Redeem My Heart (4 page)

F
allon quickly pulled her hand away, her heart racing. She stood up and met Ryland’s dark gaze head on, not letting him see that his words got to her. He didn’t scare her. Not really. He had a soul, just like every other human being on the face of the planet, regardless of his statements to the contrary. His was just damaged, not utterly destroyed. She didn’t consider herself his savior, but she could help him. This was something she had to do in order for both of them to sleep peacefully at night.

Was Ryland right that she was looking for any excuse to justify her behavior? He had a point, after all. He was what everyone knew him to be. Most people would say she was mentally impaired to be attracted to a man who had no moral compass and no compunction in taking another life, but very few things were black and white. She also wasn’t
trying
to validate the choices he’d made to make herself feel better—she was one hundred percent certain that he was programmed, trained, and manipulated by those that had funded the E.D.A. He might not have been a victim. He might very well have been a willing subject that had foolishly volunteered to participate in a highly classified government funded black operations program. She just needed time to prove it and then she would do what she could to ease Travis Bowers back into society as a productive member. Only then would she deal with these mixed emotions she’d tried to bury.

“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you while time runs off the clock.” Fallon snatched her mug and walked around the island, ignoring the flat coldness in Ryland’s eyes. His defenses were secured in place and now wasn’t the time to try to knock down those walls. She turned on the faucet and rinsed out the cup, not letting him see that her hands were trembling. “If I’m right there are people coming for you. They don’t give a damn about the agreement you signed with our government. They will reinitiate you. They will kick-start your programming and you won’t ever know what happened. I’d like to prevent that, if possible.”

“No one has that type of power over me.” Ryland was now standing directly behind her. She could feel his heated gaze on her back as she lowered the handle on the faucet, shutting off the water. She set her mug in the sink with deliberation, giving herself extra time before facing him. When she felt composed enough she turned. “Not even you.”

“You’re right. I can’t force you to come with me, but I gave you valid reasons why you should.” Fallon went out on a limb, going by his earlier reactions. “Your nightmares didn’t just appear out of nowhere, Ryland. They’re occurring now because you’ve gone so long without practicing your trade. Don’t you want to find those responsible for taking away from you any chance at a normal life? Or how about just humoring yourself and see if you can end up getting me into your bed?”

Fallon wasn’t sure how she got that last question out, considering that it probably wouldn’t take all that much effort. She’d resisted this long, but there wasn’t a woman on the face of this planet who wouldn’t be attracted to this man’s charisma—at least those who didn’t know what he was capable of doing. Regardless, something inside of her told her that he’d never harm her intentionally.

“Out of morbid curiosity, say you find that you’re right and I was
persuaded in some manner
to be the professional I am today.” Ryland crossed his arms, causing the contours of his chest to gracefully move under his actions. She did her best to concentrate on his face and nothing more. She was coming to hate the wry humor that he exhibited when talking about the crimes he’d committed. “What then? Am I forgiven for my sins washed in the blood?”

“No,” Fallon replied softly, wishing that were the case. She’d have given anything for that to be true, but nothing could ever absolve him of the lives he’d taken. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t change your future prospects.”

“Change my prospects?” There was something lethal in Ryland’s tone that sent shivers down Fallon’s spine. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her pants, not wanting him to see the variation in her reaction. He liked keeping her on edge, but she didn’t have to give him the satisfaction. Her breath caught in her throat when he lowered his arms and slowly took a step toward her. “Dying a leopard’s coat another color doesn’t mean you can erase the spots underneath. A panther may appear black, but he is still the same animal with melanin—an adaptation to make him a more competitive predator. Maybe my melanistic nature is what you presuppose to be malignant. It is a dominant gene and it makes the animal fitter for his environment. My phenotype is that of a predator. My traits or observable characteristics—such as in my body, physical and mental development, biochemical or physiological, phenology behavior, and products of that behavior—are that of a predator. I am who I am because of what I am, Fallon.”

This was the second time Ryland had used her first name and she was thinking she might like Ms. Canna better. It kept him at a professional distance. It could have kept him at arms’ length, but he’d now placed them on a more intimate level. His underlying sensual tone spiked the heat, erasing any previous trepidation she had with one word. He was smooth, charismatic, and could very well be her downfall.

“A hunter is still a hunter,” Ryland murmured, lifting his hands until they rested on the countertop on either side of her. The world became only the two of them. Nothing else existed. “Did it ever occur to you that I might actually have volunteered for such a program? If such a thing exists, do you think they’ll allow you to live with the knowledge of such an operation? What makes you think they haven’t ordered me to kill you already?”

Fallon’s chest literally burned from not getting enough oxygen, but she wouldn’t reveal her unease with his questions. He’d brought them back to the harsh reality that he wasn’t a man with the average set of flaws. Crest had all but inquired the same questions, once again proving that these two men weren’t so different in specific areas. She inhaled as slowly as she could, the flashing lights finally diminishing and revealing Ryland’s penetrating dark brown eyes.

“Are you coming with me or not?” She’d done what research she could on the E.D.A. and while the program hadn’t lived up to expectations, it had with most certainty irretrievably harmed the subjects’ perception of themselves. She purposefully unclenched her fist inside of her pocket, pulling her hand out and looking down at her watch. “We have twenty minutes.”

