Redeem My Heart
Authors: Kennedy Layne
CSA Case Files, Book Seven
Kennedy Layne
Copyright © 2015 Kennedy Layne
REDEEM MY HEART
Copyright © 2015 by Kennedy Layne
Kindle Edition
E-Book ISBN: 978-1-943420-05-6
Cover art by Sweet ’N Spicy Designs
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
Jeffrey—we healed each other’s hearts and are now on a beautiful journey together…hand in hand. I cannot wait to see what the future holds for us.
Prologue
“G
avin, you received quite a few calls from Fallon Canna while you were out,” Jessie said, rolling back her desk chair with a flick of one of her black high heels. She was wearing one of his favorite dresses, the supple black fabric falling just above her knees. He skimmed his gaze down her toned calf until it rested on the beautiful silver chain-linked anklet that he’d given her as a present over the weekend. They’d spent a much needed three days stashed away up at their lakeside cabin in northern Minnesota, just the two of them. He was half tempted to whisk her back up there considering their overnight bags were still in the trunk of his car, but there were responsibilities he couldn’t ignore any longer. It was tempting, though. “I’m surprised she didn’t try your cell phone. She seemed pretty insistent on talking to you.”
“I wasn’t in a position where I could receive calls, as you well know.” Crest rested a hand on his silk tie, keeping it in place as he leaned over to press a brief kiss on her soft lips. It was rare that they made public display of affections at work, but at the moment it was just the two of them in the reception area. Her sparkling green eyes held a hint of mischief and he lifted the corner of his mouth in response. “Don’t even think about cancelling my lunch meeting. It’s with Senator Barnes regarding his daughter.”
Crest reluctantly stood, shifting his long dress coat into the crook of his elbow as he slid papers out of Jessie’s manicured hand. He didn’t bother to look at the expense reports that he would need to authorize before the checks were issued. He wouldn’t cancel his meeting with Senator Barnes either, but he might just have to push it back a half an hour while he returned Fallon’s call. She was a profiler with the FBI who could be occasionally loaned out to him as a consultant depending on who the client was and the nature of the assignment. She wasn’t currently working on any open cases for him, but that didn’t technically mean anything. She could just need a favor, but his gut was telling him something or someone else was on the skyline. He did his best not to let Jessie see his concern.
“Isn’t that the same daughter who Ethan—”
“That was a very long time ago,” Ethan exclaimed in his defense, walking up with a file in his hand. The youngest agent under Crest’s employment didn’t look too pleased that his past had come knocking, especially considering that he was a married man now. “Do you think Kevin could take whatever protection detail the senator wants to arrange for Angela this time around? I don’t need that headache right now with Taryn being in a snit and all.”
“I won’t make any decisions until I hear exactly why Senator Barnes needs our services.” Crest would make evaluations based on the information he was provided and not beforehand. He would have liked another moment alone with Jessie but that wasn’t going to happen today, so he walked toward his executive office at CSA—Crest Security Agency. He’d painstakingly put years of hard work into making this unit a tight-knit effective team comprised of former military men and women. He’d succeeded in recruiting excellent talent and he would do everything in his power to keep it that way. “Kevin, gather the team for a caseload in five minutes.”
Kevin Dreier was walking from the coffee area to his cubicle with his grungy Vikings mug in hand that had seen much better days. Half of the decal had flaked off the once white porcelain tankard. There was also a slight limp to his gait. It was rare that he ever showed that shortcoming, so the recent arrival of an early cold weather front must be getting to his damaged knee. Most of the team had been banged up at some point or another during their careers. It was the nature of the game.
To Crest’s left were multiple partitions. They surrounded a central table holding various administrative support items and a rather large black laser printer/fax/copier that worked when it wanted. One of the cubicles revealed Jax Christensen staring rather intently at his computer screen while tossing a yellow stress ball against the partition wall, with Connor Ortega standing behind him. They were both working on a high-profile murder case of a prominent businessman whose widow disagreed with the police department’s findings that a colleague she’d been involved with had committed the crime. Crest would get an update here shortly.
