Redeem My Heart (3 page)

Fallon shoved his pants against his chest as she walked past him on her way back to the kitchen without a word. She hadn’t always been this easy to rile, and it was apparent that she didn’t appreciate his insight into her personal life. What could he say, really? Ryland had a lot of time on his hands. He wasn’t quite ready for her to leave, and since he’d yet to be told the reason of her visit he stepped into his pants.

“Has anyone tried contacting you?” Fallon asked, grabbing the mug he’d brought down for her. She pulled out the pot and then inserted her cup, making him wince in distaste. Didn’t she realize that coffee couldn’t be savored unless it was fully brewed? “From your previous list of employers, that is?”

“I’m relatively sure you received the memo regarding my former employer,” Ryland stated dryly as he closed the distance between them. He carefully took the mug full of coffee out of her hand and poured it back into the pot. “The man in charge is no longer enjoying the benefits of good health, therefore my services aren’t required in the foreseeable future by that particular agency. It doesn’t help that my reputation is now tarnished for having received immunity for my testimony before the select committee—regardless that the case never reached the courts.”

“Why then would you still have multiple organizations—including my own—tripping over their feet to ensure you remain in retirement?”

“I’ve seen your intellectual test scores,” Ryland said, tiring of this back and forth nonsense. Fallon was an intelligent woman with no need to play games. “I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you. I did what I was contracted to do. I eliminated threats…many different contracts for an ungodly amount of money. Our government might have seen fit to furnish my immunity, but the various other foreign agencies aren’t so forgiving. I’m a threat to countless prominent individuals. It’s only a matter of time before I’m eradicated to preserve the status quo.”

Ryland refilled Fallon’s mug once the machine had completed its cycle and then slid it across the counter until it was directly in front of her. He needed something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee, but he wouldn’t touch his preferred drink after her previous comment. At least not until she’d left him to his self-styled gilded prison. He’d do without for now.

“I’m growing tired of this conversation.” Ryland sighed in resignation, accepting that Fallon wasn’t going to rise to his bait. This could have been a rather interesting visit, but it was more than apparent her mind was on business. He picked up his weapon and tucked it in the back of his waistband. “Say what you’ve come to say.”

“Pack a bag,” Fallon instructed, walking around the counter and into the living room where she took a seat on a white leather chair that was rather uncomfortable considering the price. It always managed to surprise him that his past didn’t faze her like the others and he’d always chalked it up to her interest in his psyche. Her directive made him think there was something more, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. That in itself made him curious enough to extend this conversation to define what she thought she knew. “We’ll have a window of opportunity at zero five hundred to reach my vehicle undetected by those surveying the exits, including your new FBI doorman.”

“And just where do you plan on whisking me off to?” Ryland asked, not moving from his place in the kitchen. He could see her just fine and noticed that she crossed her right leg over her left. The pull of the fabric at her waist indicated she was carrying, which was rare from his understanding. Interesting. His mind quickly classified and discounted what type and capacity she might be concealing. “The reason might aid in your attempt as well.”

“The danger I mentioned isn’t a threat on your life, Travis, but instead a type of potential reenlistment.” Fallon was watching him closely, but Ryland made sure that his features were schooled at the mention of his birth name. He wasn’t that young man anymore, regardless of the fact that was whom the name of this condominium was titled under. She’d brought up his past intentionally, most likely to throw him off long enough to agree to whatever she was proposing. He didn’t appreciate her guile. “I believe that a classified project by the name of E.D.A.—Elimination of Destructive Alliances—is being resurrected. They want to bring you back in.”

Ryland threw back his head and laughed. All the tension drained from his body and he finally turned to pour himself a cup of coffee. This was too good not to allow Fallon to continue down this path of absurd lunacy. He took his mug and walked around the countertop, taking a seat on the opposite couch and finally gaining some pleasure out of her visit.

