Viper: A Hitman Romance (9 page)

CHAPTER TEN

JESSICA

I've never seen Ryker shaken like this.  And I've never seen anybody drive like this, either.  He's doing his best NASCAR impersonation, all while still talking on his phone.

Thank god it's a short conversation at least.

All I hear is a short "Hello", there's some chatter on the other end of the line, it's rapid and high-pitched and it sounds worried, and then he's saying "I'll be right there" and then we're off.  His Jag is putting every single one of its five hundred horses to work to make us practically
fly
down the road.

Still, he makes several turns and feints and I can tell he's making sure no one is following us.

"Where are we going?  What's wrong?"  I ask.

He doesn't look up from the road.  Which I'm grateful for.  At this speed, I want his full attention on the cars we're blowing by.

"It's important.  We'll be there in fifteen minutes.  When we get there, you stay in the car and you keep your head down.  Don't move, don't talk to anybody."

His words all come out as chopped commands.  He's in full soldier-on-alert mode.

"I will.  But can you tell me what's going on?"

"She needs me.  I told her to call me only if it's an emergency.  Please, I'm trusting you, when we get there, just stay in the car.  I've worked so hard to keep her from getting mixed up in my business.  I need to keep her safe."

"You can trust me," I say, giving his arm a squeeze.

He smiles at me.  "Thanks.  We're here."

Here
turns out to be a cul-de-sac in a suburb not far from downtown, with rows of houses all in a line, all with well-kept yards and minivans and sensible sedans in the driveways.  A few kids are playing basketball in one of the driveways.

Ryker exits the car, gives me one last cautious look, and starts off down the sidewalk.

I stay in my seat.  Even keep the seat belt on.  I'm just an observer now None of the kids playing basketball spare Ryker a second look.  The door to one of the houses at the far end of the cul-de-sac opens, and out comes a girl who can't be more than eight or nine.

The girl is wearing her hair in a ponytail now, instead of pigtails.  And she's taller.  But she still has the same fashion sense.  I can see the moon boots from here.  But this pair is green, with flower designs on them.               

And I can feel the warmth of her smile even at this distance.

And Ryker.  Ryker
changes
.

He's not the rigid, implacable man that balances lives on his trigger finger.  He's loose, his arms are spread wide, he's kneeling down, and I can hear his laugh even with the doors closed. 

It booms down the street, this unleashed, happy, carefree laugh.

The stoic, careful killer is happy and loving.

He's a dad.

Just thinking that feels weird.  But I'd recognize that look any day.  And the way he hugs her stirs up so many of my own memories.  It takes me back to summer camps and school trips, when my parents would pick me up after I'd been gone for weeks and mom and dad would get out of their beat-up Camry and then it was a race to see who could get to the other first to sweep them into a hug.

Ryker tussles her hair and stays down on one knee, while he listens to her.

She's bouncing, she's stomping her feet, and she's got her hands pressed together, begging.  And whatever happiness she felt seeing her dad has faded and I can see tears.

Ryker stands up, arms out to the side.  Happy dad is now exasperated, frustrated.

The kids on the street stop playing basketball and they're staring over in his direction.

Ryker looks more uncomfortable by the second.  Curtains on one of the houses spread open and a nosy mom has her face to the glass.  She crinkles her nose and turns her head to say something to someone else behind her.

"Come on, Ryker," I mutter, urging him to calm his daughter down and get back in the car.

I don't know what's going on out there, and I don't know how much the neighbors know about Ryker's relationship with his daughter, but I do know that the sight of a strange man arguing with a young girl in a neighborhood like this is probably enough for someone to call the cops.

Which I just
know
will turn out bad.  Probably with a couple dead officers and Ryker and I on the run.

I get out of the car and join Ryker and his daughter. 

Both of them give me a surprised look, and I can see the warning in Ryker's eyes. 
Watch your step
.  The ice I'm on is so thin it's practically invisible. 

The young girl calms down as I walk up, though she's still puffing as she fights to hold in tears.

I get a petulant look from her as soon as I join them.

