Raven (Kindred #1) (20 page)

Of that, she was sure and she made a note to be more careful herself. Tim had found her in Purdy’s, as had the man with the scar. Threats didn’t always look scary. In fact, every time she’d been approached by one they’d been outwardly pleasant, except for Brodie. Though he wasn’t exactly a threat to her… maybe.

“I don’t suppose it matters now that our… whatever it was… is all in the past.”

Art’s eyes moved up to fix on something, which caused her to glance over her shoulder. But she saw nothing unusual. “We’re about to find out if my nephew’s through with you,” Art said, pushing up off the couch.

“How?” she asked. Searching the wall to try to find out what had caught his eye, yet she still saw nothing.

  “You’re going to learn that this house has more secrets than you can possibly imagine.”

Art poured a third cup of coffee, then ducked to produce a bottle of scotch from a drawer. Retrieving two heavy based crystal tumblers, he put them on the center island and unscrewed the liquor bottle to pour out two measures.

Sliding down, Zara tried to hide her presence. Art’s actions indicated that Brodie was about to arrive and she doubted he would receive her with glee. Peeking over the back of the couch, she watched Art start to screw on the scotch lid and sure enough, a few seconds later, the kitchen door bounced open, and Brodie came in.

“You owe me two hundred bucks, Chief,” Brodie said to his uncle and tossed something metallic into the air, then caught it in his palm. Displaying the item between his thumb and forefinger, Zara was amazed to see him holding the biggest bullet she’d ever laid eyes on. “You sent me out with one round and I came back with one round. Figure that one out.”

“How did you kill him?” Art asked, tightening the bottle lid.

For some reason, that was the moment Brodie’s attention snapped around. By her reckoning, Art hadn’t betrayed her presence. But Brodie had become aware of her all the same, and the minute he did, he lost all traces of triviality from his mellow expression.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Brodie asked. Flicking the round into his hand, he used it to point at her while scowling at Art who was coming around the island with the two crystal tumblers.

“Not to mess with tradition,” Art said, holding a glass toward Brodie who took it. The men clinked glasses and downed their drinks in one. Apparently, it was a tradition to get liquored up after Brodie took someone down.

“Now answer me,” Brodie said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

Art took both empty glasses over to discard them in the sink. “She showed up at the gate, what did you want me to do?”

“Ignore her,” Brodie said, as if she wasn’t here. “Just like we do with every other trespasser. She would never have gotten past the fucking gate and even if she did—”

“What?” Art asked, grabbing the third coffee mug, he took it over to Brodie. “Security would’ve taken her down. Is that what you wanted? ‘Cause apparently you’ve got a spare round if you want to erase her yourself.”

“Very funny,” Brodie said, taking the proffered coffee.

Art came over and sat on the couch with her again. “Brodie had an out of town job today,” Art said.

“Oh,” she said, twisting away from Art to see Brodie was still just inside the kitchen door, where he had been since he came in. “Do you work out of town much? Art says you spend two thirds of the year overseas. That must be tough.”

“Did he now?” Brodie said, flashing a glare at his uncle before he discarded his mug on the lower part of the kitchen island to move closer to the couch.

“Wait a minute,” she said, losing her timidity when clarity struck her. “An out of town job? Did you go to Quebec? Did you—“

“No,” Brodie said and glanced at Art. “We’re doing the job tomorrow, after Tuck gets here. We’ll be leaving at first light.”

She wasn’t convinced, but his certain gaze didn’t lose any of its anger. “Brodie, if—“

“I said I didn’t,” he snapped. “You calling me a liar?”

Her accusations were only pissing him off, and she’d guess he wouldn’t get so defensive if he was lying to her. “No,” she said, shaking her head.

He’d asked for trust and he’d never lied to her before. If he would openly admit his identity when confronted with it, she had no reason to believe he would deny destroying Winter Chill. Admitting his identity to her was a bigger risk than confessing complicity in the Quebec job. Also, if it was done, she couldn’t sabotage them. So by her reckoning, he had no reason to lie.

Brodie wasn’t appeased by her denial. “What else did Art tell you?”