“You think that I was part of some absurdly named project? I’m a freelance surgeon—a skilled independent operator. I’ve never worked well with others.” Ryland took a drink of the rich earthy flavor of his imported Jamaican coffee, relishing the various flavors in a way that he hadn’t in quite a while. He rested one arm across the top of the sofa as he relaxed to enjoy the upcoming discussion. “I was eighteen years old when I enlisted in the Army and it wasn’t long after that I was deployed on a combat tour. The CIA recruited me and gave me no choice but to follow their directives, at least for a limited period of time. Travis Bowers ceased to exist and Ryland took his place. That was my doing and no one else’s. All you had to do was tell me that you’d like an intimate weekend away and I could have arranged it without all the subterfuge.”

“Did you ever ask yourself why you’re losing sleep lately? Or why you’re having nightmares?” Fallon’s words brought everything to a crashing halt. Their surveillance was quite detailed. She’d even asked her questions somewhat tenderly, as if she were aware of what she was doing. Ryland didn’t like being played and yet he couldn’t prevent the beads of sweat from appearing on his flesh as if he’d just awakened from the dark, twisted images that had plagued him for the last month. It took every ounce of strength he had not to move and give her any sign that she was right. “Are you in a small room that’s so stifling hot it’s hard for you to breathe? Are you bound tight to a chair and—”

The blood rushed through Ryland’s ears and drowned out Fallon’s words. He focused on her long hair, ignoring her moving lips as she continued to describe something he no longer heard. She should be grateful for that or else he might have done something they both would have regretted. He adored women, in all shapes and sizes, but especially those with long blonde hair. She’d probably say it was because his mother was a natural blonde, but there was just something so striking about the light color and so unlike his own. The difference so eloquently explored in literature since time began…etymological definitions of light and dark, good and evil, heaven and hell.

Ryland took a moment and drank his coffee, a decision looming that he wasn’t so sure he was ready to make. Fallon obviously had information he needed. She was aware of the nightmares that had pursued him relentlessly for far too long, but she was wrong about the reason. That didn’t matter in the end. Something was causing them and she had the ability to uncover answers faster than he could at the moment.

“Where would we escape to?” Ryland asked, interrupting Fallon’s too descriptive inquiries. He rose from the couch and walked back around the island to the sink where he rinsed out his cup and then placed it in the dishwasher. “You seem to think that someone is going to come knock on my door with an offer of another contract, thereby reinstating my previous occupation. Where would you have me disappear to avert such a distasteful predicament?”

“You don’t believe me.” Fallon appeared somewhat confused by the turn of events, but she’d have to be satisfied that Ryland was willing to go with her until he could make sense of what she was presenting him with. He’d been out of the game too long and it was making him weak. This might very well be his opportunity to have another purpose in his life. His talents were being wasted, so why not pull on the string that was being dangled in front of him? He turned just in time to see her lean forward, the whitening of her fingers wrapped around the mug telling him that she truly believed what her employers had clearly implanted for her to unearth. “Information landed on my desk regarding E.D.A. The project existed. Granted, I almost overlooked the connection until I saw Trevor Neoni’s name listed on one of the documents. Do you know how I know what I discovered to be the truth? I placed a phone call to Gavin Crest and uttered those three little letters. Would you like to know his response?”

Ryland mentally shrugged, conceding that his colleague might very well have been part of a program that the CIA had instituted back in the day. Trevor had done his job—most of the time—but he’d been nowhere near the caliber of shot that Ryland was on his worst day. He’d been well rounded in his abilities and had used whatever means necessary to eliminate a subject within the confines of the contracts given. There had been a few loose ends he’d had to clean up in Trevor’s wake, which would explain why such a program had gone defunct. The devil was in the details.