"Dad, who's this?" she says to Ryker.

"This is my friend, Jessica," Ryker answers.  "Jessica, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Kylie."

I give a little wave and get down to the young girls level.

"Hi Kylie.  It's nice to meet you.  Your dad has told me a lot about you."  I smile and hold out my hand.

"Do you work with my dad?" Kyle asks.

I'm a bit at a loss how to answer, because I doubt she knows her dad kills people for a living.  For all I know, she thinks he's an astronaut.

Ryker steps in.  "She does, kind of.  But she's not an undercover cop like me."

Kylie looks at me intently and I can see she has father's same piercing green eyes.  "Do you catch bad guys too?"

I nod.  "I work for the FBI.  When your dad catches them, it's my job to make sure that we have everything we need so that they stay in jail."

Kylie nods.

"Do you think you could help my dad finish his case by tomorrow night?" she asks.

"Kylie…" Ryker's tone is a gentle warning.

"Why?  What's tomorrow night?" I ask.

"The talent show.  Dad says his case won't let him come."

"Kyle, that's enough."  Ryker says.

Kyle turns from me to her dad, and that same sad look I saw earlier is back in full force.  "Dad, you
never
spend time with me.  I never even see you.  Everyone is going to be at the fifth grade talent show and I'm doing a magic act and I've been practicing a lot, but I'm scared.  What if I mess up?  I'm not any good and I need you, dad.  What if everybody laughs at me?"

Ryker takes a deep breath like he's trying to suck up all the oxygen in a mile radius.  "Kylie, we talked about this: I can't make it.  I'm so sorry, darling, but it just isn't possible.  And besides, you and I both know no one is going to laugh at you.  These are your friends, we're you're talking about…"

Which, even I know, is exactly the wrong thing to say.  Even your best friends can be really cruel when you're in fifth grade.

Kylie looks about to explain that to Ryker with a very elegant tantrum.  Which, to be honest, he probably deserves, but I decide to try and head off the oncoming storm.

"Hey, Kylie," I say and I give her a second to take a calming breath.  "You've read
Harry Potter
, right?"

She rolls her eyes.  Of course she has.  Everyone who's anyone has.

"Yes," she says.  "So?"

"Do you remember the part where Hermione cast the spell on her parents and changed their memories, so they didn't know they had a daughter?"

Kylie nods.  I can see tears glisten at the edges of her eyes.  Heck, I can feel them ready to come out of my own.  Only a heartless person wouldn't get torn up remembering that part.  Emma Watson
nailed
it, like only she can.

"Your dad loves you so much, but he's dealing with some really bad people.  People worse than deatheaters.  And to keep you safe, even though it hurts him more than anything in the world, he has to pretend like he doesn't have a family."

Kylie nods, understanding, and looks from me to Ryker.

"Is that what happened to mom?  Did bad people get her?"

My eyes are all on Ryker, now.  There's a maelstrom of emotions swirling in his eyes and on his face.  He looks vulnerable right now, like a man who's kept his emotions caged for years, only to have them let loose all at once.

"That's a story for another day, kid.  When you're older, we're talk about your mom."

"Kylie!  Dinner!"

An older woman calls out from the front porch of Kylie's home.  She doesn't seem the least bit concerned that her young kid is talking to two full-grown adults, one of whom looks like some Roman war god brought to life.

Kylie rolls her eyes, in the way most kids do when being told to do something they don't want to do.  "That's Aunt Colleen," she says by way of explanation.  "If I don't get going, I'll probably get in trouble."

She gives both Ryker and me quick hugs and then bolts up the sidewalk back home.  Kylie turns and waves from the front porch.

"She's cute," I say.

Ryker smiles.  It's warm, human.  He puts his hand on my shoulder and gives me a light squeeze.  "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For helping.  I love her, but I hardly know her.  It's by choice, to keep her safe, but it makes being a dad hard." 

I shrug, smiling in return and trying to play off what just happened as no big deal.  "I didn't do much.  I figure every girl between two and ninety-two looks up to Hermione.  And, if one of the toughest and smartest women ever can teach us anything — in addition to how to deal with lunkheaded boys — it's how to make hard choices."