Switching her gaze between the men, she reclined against the arm of the couch to look up at Brodie over the back of it, hoping he wouldn’t start a fight with his uncle just because he’d been hospitable. “I didn’t come here to cause any trouble.”

It turned out that Art wasn’t the cause of his annoyance. “Why did you come here?” Brodie sneered. “Because I remember telling you not to.”

Reminded of the man in Purdy’s and his warning, she forgot all other grievances. “I had to see you,” she said, clambering onto her knees to rest her torso on the couch, but when she stretched her arms to reach for him, he didn’t come near enough to reciprocate. So she gave up on trying to pre-emptively console him and let her limbs flop onto the back of the couch. “I came to warn you.”

His eyes flared and his head bobbed forward as though he’d been struck by surprise. “Warn me?”

“Yes.”

Widening his stance, Brodie folded his arms and she assumed the bullet was enclosed in his fist. “This ought to be good, because if you think that you or your CEO boyfriend can take me down then—”

Why he kept bringing up her association with Grant, she didn’t know. He’d known about her employer before he approached her, it was why he approached her. But she didn’t like to be accused of a crime she hadn’t committed and she had never considered Grant a boyfriend, she had never even thought of him in a romantic way.

“Listen, bucko,” she said, infused with irritation. Shoving her hands to the couch, she pounced off it backwards and rounded it to bring them face to face. Without her shoes on or the height of the couch, she wasn’t nearly as scary as she wanted to be. Still, she carried on because she deserved the right to defend herself. “We’ve covered this. Grant is not my boyfriend. We’ve attended a million corporate functions together and he has never once grabbed me and kissed me or pinned me to my own bed and told me to fight him off—”

“I didn’t tell you to fight me off.”

Scowling, she was met by his nonchalance. “We were both there, you know what you did.”

“What we did, baby,” he said, reducing the space between them. “And you wouldn’t have stood a chance at stopping me from taking what I wanted from you no matter how hard you fought.”

Their sniping provoked more than their tempers. Hormones began to simmer until she could see her arousal reflected back in his leer. “I know how to get you to stop,” she said, letting her lip curl at one corner as her brow arched.

Pouncing forward, he grabbed her face under her jaw and crowded her against the back of the couch betraying his own arousal in his enlivened gaze. “You’ve got a smart mouth, Bandini,” he murmured with a snarl in his voice that made her center pound in unison with her heartbeat and the thump in her throat.

She couldn’t change the man, she had to respect who he was, and who he was fascinated her. “I don’t remember closing the door on you, McCormack,” she said and with her panting permission, he swooped down and planted his mouth on hers.

Grateful when he lifted her up to sit on the back of the couch to bring them closer, Zara hooked her legs over his hips and clung onto him. Brodie came forward, urging her into a backwards slant that kept her off-balance and in need of his anchoring body. With one arm around the bottom of her rib cage, he kept his hold of her face to dictate their devouring kiss.

His tongue sank into her mouth and that defiant force battled hers. They were both as stubborn and as arrogant as the other. He could try to intimidate her, but she couldn’t deny her carnal reaction to him. This man was her button. With a look or a word, he could race her in a way every other man failed to.

If she believed for a second that he had used her body against her to extort information then that doubt was erased when he thrust her face away and glared down at her with a vicious devotion bleeding from his drowsy eyes.

The heat of his gaze provoked her into trying for another kiss, but he held her back and the victory in his smile made her stab her nails into the sides of his neck. Dragging them down to the neck of his tee shirt, she snagged it downward and then with an open mouth, she lunged up and closed her kiss over his throat.

The rumble of his satisfied growl vibrated her lips, but she lapped her tongue up and sucked her mouth away only to spread kisses across the front and side of his neck.

“Bet you’re glad I let her in now,” Art said.

His smiling voice came from behind her, so she guessed he was still seated on the couch. Giving in to her desire for Brodie freed her in a way that erased all burdens from her life. Sitting on the back of this couch, wrapped around the man she was tasting, felt so right. This was what safety felt like. What security and stability felt like.

This may have started as an enigmatic attraction, but it had grown into something more. With every fact she learned about him, her appetite was whetted to learn another and another. One more word. One more kiss. She wasn’t sure it would ever be enough. Until she had stood here facing his spitting fury, she hadn’t known the depth of her own obsession, now it was undeniable.

