Redeem My Heart (11 page)

“You have misunderstood my assignment, Fallon.” Townes had already pulled his cell phone out of the clip attached to his belt, but he didn’t attempt to use it. “I’m here to protect you. Nothing else.”

A man of few words, but he certainly got his point across. Fallon nodded her understanding at the fact that he wasn’t seeking retribution and left him to make his calls. She couldn’t fathom why Crest was forcing Townes into this trying situation when it would be impossible to remain impartial. She put that on the list to speak with Crest about later today. Right now, she wanted to locate Ryland to see if he’d gone over the files as he said he would. His answers would be the key to who she started looking at first.

Fallon stopped short of the doorway, taking in Ryland standing there in a darker pair of khakis than he wore last night, a black cashmere sweater overtop a white dress shirt while holding a cup of steaming coffee. His dark eyes met hers and once again she had to wonder where he’d been all night. A roundabout question burst from her lips before she could stop herself.

“Why are your bags in my room?”

“Because that’s where I’ll end up before all of this is said and done.”

Fallon deliberately took her time walking across the kitchen floor, giving her ample time to study his features. Wherever he’d spent the night, he hadn’t slept well. She was aware from previous conversations that he was an insomniac, getting only three or four hours of sleep a night. And while there wasn’t a hair out of place in his classic styled haircut, his eyes didn’t appear as clear as they normally did. Had he experienced another night terror?

“Did you keep company with Townes all night?” Fallon took the coffee he offered her, watching as he twisted to reach back behind himself for his own. She didn’t eat anything before eleven hundred hours, a practice she’d picked up from her days at Quantico. The early morning PT sessions left little time to eat before class would begin, so she’d always gotten showered and prepared for the day’s lectures without the luxury of stopping for breakfast. She stayed healthy and such a sparse eating regimen kept her lean. She certainly wasn’t dressed as nice as he was, but her jeans and turquoise sweater was comfortable. It reminded her more of Townes’ attire, so she tacked that on to her continuing observations of her protector before prolonging the conversation. “I noticed some of your fashion sense is wearing off on him.”

“Now you have me curious,” Ryland said, taking a drink of his coffee. He watched her over the rim of his cup, but she remained where she was. She wanted answers before opening her laptop to find more documents from Taryn. She’d been using every resource at her disposal to find any digital trace of information she could from when E.D.A. had been in business. There had to be intel somewhere. “Don’t tell me that Townes traded in his leather chaps for something more suitable for the Northeastern Atlantic coastline.”

“I wouldn’t goad Townes any more than your presence already has,” Fallon suggested, taking a sip of the coffee he’d given her. It tasted like a slice of heaven, which only meant that Jax hadn’t been around this morning. She continued walking past Ryland, wondering if he’d follow her or if she’d have to retrace her steps. Only one way to find out. “I have work to do, although your help is more than welcome should you deem me worthy of your company this morning.”

“I’ve gone through the dossiers, if that’s what you’re hinting at.” Ryland had come up directly behind her, his body heat soaking into her back before she had a chance to pull out her chair. The faint fragrance of his sensual cologne enveloped her. Fallon wasn’t sure how she didn’t spill a drop of her coffee when his warm lips pressed against the subtle curve of her neck. “I think I deserve a reward for doing my homework, don’t you, darling?”

“When this is all said and done…maybe,” Fallon replied glibly, not wanting Ryland to know how much his touch actually affected her. She tilted her head to the side so that she could see his bemused features, letting her know she’d failed. Her defensive instinct kicked in and her words hit their intended target. “Did you dream of a small room, covered in shadows and knowing it was only a matter of time before they came for you again?”

Fallon had researched programming and conditioning of the human brain from a number of similar programs and had gleaned a few common practices that were often employed. She’d extended every resource at her disposal and determined that the majority of governments used a very specific technique. The specific operation’s conditioning personnel acted as subjugators, holding their subjects captive in a drug-induced state, causing them to be more receptive to stimulus. They would then repeatedly reduce their program trainees to nothing more than sponges, thus being able to manipulate them to comply with any task their jailors wanted them to perform. This usually took place in a small room without any outside influence. Even the cycle of night and day would be removed from their senses. The temperature would be high, thus demonstrating to the test subjects exactly whom they were dependent upon for their most basic needs. Food and water could be given upon the trainer’s discretion, again enforcing whom was in charge.

“There were two men I’ve noted in those files who I had dealings with during my indoctrination with the CIA.” The room might as well have dropped by twenty degrees. Ryland’s voice became hard and he stepped away, taking his heat with him. “You’re most welcome.”

Fallon could have kicked herself for putting this distance between them. She needed Ryland on board with this investigation. It was the only way they were going to discover who made the conscious decision to reinstate E.D.A., if in fact it had been. She turned to face him, holding her coffee with both hands to prevent her from reaching out to him.

“These night terrors you’re having are related, and you’re starting to believe what I’m saying may in fact have some validity.”

