Sweet Revenge

by Christy Reece

  A sound behind him made him whirl around. Sarah stood at the doorway. “Go back inside,” Stanford snapped. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  Her face almost glowed in the sunlight, and a smile of such loveliness lifted her mouth that he was awestruck by her beauty. He’d never seen her smile like that before. Overwhelmed by her magnificence, it took him several seconds to digest her words: “You’re wrong, Stan. This has everything to do with me.”

  His heart thundered in his chest as realization slammed into him like a wrecking ball. Sarah, his beloved wife, the mother of his children, his soul mate, had betrayed him.

  twenty-eight

  Three weeks later

  West Virginia mountains

  Wrapped in a throw she’d snagged from the couch, Jamie sat in a rocker on the porch and listened to the leaves rustling beneath the tiny feet of squirrels as they foraged through the forest. Winter was coming on early this year, and they were already storing up food, getting ready for the long haul.

  She had arrived yesterday afternoon. Noah hadn’t asked her why she wanted to come back here. She was quite sure he knew her reasons. The man was as discerning as they came. He recognized a brokenhearted woman when he saw one.

  She had thought about going after Dylan and confronting him. Had even jumped into a taxi and ridden to his apartment. Of course, the instant the cab had stopped, she had known she wouldn’t be able to do it. He didn’t want to see her—she’d been in Paris for several days. He knew exactly where she was—he just hadn’t bothered.

  There were a lot of things to be happy about, and she tried to focus on them. Reddington was now in jail, awaiting trial. After all the danger and excitement of her and Dylan’s escape, the arrests had gone down in an extraordinarily calm fashion.

  Noah had presented the flash drives to the prosecutor. Using the descriptions, dates, and locations from Reddington’s files, they had matched the listings to known missing persons. With the very first match, they’d had enough grounds to arrest the man.

  And thanks to the safe combination that Sarah Reddington had given them, they now had paper files to go with the computer records. Reddington’s meticulous record keeping had been a blessing. So far, seventeen people had been identified. Many more identifications were expected.

  Noah had been invited to go along for the arrest, as long as he promised not to participate or interfere. On his return, he had called Jamie into his office and described the scene.

  A helicopter had swooped down and landed on the island close to the mansion. Reddington happened to be standing outside at the time, and had stood frozen, mouth ajar, while police officers had dispersed and combed the island.

  According to Noah, even in handcuffs, the man had been indignant and belligerent all the way to the police boat that had arrived to take him away. No doubt he had thought he’d be able to buy his way out once again. As soon as he’d learned that they had physical documents as evidence, he’d begun to argue that his rights had been violated because the files had been stolen from his property. And when he’d been told that his wife was the one who’d given the files up, he had screamed that she had framed him and was mentally unstable. How Jamie would have loved to have seen his face when he’d realized no one was going to believe him this time.

  Not everything was perfect. Lance Reddington could not be tied to any of his father’s abductions or auctions. And, of course, the younger Reddington had claimed shock and outrage when he’d heard that there was irrefutable proof. Rumor was that he was back in Germany, working hard to overcome his father’s betrayal and the tarnish on his family’s good name.

  Jamie had accepted that Lance would never be punished for what he’d done. And she was at peace with the outcome. Someday, he would meet with the justice he deserved. Maybe, she thought, his father’s woes would make him think twice before he hurt or sexually molested another woman again. Though she had serious doubts that he had learned any valuable lessons, she hoped for the best.

  Perhaps the saddest and least surprising information that came from Reddington’s files was the name of his first victim. LCR had known that Reddington’s father had been involved with slave trading, passing the business to his son, who’d taken it to new levels. They just hadn’t known that Sarah Reddington, once known as Guinevere Mangas, a fourteen-year-old child from Athens, Greece, had been purchased for a nineteen-year-old Stanford. Jamie’s heart hurt for the woman who’d spent most of her life as the prisoner of a monster.

  Sarah, Giselle, Amelia, and Eric were still on the island—this time by choice, not imprisonment. Raphael was there with them, too. She knew nothing more than that, but Jamie sincerely hoped that everyone, with the exception of Lance, would find the happiness they deserved.

  Something Jamie was exceedingly grateful for was that her relationship with McKenna hadn’t been irreparably damaged. A lump developed in her throat when she thought about her sister’s first words once they were finally on the plane and headed to Paris. With tears glistening in her eyes, she’d said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been angrier at or more proud of anyone in all of my life.”

  Then she’d hugged Jamie and whispered fiercely in her ear, “Jamie Kendrick, if you ever do anything like this again without telling me, I swear I’ll channel Aunt Mavis’s ghost.”

  Laughter had replaced the tears. The threat of a ghostly Aunt Mavis returning from the hereafter to give Jamie one of her stern lectures had been a humorous but appropriate threat. Her aunt would have had much to say about Jamie’s behavior.

  Even Noah, who’d told her that he wasn’t any happier with her than McKenna had been, had admitted that he was impressed with her accomplishments and had actually offered her a job with LCR. She had turned him down.