“Are you staying over?” Brodie asked, sinking his lips into her hair and she stopped her kissing to tip her head back.

She hadn’t come here with the intention of being intimate with Brodie again. But the intensity around his darkness grew and Zara comprehended the truth behind his question. If she stayed now, she was staying for good. He’d told her that once she was in there was no getting out. It seemed that time had come.

More sure of her desire and infatuation with this man than she’d been of anything before in her life, she didn’t hesitate to reply. “Yes,” she whispered and as her lips settled together, she let her smile breed his.

“Starting a new tradition?” Art asked.

Using Brodie’s body to keep herself secure on her perch, Zara twisted enough to catch sight of Art’s knowing expression. Brodie’s arm slid away from her back, forcing her to cling tighter to him. But he pulled one of her arms away from its embrace and skimmed his hand downward until it touched her palm. His thick digits splayed and insinuated themselves between hers. She hadn’t expected to feel lumps and callouses adorning his skin, but he worked with his hands so she shouldn’t have been surprised.

“You’re gonna get lost in this house a dozen times before you learn the route from here to the bedroom,” Brodie said and he snagged the back of her neck to pry her body away from his so he could look her in the eye. “Don’t ever get scared in this house.” She nodded, but was daunted by the prospect of this labyrinth of a building. “We have every eventuality covered. Every exterior door and window is alarmed or booby trapped.”

“Booby trapped?” she repeated and thought about her fear at the gate. It turned out there was a chance she could have been decapitated by a flying axe after all.

His expression remained static. “You have nothing to fear if you trust me.”

Playing with him, she asked, “The booby traps will know if my confidence in you wavers?”

“No,” he said, glowering at her as he squeezed her neck to chastise her for her tease. “The traps are in peripheral parts of the building we rarely use. You won’t have clearance to enter sensitive areas, which might be rigged. But I’m telling you not to go snooping.”

She had never been so grateful for a lack of security clearance in her life. “Ok.”

“Come on,” he said. Releasing her hand, he crouched to wrap an arm around her ribcage. But before he could lift her up, she pushed his chest and loosened her legs.

Going to his bedroom would lead to intimacy and when Brodie was touching her, rational thought became impossible. She had to tell them about the guy in Purdy’s before leaving this space or she probably never would. “Wait,” she said, shaking her head. “I have to tell you something.”

He huffed. “You can’t talk while I walk?”

“You can’t go to Canada.”

“Oh, shit,” he said and let her go to walk away.

Holding on to the couch, Zara hooked her heels up on the edge of the wide back. “You can’t.”

“I thought you came here for…” Flipping around, he opened his arms in a shrug. “Why don’t you want me to go, baby, huh? You think I can’t take out three nerds?”

“One of those guys is a black belt,” she said. “But it’s not your abilities I’m concerned about.”

“Then what is it,” Art asked, giving her a chance to tell her story.

“I was at Purdy’s tonight,” she said and knew that needed no more explanation because they knew her schedule as well as the guy who had accosted her did. “And I was approached by a guy who told me to give you a message.”

When Brodie’s body heat radiated to her, she turned back in his direction. “What message?” Brodie asked.

His curiosity was an improvement over his previous irritation. “The last thing he said was that Canada’s nice this time of year,” she said. “That has to mean… he has to know about your mission.”

Almost on top of her, his sudden anger began to tinge his features as though he was preempting the answer to his next question and assuming the worst. “Did you talk to anyone?” Brodie asked through narrow lips. “Did you tell anyone about—”

“About what?” she asked, practicing her own glare. “No, I didn’t tell anyone about what happened last night in my apartment. Why would I? I would have to admit how you got that information, wouldn’t I?”

Art chimed in with a statement cryptic enough to make Brodie proud. Now Zara understood who had taught her lover to be so vague. “It’s got to be—”

“No,” Brodie said, pinning a scowl on his uncle. But by cutting him off, Brodie actually gave credence to Art’s unspoken suspicion of the perpetrator’s identity by responding to the prospect without it having to be uttered. “He wouldn’t have approached Zara.”