Sweet Revenge by Christy Reece Page A

He conducted a lot of business in that office.”
    “And that’s how you learned that he’s into slave trading and human trafficking?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did he ever suspect that you knew anything?”
    “No. I only saw him a couple of times, and that was in the beginning.”
    “Did he say names, locations, dates?”
    “No names, other than a man’s name—Armando—who I think works for him. He was very open in his conversations with both his son and Armando. The people he sold were discussed as if they were cattle. Sometimes he’d refer to them by number or hair color. I remember he referred to one as ‘the old hag.’ ”
    Dylan nodded. “That’s consistent with what McCall’s sources uncovered. He’s not just into slave trading for sex. He sells humans for every possible market out there for human beings.”
    “I heard him say something about a promising young man he had his eyes on. That was the only time I heard Reddington and his son argue.”
    “What did they argue about?”
    “About this promising young man. His father said he thought the young man had potential. The son was resistant.”
    “You tell McCall about this?”
    “Of course.”
    “What else did you hear?”
    “Market day is every other Tuesday. He told his son Lance how …” Her breakfast lurched up her throat. How could she have forgotten the one conversation that’d made her throw up the small amount of food she’d ingested the day she’d heard it?
    “What?”
    Though his eyes were as hard as ever, Dylan’s voice had softened noticeably. He knew how hard this was for her. That one kindness helped her to say, “He said that one of the ways Lance could become a prime judge of …” She grimaced. “Sorry, I won’t repeat the word he used.”
    “You don’t have to. Just give me the gist.”
    “Reddington said that once Lance had experimented with me in all the ways he could, he’d have a good idea what to look for.”
    “That didn’t happen, though.”
    Dylan’s words were a statement of fact. And something for which she was exceedingly grateful. No one, other than her therapist, knew what had happened. Having anyone else know the truth would benefit no one.
    She acknowledged his statement with a slight nod, saying, “Thanks to you.”
    “Can I ask you a personal question?”
    Jamie nodded hesitantly—the fact that he’d asked permission worrisome. She had thought the questions he’d already asked were personal and could have sworn that not by the slightest flicker had she revealed that she wasn’t being entirely truthful.
    “You’ve recovered incredibly well in a short period of time. How did you do that?”
    She knew he didn’t mean physically. The bruises and surface injuries she’d received at the hands of Damon Hughes had healed within a couple of weeks of his attack. No, she knew he meant, How did you recover from the terror and fear that accompany a brutal assault?
    “I don’t think I have an easy answer to that. I thank God every day that I can’t remember Hughes’s attack. The doctors called it selective amnesia. Said I might never remember anything about it, which is exactly what I want. I remember being held in his house and how terrified I was, but the actual attack is a complete blank.” She shrugged and added, “And maybe the fact that he’s dead helped in some way.”
    “Thanks to Lucas Kane.”
    She smiled and nodded. “Thanks to Lucas.”
    “But your experiences with Reddington. You remember all of that?”
    “Yes, those memories are, unfortunately, all intact. After I was rescued, I had nightmares for the first few weeks … still do occasionally.”
    “As anyone would.”
    She could explain it away by saying that concentrating on going after Reddington had helped, but that was only partially true. Jamie knew there were extenuating circumstances that had helped her heal faster than she might have.
    “After my rescue, I had two options: be bitter and full of fear or realize what