“It doesn’t matter if I believe you or not,” Ryland countered, resting his hands on the island in front of him. He met her gaze, not willing to let her know how her description of his nightmares had gotten to him. It had to have been a wild guess on her part, because nothing else made sense and she certainly wasn’t chalking it up to him having been part of some top-secret organization that he’d never heard of. He would have remembered something of that nature. “You apparently have some half-baked plan in place and one that I’m not so sure I want to be a part of. I’m not very good at sitting around and twiddling my thumbs while everyone else gets to have some sort of fun manipulating young inexperienced FBI agents.”

“You made a deal with the United States government that you would walk away from your previous life,” Fallon reminded him, standing gracefully and walking his way. She didn’t continue until she’d set her mug on the counter. “You might not want to hear this, but the one thing you have in common with a man of Gavin Crest’s stature is a measure of personal honor. Yours is definitely twisted, but it’s there underneath the surface.”

Ryland wasn’t quite sure he should take that as a compliment, if in fact it was, although she wasn’t wrong. He never went back on his word—ever. Normally that meant a promise to take a life and he always measured up to his individual standards, but this oath was on the opposite end of the spectrum. He leaned down, resting his forearms on the hard surface as he studied her.

“I have a house up in the Hamptons,” Fallon finally answered, matching his motions and leaning forward until less than twelve inches separated them. Her blue eyes practically dared Ryland to take her up on what she was offering. “The last place anyone within the FBI or CIA would look for you would be at a federal agent’s place of residence.”

“I hate to break this to you, but your employers undoubtedly fed you that information with the intention of you leading them directly to me. Maybe even prompting you to move me away to another location.” Ryland casually reached for her hand, slipping his fingers underneath hers. He didn’t miss the slight gasp that passed her lips, but he wasn’t ready to go in for the kill quite yet. “They’re leading you with a trail of breadcrumbs and my offer to take back my life is only a messenger service away.”

“You’ll be waiting a while for that knock, considering I turned everything I had over to my supervisor a couple of days ago. You see, I’m too busy consulting on a case that CSA needs assistance on. I’ll be out of the office and away from D.C., so another agent will have to look into the claims that someone within the CIA is reinitiating an illegal program that was meant to basically annihilate alliances that are no longer useful to the United States. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Let me guess,” Ryland murmured, slowly lifting Fallon’s hand and bringing it closer to his mouth. He never once gave any indication that he believed her one way or another. He’d already made up his mind that he would go with her, just to give him something else to do besides staring at these freshly painted walls. His nightmares were only due to boredom. Nothing else. “Crest believes your theory on this so-called project. He couldn’t leave well enough alone and wants to keep tabs on my whereabouts, so he gave you advice on how to create a smokescreen—even using CSA as your cover to be granted a leave of absence. What is it exactly that you think you’ll gain from this? Why help me at all? What do you hope to achieve?”

Ryland gently pressed his lips against the back of Fallon’s hand, once again mesmerized by the way her lips parted. She had no idea how sensual the involuntary action was or what it did to him, not that she could ever influence him one way or another. They were both aware of the chemistry between them, but he had solid reasons for keeping his distance until now. She was basically offering herself up to him on a silver platter and he was hard pressed to turn her down.

“I think you were…persuaded…to do the things you did. I want to—”

Ryland tightened his hold on her hand, cutting off whatever she was about to say next. There was no reason for her to continue and he’d known all along it would boil down to this. She loathed the fact that he didn’t fit into a nice little mold on her profile checklist and she needed some explanation as to the reason why.

“Do you think my soul is redeemable, Ms. Canna?” Ryland spoke very slowly, refusing to allow her to misinterpret what he was about to say. “Do you think you can
save
me? Would that ease your conscience when we’re up in the Hamptons fucking in your king-sized bed?”

“That’s not—” Fallon tried to pull her hand away, but Ryland held on to her to make his point.

“You’re disappointed in yourself because you’re attracted to a killer. I killed for a living. You can’t wrap that up in a nice little bow without facing the fact that it makes you somewhat as twisted as I am. There is no redemption for me, Fallon. Do you know why, darling? Because I have no soul.”

Chapter Two