“If I were to tell you that you were right…why now?” Ryland inquired, his jaw tighter than usual, indicating his curiosity against his better judgment. “Why would I dream of something now and not at any time over the years that I’ve given my time for various other government contracts?”

Ryland searched her face and she wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the answer. Fallon debated on telling him her theory, but figured that since they’d come this far there wasn’t a point in holding back anything from him now.

“I think somehow, someway you’ve been contacted over the last month or two by these people that want to reinstate the program. It could be as simple as the use of a key phrase.” Fallon watched Ryland’s expression carefully, but he was good at concealing his thoughts. She’d studied him enough over the last couple of years that she could sometimes catch his tells, but he might as well be a bank vault at the moment. “The public is basically at odds over numerous items, such as the world economy and the multiple wars brewing with various countries. The United States of America is not the world superpower it once was and it’s my opinion these people believe they can affect some type of change.”

Ryland remained silent as he walked around her until he reached for something on the table. It was the dossiers he’d looked through last night, separated into two piles. He opened the one on top to the right, sliding the photograph of a man out from under the paper clip. He placed it on the hard surface and turned it toward her without commenting about her theory, but instead began explaining whom the subject was.

“I already told you that Agent Grahn was the first person to contact me when I got in over my head with the wrong crowd. Those people wouldn’t have hesitated to bury me alive while taking a break in eating their lunch.” Ryland tapped the picture in front of him with his index finger. “This is Assistant Special Agent in Charge Lewis Jernigan. He was Grahn’s immediate superior, or ASAC, and I had little to no contact with him, especially after my initial training phase.”

“This training…what did it entail that you can recall?” Fallon asked, somewhat holding her breath awaiting his answer. Ryland normally didn’t continue beyond this point; at least he hadn’t in previous interviews. “Assassination 101?”

Fallon had deliberately thrown her last comment out to lighten the atmosphere. She’d have sworn that not even a knife would have been able to cut the tension. She saw movement over Ryland’s shoulder and realized that Crest had arrived. Ryland knew it too.

“Weapons training, mostly.” Ryland didn’t bother to look back, but instead took steps to bring him closer to her without actually stopping on his way to the kitchen. He was able to satisfy her interest. “Poisons, hand-to-hand body unarmed combat, tactics…the things that I’ve already explained in detail. I remember all of that, Fallon. Does that throw a wrench into your hypothesis?”

Fallon exhaled and then practically gulped down her next dose of caffeine. Crest was in the process of removing his coat when she finally looked across the table to see his gaze resting on the stack of files. At least they had something to go on now. She took a seat and opened her laptop, waiting for her computer to awaken when Crest’s statement made her wish she’d brought the carafe with her to the table.

“A well-known Pentagon official had a car accident last night—the night before he was scheduled to testify before the House Armed Services Committee concerning third world arms proliferation. He was in charge of the DOD oversight group monitoring the weapons’ deal that the new Afghan government and Helmand Province tribal chieftains were negotiating. As you may have read in the
Times
, a certain congresswoman wants to bolster her pundits to make some political capital at the expense of the current administration. It looks like you were right. E.D.A.
has
risen like the phoenix from the ashes.”

Chapter Nine

R
yland nursed his Crown Royal XR that he’d brought with him, ignoring the fact that the weather was even colder this evening than it had been last night on his favored terra cotta tile patio. The waves continued to crash onto the not too distant shore and he briefly wondered how the occupants on the two surveillance boats were faring on the choppy sea. They’d not moved from their posts and he had a vague idea of how they felt waiting and watching all day long. The day had literally dragged on minute by minute and he’d basically been left to his own treacherous thoughts while Fallon and Crest continued their search for an elusive target whom allegedly had all the answers. Foolish.

Fallon’s statements from earlier this morning had hit a sensitive note, but Ryland still wasn’t on board with this whole concept that he’d been nothing more than some sort of Machiavellian science experiment. He wasn’t prone to useless emotions, but a strangling anger had formed inside of him that he couldn’t seem to dispel. How could she have possibly known what kept him from getting those few precious hours of sleep he managed to average most nights?

Something caught his eye, but then just as quickly vanished from the distant false horizon off their private shoreline. The two vessels previously noted were still in their appointed locations and yet as the sunlight faded…there was something different about the view that Ryland couldn’t quite put his finger on. Those instincts he’d always relied on for so many years while on the edge of a knife would never completely fade and they were currently telling him that something was off.

Ryland controlled his observable level of apprehension, staying where he had been all afternoon and into the early evening, scanning the horizon without making any obvious sudden movements. He casually looked over to where Townes had positioned himself on the other side of the open-sided courtyard, his cell phone still glued to his hand. He’d been texting messages practically all afternoon, only looking up from his phone if Ryland went into the house or for a walk on the lonely beach. He certainly wasn’t going to sit inside with Fallon and Crest, combing over stacks of endless files just to prove that a mysterious rogue quasi-governmental organization existed. It didn’t matter if it did. He was the sole proprietor of his mind and body, so it made no difference despite what Fallon mistakenly thought the discovery might lead to.