Redeem My Heart (2 page)

“Don’t say one more word,” Crest warned, pressing his fingers to his eyes as he quickly thought through what would happen from this point on. The start of the week had just turned to a handful of shit. “Do exactly what I say and nothing more. You go straight to your supervisor and tell him everything you know, how you came to know, and that you’re washing your hands of it. I’ll contact you in twenty-four hours. Failure to do exactly as I have instructed would not be advisable.”

Crest hung up the phone, doing his best to recall any information he’d ever heard regarding E.D.A. The government project had been non-operational for many, many years. Even if Fallon were to discover that Ryland had been a part of the unsuccessful endeavor…the man had still executed contracts. He’d not only taken the lives of those he’d been retained to kill, but he’d also murdered innocent people that had gotten in the way of his successful completion of the assigned objectives. He had destroyed the lives of many innocent families and nothing could right that wrong. Ryland was beyond any doubt a cold-blooded killer.

Fallon had somehow gotten her hands on compartmented classified intelligence that could very well place her in imminent danger. Crest shouldn’t even have been privy to its existence, but there were times his circle ran small. It appeared that Senator Barnes’ protection detail for his daughter would need to be outsourced. CSA had just been given its next assignment—keeping Fallon Canna safe from the very government who employed her and from an assassin who might just be coming out of retirement to kill her for the disclosure she’d just stumbled over.

Chapter One

R
yland had the cold steel of the weapon in his hand before he thought to draw a breath. He was sitting up in bed, the sheets tangled around his right ankle while his left foot was already on the cold hardwood floor. Sweat dripped down his face and he tried to blink away the burning salt-filled droplets, doing his best to take in the shadows of his bedroom. There was no one there…as usual. His chest began to hurt from lack of oxygen until he finally inhaled the stale air somewhat choppily.

“Shit.”

Retirement wasn’t quite cutting it. Ryland was losing his ever-fucking mind and something had to change soon. He’d been all but anonymous these past twenty years, and now he couldn’t buy a damned paper at the local newsstand without someone documenting every quarter he withdrew from his pocket. The same had gone for his stay in France, Italy, Switzerland, and Australia. Gavin Crest wasn’t the only adversary who was fronting a surveillance team and it was about time to change the rules.

Ryland slid his foot out of the twisted sheets and then made his way to the relatively large bathroom, the dim lights slowly intensifying the farther he moved into the room. The heat was set to approximately seventy degrees, ideal for this time of year and the fact that he slept in the nude. He set his handgun of choice on the beige quartz countertop he’d recently had replaced. The uniform appearance suited his personality so much better than the granite the contractor had wanted to install. He’d had no taste whatsoever.

To clear his mind, Ryland briefly reflected on the Kimber 1911 style Gold Match II .45 ACP and how his taste had initially been molded by his time in the service. Was he like everyone else? A slave to habit and conditioning? It was absurd to think that he was a product of the environment that surrounded him. He was at odds with the very air he breathed.

Ryland had purchased this condo outright with a crisp stack of cash, liking the Capital Hill view from his private rooftop suite. It didn’t hurt that he had all the amenities on hand to suit his needs as well as the added bonus to make those he’d worked for uneasy with his close proximity. The clandestine life had its perks and disadvantages. It was a two-way street, regardless that it felt like a one-way at the moment.

The nightmares were becoming worse and the warped images that Ryland could recall caused him to feel something he wasn’t accustomed to—fear. Not fear of dying, but of not being able to overcome his next opponent…whatever or whoever that might be. There
was
nothing to fear in reality. Death was inevitable and life was only a game to see who could outlive the other. So why then was there a heavy ball of distress coiled tight in his stomach? He was a man that required little sleep, so those few precious hours he did get were now being ravaged by images of an ethereal assassin who always managed to remain three steps ahead. He had a routine and one that he abided to religiously. That schedule was being disrupted. Something needed to change.

Ryland finished using the facilities and meticulously washed his hands, using the fragrance free liquid soap he’d brought back with him from Switzerland. He had an appreciation for the finer things in life and no one—not even Gavin Crest—would take that from him. The accounts that he’d emptied were only a few of many that Ryland had accumulated over his years of employment. It didn’t pay to keep all of your eggs in one basket. He’d put in long hours and worked hard for everything he had. It was his right to live in comfort. He slowly stopped drying his hands, suddenly realizing that something wasn’t quite right. A heightened forewarning altered the air around him. He slowly laid down the hand towel and reached for his Kimber 1911.

No sounds carried as Ryland quietly walked out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and out into the darkened living room. He stopped mere millimeters before the embedded IR sensor caught his movements, thus avoiding the automatic room lights from flaring. He stood just to the left of the doorway, closing his eyes and drawing in the scents and reverberations that surrounded him. He’d memorized the open layout to the exact dimensions of the walls, furniture, and kitchen appliances. He’d committed to memory every noise and odor that emanated from his own meticulously designed condominium.

Someone had entered his home—his space. The fine hairs on his nude body stood on end. He breathed deeply, the low hum of adrenaline slowly heating up his blood as it circulated throughout his body. He’d perfected keeping his heart rate steady while his thoughts weaved together the barely detectable inaccuracies of his sanctuary. This is what he missed—the excitement where he became a predator—the hunt.

