his throat. Rolling over, he threw up.
“Better go get the doctor.”
With his nausea temporarily abated, Dylan rolled back over and squinted up again, recognizing the expressionless voice of Jared Livingston.
“Jamie? Where is she?”
“She’s safe. McKenna and Lucas picked her up and took her to the airport. Since you needed immediate medical care, they went ahead and flew to Paris.”
A rush of relieved breath went through Dylan, causing the nausea and dizziness to return. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he asked, “What the hell happened?”
“We didn’t count on the front desk guy being one of Reddington’s men. Turned out, he actually wasn’t, but he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty for some cash on the side.”
“And he didn’t touch Jamie?”
“Well, yeah, he did, but he immediately wished he hadn’t. That woman’s got a damn nice right hook.”
If he’d been able to muster the energy, he would have smiled. Jamie continually surprised people.
A tall, thin, gray-haired man stood at the door of his room. “So our patient is finally awake. How are you feeling?”
“Like somebody hit me with a two-by-four.”
“You have a slight concussion. I recommend at least twenty-four hours of bed rest.”
About to argue that he wasn’t about to stay in the hospital a second longer than it would take to get his clothes on, Dylan was preempted by Aidan Thorne, who said, “Might as well, man. The plane won’t be back until the day after tomorrow.”
Hell, Thorne was right. There was no point in going anywhere else. Staying here would keep him out of Reddington’s sight. There was, however, one thing he had to do before he closed his eyes again.
“Give me a phone.”
He ignored Thorne’s overloud sigh and the knowing grin on his face. When the man punched in a number and then handed him the phone, Dylan grunted his thanks. Since the agony in his head made it difficult for him to focus, he’d put up with Thorne’s perpetual ribbing.
Lucas Kane answered, “Kane.”
“How’s Jamie?”
“Worried sick about you.”
“Let me talk to her.”
Seconds later, Jamie’s shaky voice said, “Dylan, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. You’re not hurt? That man … he didn’t—”
“No, he didn’t touch me.”
“Good. Give McCall the files … he’ll know what to do.”
“When will you—”
“Gotta go.” Dylan swallowed hard and added, “You did good, Jamie … real good.” He hit the End button and handed the phone to Thorne.
For once his trademark grin absent, Thorne growled, “You’re a real prick, Savage, you know that?”
Dylan closed his eyes. No use arguing with the truth.
Stanford stood over Armando’s body and said goodbye to his friend and once faithful servant. The man had known what was coming. With the disappearance of John Wheeler and Karen Jennings, there had been no one to punish … to answer for their sins. Armando had paid. He should have stopped them from leaving. If he hadn’t been drunk, they never would have escaped.
Since the man had been with him for years, Stanford hadn’t prolonged his suffering. A bullet to his temple, an
d that was the end. He nodded at Joseph, who started the boat’s engine and took off. Joseph would go a few miles from the island and dump the body deep in the ocean. His friend would never be seen again.
Even now, Armando’s family was receiving the devastating news that he had suffered an apparent seizure and fallen overboard while he and Stanford were out deep-sea fishing. And, of course, Stanford had risked his life, done everything he could, to save his good friend, to no avail.
As he turned back to his home, his mind returned to Wheeler. The Jennings woman didn’t matter. Her reasons for leaving no longer interested him. Wheeler was another issue. What would have caused him to just leave like that? Had he been angry because of the arranged fight? That didn’t track with what he knew of the man. And hadn’t Wheeler won? No, that couldn’t be the reason.
Lance had returned to Germany. There was no need to keep him on the island any longer. For some reason, his mother wasn’t as happy to see him as he’d thought she would be. And, if he was honest with himself, Lancelot’s arrogance and shallowness were wearing thin.
Nothing was turning out the way he’d thought it would, and for the first time in his memory, Stanford was depressed. Blowing out a sigh at the unfairness of life, he didn’t hear the whirring until it was almost over him.
Looking up, his eyes wide with shock, he watched as the large blue-and-white helicopter hovered and then landed on a flat, grassy area beside the mansion. What the hell was going on?
A half dozen men jumped from the still whirring bird. Dressed in police uniforms, their guns pulled, they dispersed, running in different directions as they swarmed his island.
A large, rather bulky man, holding a legal-looking document in his hand, started toward Stanford. Why was this happening? How had they found his island? Wheeler? The Jennings woman? Raphael? He would find out; whoever it was, they would pay dearly. All of that legal nastiness was supposed to have been in the past. They still had nothing on him. Just how much more was this going to cost him in lawyers’ fees?
As the man approached, Stanford caught a glimpse of another man stepping out of the helicopter. Tall, with black hair and broad shoulders—for an instant, he thought it was Wheeler. Then the man took off his dark sunglasses and Stanford realized he’d never seen him before. The puzzling part was the knowing, almost smirking smile on the man’s face. As if he was in on something Stanford wasn’t.
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