  The short amount of time she’d spent on Reddington’s island teaching Amelia had reminded her of why she’d chosen teaching in the first place. She loved to see the light of discovery in a child’s eyes. Helping children reach their potential and stretch their wings toward independence had to be one of the most rewarding careers in the world. She wanted to do it again.

  But first, she had needed some time to herself. To think about Dylan. She loved him with an absolute certainty that would never fail or diminish. She wanted to spend her life with him. How did he feel? She had no clue. There was desire, admiration, and maybe affection—but was there more?

  She knew he had returned to Paris. The concussion hadn’t incapacitated him for long, which had been no surprise—the man had the hardest head of anyone she’d ever known. But she hadn’t seen him or talked to him. Had no idea if he ever planned to see her again.

  So she had come back to the place where she had fallen completely in love with him—to remember and, maybe, to reconcile herself to the idea that those few weeks were all they would ever have.

  At some point, the hope would fade. When that day came, she would go on, much lonelier and sadder, with an ache in her heart that would never leave.

  Düsseldorf, Germany

  Thick, gray clouds hid the late afternoon sun, darkening the interior of the parking structure. A cool wind blew through the open-air deck, causing Lance to walk with brisk steps to his Bentley. Tugging his cashmere jacket closer around his neck, he lowered his head and hunched his shoulders. The burning resentment of having to drive his own car gave him an extra amount of warmth against the crisp autumn air.

  If his father had not been so stupid as to have gotten caught, his life would be perfect. Instead, much of the family’s wealth was going toward legal fees. There was even the possibility that Lance might have to get a job to support himself. The appalling idea was too horrific to contemplate. As long as he had credit, he’d damn well have the life he enjoyed.

  At some point, he would reinstate his father’s business. The man would be in prison, but his legacy could still live on. Just in his few weeks of training, Lance had learned much about the flesh trade. He could reestablish the ties and connections his father had spent years
developing. So what that Stanford Reddington was in jail. Business could continue, and as much as he hated managing menial day-to-day tasks, Lance knew he was going to have to overcome his revulsion if he was going to live in the style he deserved.

  He was so intent on his plans for the future that he didn’t see the man leaning against his car until he was a few feet from it. Lance jerked to a stop and yelled, “Hey, what are you doing? Get away from my car.”

  The dimness of the parking lot obscured the stranger’s face, but Lance could tell the man was tall, powerful-looking. Adrenaline rushed through him. Did this have something to do with his father? Or maybe it was about that prostitute he’d beaten up last month or that bitch he’d screwed last week who’d claimed he’d gotten too rough?

  His hands trembling, Lance reached for his cellphone. “I’m going to call the police. You’d better leave.”

  The man never spoke, never moved. He just stood there, in a slouched, relaxed pose, with his arms crossed. Lance had never seen anyone so still and quiet … or so lethal-looking.

  He squinted into the darkness, trying to see the man’s features. And that was when his heart went into overdrive. The man was wearing a ski mask.

  Panic blooming, his eyes scanned the dim parking lot. It was filled with cars, but there was no one around to help him. Was this man going to kill him? But why?

  Perhaps he just wanted money. Withdrawing his wallet from his pocket, he threw it toward the man. “Here, there are a couple of thousand euros in there. Take it and leave.”

  The wallet landed about a foot from the man’s boots, but he didn’t acknowledge the wallet with even a glance. Just continued that penetrating, unblinking stare.

  The guy was big … he shouldn’t be able to move as quickly as Lance. He’d run for it. Get to the nearest exit and scream for help. Keeping his eyes on the man, watching for any quick movements, he took several steps back, slowly, carefully. Then, pivoting, he took off running. The nearest exit was to his right … he could make it; he had to make it. He was at the door before he saw the man standing there, blocking his exit. No, it couldn’t be the same one. Though he, too, wore a ski mask and was about the same size, the ski mask was darker and this man was smiling. Lance could see his white teeth gleaming.

  Now in full panic mode, his breath rasping from his lungs, Lance backed away again. There was another exit, on the other side of the lot. Could he make it without being attacked? He had to try. Turning, he zoomed across the lot, the only sounds his pounding feet and the hard thumping of his heart. He was running faster than he ever had in his life; he was going to make it. With his eyes on his target, he was a few yards from the exit when another large, masked man appeared, again blocking the exit. Who were these people? What did they want?

  Backing up quickly, he ran into the middle of the parking lot and whirled around in a circle. “Help! Someone help me!”

  Hot breath rushed down his neck. He froze. One of the men was right behind him. What could he do? He was a defenseless man, at the mercy of three monsters. This was so unfair!

  “Turn around.”

  The voice spoke in German; the tone was guttural, without emotion or pity.

  Tears sprang to Lance’s eyes. His body trembling, he turned around and pleaded, “Please, if you want more money, I can get it for you. Anything. Just don’t hurt me.”

  Big hands gripped the lapels of his jacket and pulled hard. Lance’s legs dangled as he found himself suspended in air, held within the man’s firm grasp.

  “How does it feel to be alone and vulnerable, you little maggot? Are you scared?”

  “Y-yes …” Lanced stuttered. “Please, I’m begging you … don’t hurt me.”