“You’re very brave, Ms. Canna,” Ryland murmured, opening his eyes and zeroing in on the slip of a shadow near the front door. She had an appreciation for Chanel that didn’t go amiss. She was currently cloaked in the darkness, but he had no doubt that she was there. The beautiful blonde profiler who had been on his mind for a very long time had somehow managed to slip in his front entryway, regardless that the security system he’d put into place was the best money could buy. There must be a manufacturer’s code to bypass the system. A back door, as they say. It was something he needed to attend to later. He’d even added on a few touches himself, but she’d managed her way around those as well. He shouldn’t be surprised given that she was with the FBI, though not quite a field agent. She must have picked up a few tricks of the trade in passing. “You illegally entered into the home of a world-renowned assassin. What makes you think I wouldn’t eliminate a threat? Why would I spare you now that I have you at my mercy?”

“You don’t terminate assets.” Fallon Canna took a confident step forward, activating the lights so they gradually came to life. He leaned to the left against the wall, crossing his arms as he settled in to enjoy the view. She was a stunningly beautiful woman—tall, elegant, and graceful. She carried herself with confidence that could sometimes come off as arrogance. They had that bit in common. It was one of the reasons he found her so attractive. “You use them to your advantage.”

“And just how is it you somehow think I need help or that you can possibly assist me, Ms. Canna?”

Fallon’s blue eyes dropped below his chest, and while there appeared the slightest flush on her cheeks, she recovered quickly from her discovery that he was completely nude. She met his gaze and tilted her chin with determination. Ryland smiled for the first time in weeks, enjoying this encounter very much. He purposefully pushed off the wall with his foot and strolled through the living room around the tall island that functioned as a divider. He purposefully set his .45 on the counter to show that he didn’t consider her a threat, even as she voiced her confidence.

“Coffee?” Ryland pressed a button on the coffeemaker, overriding the scheduled time he had initially programmed it for and opened the cabinet to bring down another mug. He placed it next to his, not bothering to retrieve cream or sugar. “You take it black, as I recall.”

“I think your life is in danger,” Fallon said softly, the sound of her voice signifying that she was closer than she was before. Ryland didn’t need to turn around to confirm that, but instead used the tinted glass of the microwave to locate her reflection. Her eyes certainly weren’t above his waist. His smile broadened. This was the exact type of distraction he needed. “You need to leave the country.”

“Do you really think that I’ve not been in someone’s crosshairs every hour of every day since my retirement?” Ryland turned and motioned for Fallon to take a seat on one of the high stools in front of the island. He ignored the cold of the grey quartz countertop as he leaned his backside against it, the woman in front of him holding his attention like no other. “The CIA, FSB, DGSI, MI6, MSS, BND, Mossad and various other agencies—even the damn Girl Scouts—are all alerted the moment I’m within a thousand yards of that building across the park. And let’s not forget our old friends at CSA. Now they know you’re here as well.”

“I’m well aware of who’s keeping tabs on you,” Fallon replied wryly, not taking the offered seat. She surprised him when she turned and started to walk toward his bedroom, all the while keeping up with the conversation. The way her black pantsuit sculpted her waist and then encased her ass was a pleasant repast. “Trust me, no one knows I’m here with the exception of Gavin Crest and that’s only because I needed confirmation. I’m surprised by your lack of faith in my abilities.”

“Confirmation of my whereabouts?” Ryland had nothing of value that Fallon could uncover inside of his bedroom, but he couldn’t stem his curiosity on what she might be looking for. He wouldn’t allow her to know that, so he raised his voice so that she could hear him. “You’ve hurt my feelings, Ms. Canna. Here I thought you were given briefings by your agency on a daily basis.”

“You mean something other than the updates on your condo?” Fallon’s voice drifted through the doorway. “I have to admit, the Brazilian cherry hardwood floor is a nice touch, as well as the dark hues of the quartz countertops. The earth tones of the fresh paint top off the masculine style I assume you are going for. I did find it odd that you had another case of your Crown Royal XR delivered so soon after the last order. I would think you were self-medicating with your favorite liquor if I didn’t know you better. I’m sure they’re putting together a medical panel to study the potential outcome of that scenario.”

Ryland was losing his sense of humor at Fallon’s ill-timed wittiness. He refused to rise to her bait, recognizing that she was still trying to fit him into one of her predetermined psychobabble molds. They’d spoke at lengths of her profiling job for the federal government back when he’d been in custody, but he refused to be one of her pedestrian subjects. He prided himself on being unique and she wouldn’t be successful at her attempts to make him into something he wasn’t.

“Make no mistake,” Ryland countered, ensuring that his warning came through loud and clear. “You’ll never truly know who I am, but that could be rectified…on a physical level, of course.”

Ryland had waited to tack on that last sentence until Fallon finally appeared in the doorway. She had a pair of his Italian designer dress pants in her hand, which happened to turn white at the knuckles. She wanted his body covered, signifying that her mind wasn’t exactly on professional thoughts. He’d succeeded in turning the tables and now he needed to keep the advantage.

“You see, I already know everything I need to about you.” Ryland leisurely started walking Fallon’s way, noticing the way her lips had parted. They were perfectly outlined in a sensual shade of rouge that begged to be kissed. “Shall I enlighten you with the profile I’ve drafted? Female, age thirty-seven, workaholic with enough ambition to have caught the attention of her superiors. Does her daughterly duty by calling her parents every Sunday at seventeen hundred hours, keeps herself fit by running five clicks every morning, and only eats between the hours of eleven hundred and nineteen hundred hours. Said female does enjoy the company of an occasional male companion, but hasn’t done so in quite awhile. Now why is that, do you think?”