He winks at me, still smiling.  "Excuse me? 
Lunkheaded
boys
?"

"Lunkheaded men, too."

Ryker laughs.  A deep, belly-shaking kind of laugh.  Well, in this case, it's more like a six-pack shaking laugh.  "Get in the car.  We've still got a lot to do."

We drive in silence for a while, enjoying each other's quiet company, and then I speak the question that's been on my mind ever since we left that little slice of suburbia.

"What happens to Kylie when this is all over?"

Ryker lets out a deep sigh.  "Nothing at first.  Her adoptive parents and I have a deal… They're good people, and are pretty understanding, considering I showed up at their door three years ago with that same cock-and-bull story about being undercover.  When I'm out of the business and stable for a while, they'll grant me visitation rights."

His voice gets wistful.  "When I'm free, I'll be able to spend weekends with my daughter.  I can take her to movies and to the beach.  I can be a
father
for once in my life and try and make up for the mess that I've caused."

He kicks the car into high gear and we're speeding down the road.  I watch the world fly by, and I can't help but smile over the fact that, even though this man lives a life so different from my own, the more time we spend together, the more I understand how similar we are.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JESSICA

"Where are we headed?"

This isn't the way back to Ryker's safehouse.

"The beach.  I need to show you something."

We take a short detour through an In-N-Out.  Even though I've had my fill of fast food lately, I get something as well, because, being a self-respecting human being, I don't turn down In-N-Out.

Ryker parks his Jag just off the classic stretch of Santa Monica sand that lives and breathes in every persons vision of oceanside California. 

The sun is starting to set, and clouds are turning purple and pink and orange as the glowing orb falls below the horizon.

We get out and he sits on the hood of his car facing the ocean and I join him.  Out of his jacket pocket he pulls out a pair of cigars and he offers one to me.

"Even if you don't smoke normally, you do now."

"Excuse me?"

"Just trust me.  You'll like these."

I take it, pop it in my mouth, and hold it there between my lips, feeling totally foolish.  It's big, it's dumb, it's phallic in a weird way, and it smells funny.  He lights it.  Sweet, peppery smoke fills my nostrils and I puff and inhale and cough.

Ryker laughs.  "Relax.  There's a trick to smoking a cigar.  First, you puff a few times, but you don't inhale the smoke.  Wait until it's white and thick.  Then you can inhale."

Ryker lights his own and watches me out of the corner of his eye while I puff away at my cigar like a clueless newbie. 

A passing woman with a mom-bob haircut gives the two of us a disapproving look.  She stops and seems about ready to say something — probably about smoking in a public place — but Ryker blows a giant smoke-ring in her direction, then blows another, and gives her a serious 'fuck off' look.

The woman storms away in a huff.

We're quiet for a bit, the sun drops below the horizon, and those purple and pink and orange clouds start to disappear into the dark night sky.

"Why are we here, Ryker?"

He blows another smoke ring.

I try to blow one, too, and it comes out as a messy cloud.

"I know tomorrow is a big risk for you.  And I know this whole situation has turned your life into one big clusterfuck.  But I want you to know that I'm grateful for what you're helping me achieve,"  Ryker says.

I smoke my cigar a bit more, taking in more of the herbal, spicy smoke, before I answer him.  "I don't have to like what you're doing, but I understand why you're doing it.  At the end, I just want to get home safe, I just want to be there for my brother."

He nods.  "Family — I get that. I didn't for a long time.  For most of my life, actually, but I do now."

We watch the tide roll in, waves coming up the beach to lap at sandcastles left there by children.  Off in the distance, I can see the faint lights of cargo ships coming in and the bright lights of squidfishers heading out to start the night's catch.

"Are you sure you can pull this off?"

He grunts.  It's noncommittal.  He stares off into the distance, towards the rising surf and the now-set sun.  "I've done harder jobs on tighter timelines."

"And am I really going to be safe when this is all over?"