  The man pulled him so close, Lance could feel the warmth of his breath on his face. “Listen well, because this is the only warning you’ll ever get. If you ever touch a woman who doesn’t want to be touched, say anything inappropriate, or do anything to hurt a woman ever again, I will rip your balls off and stuff them down your fucking throat. Do you understand me?”

  Lance nodded quickly. He would do anything, agree to everything the man wanted.

  “People are watching you, night and day, twenty-four/seven. They know where you go, what you do, when you scratch your worthless balls, even when you take a shit. One wrong step and that piece of meat between your legs will be chopped off and you’ll be pissing through a straw for the rest of your very short life.”

  Lance kept nodding. Anything … he would do anything.

  The blow was unexpected, busting his nose. Lance heard the pop, felt excruciating pain. Then another blow slammed into his stomach, then his groin. Falling to his knees, with blood pouring around him, Lance sobbed. Hard hands slammed him forward onto the pavement, and a big body came on top of him. Lance heard roaring in his ears … the man was going to kill him after all.

  Knees dug deep into Lance’s back as the man leaned forward and growled in his ear, “Remember this pain. It’s nothing to what you will feel if you stray one inch.”

  Barely conscious, Lance managed one slow nod. Another blow slammed into his head, and blessed unconsciousness took him.

  The assailant stood for several seconds over the piece of garbage lying on the ground. He had wanted to do more … but this would have to be enough.

  He walked toward the men waiting for him. Tugging off his mask, he dropped it into the garbage can next to the exit. The other two did the same. Nodding his thanks for their assistance, he disappeared through the door.

  Last Chance Rescue headquarters

  Paris

  Dylan entered McCall’s office with the kind of urgency he hadn’t felt in years. His boss hadn’t called him to come in, but Dylan was going to give it a shot. He dropped his leather jacket on the chair in front of McCall’s desk but didn’t bother to sit. “I want an assignment.”

  McCall frowned. “I don’t have anything for you right now. Besides, you deserve some downtime. Maybe next week I’ll—”

  “There’s got to be an operation somewhere I can get involved with.”

  “We’ve got plenty of operations going on, but they’re all assigned out. Take a few days and—”

  “What about training? Any new operatives coming on?”

  The implacable expression McCall was famous for never shifted as he slouched back in his chair. “I might have one for you.” He nodded at the chair. “Have a seat.”

  Relieved, Dylan dropped into the chair and waited to hear about his new assignment.

  “Tell me about Jamie,” McCall said.

  Dylan’s insides jerked, and his heart slammed against his chest. “Why, has something happened?”

  “No, as far as I know, she’s fine. Last I heard she had decided to go back to teaching and is in the States.”

  Yeah, that’s what McKenna had told him, after he’d gotten an earful for being such a jerk to her sister. He hadn’t defended himself … how could he? She was right; he was a jerk. And he hadn’t bothered to explain that Jamie was much better off without him. She could finally get her life back on track and push all of the bad things of her past away.

  “Then what do you want me to tell you about Jamie?”

  “I want to know why, if you love her, you wouldn’t want her to know it.”

  There was no point in denying McCall’s words. “She’s better off without me.”

  “Why?”

  Talking about feelings and emotions, especially with another man, was on Dylan’s list of least favorite things, right behind root canals and getting kicked in the balls. Using the glare he saved for his most pissed-off looks and adding an arched brow, he stared at his boss.

  A smile spread across the other man’s face, telling Dylan that the look had no power over him.

  Silence filled the office while they each tried to stare down the other. Seconds later, Dylan blew out a long sigh. Aw hell, what was the point? Shifting his gaze, unwilling to meet his boss’s eyes as he spoke, he gave the man the truth: “I’
m not good enough for her.”

  Instead of disagreeing, McCall sputtered with laughter. “You think I don’t feel that way with Samara? There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t ask myself how the hell I got so lucky. Samara is the very best part of me … she’s a much better person than I am. And she makes me a better man by loving me.”

  Moved and somewhat embarrassed by Noah’s confession, Dylan swallowed hard. Stoicism and protecting himself from further hurt by not giving in to deep emotions had been his trademark his entire life. Until Jamie, he’d never known that so many emotions existed. Experiencing such a range of feelings because of one woman was exhausting.

  McCall and his wife had a good marriage. And though there was nothing soft about Dylan’s boss, he wasn’t the cold, hard man he’d been before he married Samara. There was a contentment in him that hadn’t been there before. Maybe McCall was right—having his wife’s love did make him a better man.

  But Dylan wasn’t McCall, and Jamie deserved the very best kind of man—Dylan wasn’t it.

  He repeated the words he’d been saying to himself for days: “Jamie’s better off without me.” With the need to get the conversation back on a comfortable, even keel, Dylan said, “Tell me about this training project. Is this a new operative?”

  McCall considered him for several long seconds, as if weighing his words. Then he gave a brief nod. “She’s new. I was going to talk to Aidan, but if you think you’re up to it, I’d rather you train her.”

  Dylan got to his feet, eager to start on his new assignment. “Where?”

  “She lives in the southeastern U.S., so West Virginia will be the best location for her.”