Fallon didn’t deny the attraction between them and she’d certainly been emotionally sick over it multiple times. Literally. Ryland was a cold-blooded killer in every sense of the word, showing no remorse for the lives he’d taken. He’d also shown no joy. It was a contract to him and nothing else. That’s where the contradictions arose though. Serial killers took pleasure in killing. They desired it, they wanted it, they
needed
it. They were psychopaths or sociopaths, depending on the definition of what that individual fell under.

Fallon could see the parallels with the likes of Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer, but there was a cavern of too many contradictions to make him the same as them. Ryland showed no remorse for killing those he’d been ordered to and yet he’d gone to great lengths to help his half-sister, Yvette Capre. Almost as if it had been his duty, acting on lawful orders of a superior in one case and showing compassion when he’d been allowed the latitude. The grief from her death was more than evident, but she was tied to his childhood. Psychopaths and sociopaths in general didn’t have a conscience and anything they did was more or less self-serving. Ryland claimed both of those as well, but he was wrong. She’d seen him go to great lengths for Yvette, as well as Taryn Chambers who worked for CSA…that was another story in and of itself.

The behavioral list also included cruelty to animals, which Travis Bowers never exhibited. Fallon noticed the OCD tendencies and his predilection to have everything in its place, but so did a lot of the population. Could she be wrong about his mental state? Had he been conditioned? He didn’t think so. At least, that is what he had professed.

There was no denying that Ryland liked his job. He lived and breathed for those contracts, but was it really his own innate
desire
? He was a talented shooter, but that didn’t make him
want
to kill. He did like the superiority his gift allowed him to have, but who didn’t take pride in what they were naturally good at?

What Fallon really needed was to get her hands on any files that existed to see how the E.D.A. operated and what was perpetrated on their subjects. Once she’d proven that Travis Bowers was one of the original test studies, she would then cross that bridge when she came to it. Was the respectable eighteen-year-old boy still somewhere inside of him?

“Yes, I’ll come with you, Fallon,” Ryland said in that tone that always made Fallon second-guess herself. He stood to his full height and she made sure her eyes stayed on his face. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that his partial nudity didn’t affect her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of caving in. She finally released the air she’d been holding in her lungs from that first breath. She walked away from him as if the exchange hadn’t affected her at all and then sat on one of the stools to give her trembling knees some help. Her heart stuttered when he stopped just inside his bedroom door, looking at her over his shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you ahead of time.”

Fallon waited a full thirty seconds before she reached into her blazer and pulled out her cell phone. She texted one word—
done
—to the number that Crest had given her. She’d followed his instructions to the letter and he’d contacted her as promised…in person. He didn’t believe her, much like Ryland, that E.D.A. could have used Travis Bowers as a test subject. Couldn’t both of them see that it all made sense? What didn’t add up was why someone would want to reinstate the program after all this time.

Trevor Neoni, who had been one of Ryland’s competitors, was the sole reason any classified information had been leaked. He’d mentioned it during an Agency administered chemically enhanced interrogation that had quasi-illegally transpired before his death. The man hadn’t been nearly as smart as Ryland and he’d proved it by letting his arrogance get in the way of his training. He’d recanted his statement after walking from the procedure, but the damage had been done.

Ryland still wasn’t privy to that piece of intelligence, as far as she knew. It might only fuel him to get back into the business if he could find a loophole within the agreement, which she wouldn’t put past him. Who would come out of the woodwork now that Ryland had been suppressed? Petty assassins were a dime a dozen, but consummate professionals who understood the rules of the game? They were few and far between, not to mention quite expensive.

Fallon had put out some feelers to find out anything and everything regarding E.D.A. after Neoni’s report had crossed her desk. She’d received an answer, but the intelligence given to her was heavily redacted and brief—the program had been ultimately a failure. Why then had Neoni even mentioned it? He hadn’t used the project as an excuse or to say his mistake had been
their
fault. The interviewer never had that statement clarified or expanded on, because Neoni had already recanted his words as nonsense once he’d been revived.

“Ten minutes left, unless you’d like to take it down to the second.”

Fallon startled, but caught herself before dropping her phone. Technically, her mind hadn’t stopped spinning since her phone call with Crest. Each minute had been spent detailing the upcoming weeks. She wasn’t fooled. Crest wasn’t helping her for any other reason than to keep track of Ryland. She understood his reasons, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t use his resources to their advantage.

“Let’s go,” Fallon stated with authority, noticing the Italian designer suit that Ryland had changed into. He was used to the finer things in life, so he’d be very comfortable in her ancestral home up in the Hamptons. It had become her parents’ summer retreat, so no one would be there this time of year. “Three bags? You don’t travel light.”

Ryland didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. Only one suitcase was for clothes. The other cases, no doubt, contained luxuries and various small arms. There was nothing in the papers he’d signed that prevented him from having access to the tools of his former trade. She ignored the warning her instincts were giving off and went to grab a hold of the doorknob when his hand covered hers, bringing her to an abrupt halt.

“Should you be right about this, which I don’t believe you are, you’ve just put your life on the line.”

Ryland waited to continue until Fallon met his unapologetic stare, but she could see the slight surprise in his eyes when she tilted her chin a little higher in determination. She knew how to play the game and answered accordingly.

“Then it’s a good thing I have a professional to do my bidding.”

Chapter Three