Ryker turns, looks at me, his eyes reflecting the ember-light of his cigar. "I've told you, you will.  That's a promise."

"Pardon me for having a bit of doubt at the word of a hitman."

"I didn't get where I am by lying, Jessica.  I tell people something will happen, and I make it happen."

"How can I to trust you?  I know nothing about you other than you kill people for a living, you have a daughter you keep secret, and you had a relationship with a smuggler in the Florida Keys.  That's it.  And except for the daughter part, it doesn't really give me much reassurance, you know?" 

Of all those, talking about Eleanor is the hardest.  Try as I might to deny it, I'm jealous of Eleanor even though she's long dead.  She saw and lived with a side of this man that I've only caught glimpses of.  A man who isn't the Viper, a man who isn't the focused professional killer, a man who smiles and laughs and sings old soul standards like 'Feeling Good'.  A man who is everything this killer isn't.

That's a man that, under different circumstances, I could love.

"I got where I am because I made a long list of bad choices, Jessica.  It wasn't easy, I put a lot of time and a lot of blood and sweat into becoming the man I am today, but, now it's time to change." He puffs from his cigar, exhaling a big cloud of smoke. 

I scoot closer on the hood of the car.  "Tell me."

I want to know this man.  Every part of him.  From the smiling carefree Ryker in that stained old photograph to the world-weary man with the bloodstained hands.  "Please."

He looks at me for a second, weighing me, measuring me, considering whether to open himself up.  There's pain in those eyes.  As much as he wants to hide it or avoid it, I know there's so much in his life that he regrets, that he hides behind the paper-thin excuse of it being just another job.

"We'll start at the beginning: my father was a piece of shit," he says.  The words come out slow, like he's dragging them out of some deep, long-neglected part inside himself.  "He was a cop.  Boston PD.  Just a bottom-of-the-barrel detective, and he was stuck.  The man kept trying to climb the ladder, but, when your last name is Blackwood, and your colleagues are all O'Loughlin's and McGrady's, and you're in Boston, it's not going to work out.  The promotion is going to go to the guy who's a
Sinn Fein
supporter.  And that's just how it is."

There's a moment of silence.  All I hear are the crashing of the waves on the shore and the sound of some kid arguing with his mom way off in the distance.

"Me, I was just a stickup kid, some stupid punk working for one of the mob families because I
hated
my dad.  And I liked the money.  I
chose
to be that way.  Any time I got caught, he'd bail me out, try and cover it up to protect his reputation, then beat the shit out of me.  He'd choose to blame me for his failed career, even though his problems started long before I started working for the mob."

Ryker breathes, puffs his cigar and looks at me sideways.  "You following me so far, Jessica?"

I nod.  I am, sort of, but, mostly, I just want to keep listening.  I feel like Ryker needs to let this out just as much as I want to hear it.

"Eventually, I learned I'd never make it that far working for the mob, for the same reasons my dad would never make it far in the police force.  So, I chose to fall in with some guy who was such a piece of shit he was disowned by the IRA.  Mickey Shaughnessy.  That son of a bitch taught me the ropes, got me my first job as a merc in Columbia.  And I chose to live this way.  Every life I took, I chose to pull the trigger."

He turns, looks at me, and I feel the heat in his voice, I see the intensity burning in his eyes just as bright as the embers on the end of his cigar.  "But now, I'm choosing to change.  Because of you, I can leave this life behind.  I can be a better father, a better man.  I need you, Jessica.  That's why I would never hurt you.  And I would never allow anyone to hurt you.  Because I owe you everything."

I feel like the wind's just been knocked out of me. 

Family's important — I know what it's like to sacrifice for them, to make hard choices for the people that depend on you.  It's what drives me to work so hard; it's why I chose to take a full-time job while studying in college.  Nothing's come easy, but it's all been worth it to know that the people I care about are taken care of.

And now, I'm sitting here on the hood of an expensive car, having a heart-to-heart with a man who terrifies me, about how I'm helping him change his life and become the man he wants to be. 

To say it's overwhelming is an understatement. 