“Townes should be here in ten. He can attend if we can delay the meeting by five,” Kevin replied before walking around the wall of his cubicle. “He was in court giving testimony regarding the Simmons case.”
Crest grunted his affirmation before continuing on to his office. Townes was the latest addition to the team. It had taken a while for everyone to adjust to his attitude and methods, but the bumps in the road had finally been smoothed out. He was an asset in his own right, having connections with numerous 1% motorcycle clubs around the country. Underworld resources like that were invaluable, and the fact that Townes had his own select moral code and ethics only made him that much more of an acquisition.
“Do we have Fallon working on a case?”
Crest sighed in resignation at the question, stopping in the doorway to his office before turning to address Taryn. She was sitting in the office across from his in front of various flat screen monitors, a pencil shoved behind her ear in between the strands of her short, choppy blonde hair. Her blue eyes zeroed in on him over one of the screens, backlit by the row of blinking servers lining the rear wall. He knew exactly what she was asking and who it was in regards to. Her gaze was searching his for answers he didn’t have quite yet.
“No, but the SITREP I received last night stated there was no change in the subject’s behavior or routine. I’ll let you know if I find out differently.”
Crest closed the door firmly behind him, wanting privacy for the upcoming conversation he was about to have. He’d give Taryn answers if and when he had them. He didn’t feel like shooting the bull about some half-baked potential scenarios. It had taken months for the office to return to normal after dealing with an espionage case that had involved the entire team and the viability of CSA’s future by the time all had been said and done. He’d pulled in some crucial favors to ensure that the past wouldn’t rear up its ugly head. This particular phone call better not be the tread that unraveled that particular ball of yarn he’d so carefully put back in place.
Crest normally had a specific routine upon arriving at the office—a habit from his time served in the Marines—but he delayed it this morning to return Fallon’s call. He set the expense reports on his desk before punching his private line and picking up the receiver from the complex telecommunications console on his desk. He fat-fingered the number from memory, not surprised when she picked up before the end of the first ring.
“Fallon Canna.”
“You’re persistent enough,” Crest said, laying his dress coat across the arm of his chair. He had an antique hand-turned oak coatrack in the corner of his office, but the cord of the desk phone wouldn’t stretch that far. He shrugged one arm out of his suit jacket before holding the phone to his shoulder to remove it completely. He hung it from the back of his chair before taking a seat. “What can I do for you?”
“I want answers.” The tenor of Fallon’s voice dropped to a serious tone, but her next word might as well have been as loud as a gunshot. “E.D.A.”
The acronym resonated through Crest’s mind, the implication she was making going far beyond anything that was believable. He’d hired Fallon as a consultant a long, long time ago to construct a profile on a world-renowned assassin—a man who went by the name of Ryland—who had taken a contract to eliminate Jax’s wife, Emily. The trail of dead bodies in Ryland’s wake had stretched back to the first Gulf war and beyond. It was always better to know as much as possible about one’s enemy before going into battle.
The war had become rather personal when Ryland had taken a particular interest in Taryn, thus discovering that they both had a sibling in common. Anything the man touched became damnable. The burial of their mutual family member was all the tenuous connection that Taryn and Ryland shared, and that’s the way it would have remained if Crest could have had his druthers.
It was from that point on that the ruthless man had somehow become a thorn in all their sides—not one of them untouched—but Fallon had taken a somewhat less than professional interest in her subject. Crest had thought he’d neutralized the problem when the government had given Ryland immunity for his crimes under the agreement that effectively
retired
him from his profession while eliminating a potential coup of the United States government. Now it seemed that she was trying to rationalize Ryland’s crimes and discount what everyone had already reasonably concluded…the man was an unredeemable certified psychopath.
Ryland was presently in Washington, D.C. under HUMINT surveillance at Crest’s personal expense through Townes’ contacts with the 1% clubs in the greater D.C. area. The man had wrecked considerable havoc on their lives, too much to be left at large without at least passing attention concerning his comings and goings. His physical location was a far cry from Minneapolis, Minnesota where Crest and his team members resided…and that’s the way he wanted it to remain.