Terror, comfort, lust, excitement, and a hundred other conflicting emotions spin inside my head.  All because of this man.

He's baring his soul to me, and I've never wanted to be closer to anyone than I do to him, right now.

"Holy shit," I mumble, before I realize I'm talking out loud.

"Holy shit, indeed," he echoes, his lips curling up a bit in a smile.

"I didn't mean…" I sputter, and then, "It's just…  This is all so messed up, and honestly, really, you don't
need
me.  And…"

"Jessica…" I can tell he's trying to interrupt or explain.

But I keep going.  "You could get into the FBI on your own, I'm sure.  You're good.  Amazing, really, and you could do all this differently and…"

"Jessica!"  He places one finger to my lips, silencing me.

"What?"  I say, flustered, confused, and then get quiet.

"You're a good woman, Jessica.  And when I'm with you, making the hard choices to be a better man is a whole lot easier."

"Easier?  I did try and run away, you know."  I say.

"And after that, you chose to help."

"Because you frightened the shit out of me.  You know you can be scary as hell, right?"

That's not the only reason I want to help him.  I want to bring that smiling, loving man from the photograph back to life.  I want to give Ryker Blackwood a new dawn, a new day.

"Sometimes, the things that scare us the most are the most worth it.  How did it feel when you realized that you're the only person in the world your brother can depend on?"  He says.

I don't even hesitate.  The day after my mother's funeral — two years to the day after my father died — when the relatives all went home, leaving just me and my brother… I've never felt so alone.  I couldn't even cry, I felt so empty and hopeless. 

"I was scared out of my mind."

"And how did you feel when he got into Stanford?"

"On top of the world.  More proud than I've ever been in my life." 

Even talking about it makes me swell up. 

When his acceptance letter came in, and with it the scholarships they promised, I cried my eyes out.  I wept until I couldn't make any more tears, until my throat hurt and my face was this ugly beet red.  It was release and it was vindication for every single sleepless night.

It felt
so
fucking good
.  I still smile when I think about it.  Even right now.

"You made the choice to be the best fucking sister in the history of the world, and it paid off.  Now, you're making another choice.  You're helping me, you're helping me leave behind this bloody mess of my life, you're helping me do it the right way — without hurting anybody — and you're helping me be the type of man that Kylie can be proud to have as a father."

His eyes are on me, locked on me, and mine are locked right back on him.  He's so fervent right now; his words are pure smoldering determination and I can feel the intensity raising goosebumps on my skin.

"Without your help, without
you
, Jessica, I wouldn't be nearly as good a man as I could be.  All this change, all these choices, they're scary, I'll grant you that, but I'll be damned if it doesn't feel
good
."

Fuck yes, it feels good.

His words, his eyes, they draw me in.  Never breaking eye-contact, I take that cigar out of his mouth and I kiss him.  Despite everything — the FBI break-in, the terror I felt when this kidnapping started — that Ryker Blackwood is a man that can be redeemed.  There's good inside this man, there's laughter, and joy, and pride, and love. 

His kisses me back, crushing his lips to mine, putting his hands on my back and pulling me closer.  He surrounds me and, sighing deeply, I lose myself in his embrace.

Ryker Blackwood is a man I can love.

And I want him, right here, right now.  Before the words even leave my mouth, he seems to sense it.

“Let's get back in the car,” he says.

I'm already hopping off the car, practically bouncing as I trot around it to hop into the back seat.

“Get back here,” I say to Ryker when it looks like he's about to sit down in the driver's seat.

He shoots me a look.  “I would've thought you'd like to go somewhere private.”

I shake my head.  “I want you.  Now.”

The parking lot's not totally empty, though we've only seen one person in the last fifteen minutes, and that was the angry mom, who probably wouldn't even know what good sex looked like if it was wetly smacking her in the face.

He grins, and I see shades of that smile from the photograph.  “You know I don't care if the whole world sees me with a beautiful woman like you.  Let them enjoy the show.”

Right back at you
, I think to myself as Ryker slides into the back sat with me.