Raven (Kindred #1)

by Scarlett Finn

  The ferocity of Art’s pride made him lose the easy, approachable demeanor he’d had on receiving her. She couldn’t think of any parent who would defend their child with more vehemence than Art took on when talking about Brodie.

  “I think he still has a lot of humanity in him,” she said, sipping her drink through the delightful steam rising from it.

  He relaxed and drank from his own mug. “I think so too. I’m incredibly proud of him. He didn’t go to school or college. He didn’t get married, have kids, and live a traditional life… He turned into me… only a better version of me, the version of me I wanted to be but couldn’t.”

  “You’re protective of him,” she said, understanding his frosty reception yesterday. “Were you worried I was some sort of Mata Hari?”

  Considering her words, he took his eyes away from her, choosing instead to enjoy his coffee for a while before putting it on the table and answering her. “The other day, when he wasn’t in his bed in the morning and I called him… When I heard he was at your place… that he’d spent the night…”

  “You were a worried parent,” she said, wearing a smile. Brodie was all man, all grown up, and capable of caring for himself. It was funny to imagine someone waiting up for him.

  “No,” Art said, shaking his head. “No, I… he spends all night out a lot of the time because he works at night, he scouts at night. He spends two thirds of the year overseas, and it’s not like I don’t know that he can take care of himself. He stays out all night for the job. He’s never stayed out all night for a woman.”

  “Never?” she asked, struggling to believe such a thing.

  Leaning forward with open hands, he let his palms join and fall together as he angled himself toward her. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s had plenty of women. That’s an area he never needed any coaching in,” Art said and she saw the paternal satisfaction swell in his chest. “Sometimes when we’re abroad somewhere he’ll spend the night with a girl, especially if we have nowhere else to sleep that night or we need cover. But here, at home”—his lip turned out as he shook his head—“never happened.”

  Fishing for information and maybe a compliment, she tried to be casual when she probed further. “There’s never been anyone special in his life?” she asked, especially interested as to what “plenty of women” might mean.

  Before he spoke, Art seemed to debate with himself whether he should be honest. “There was a girl once, Mischa. He met her in Italy and did some work with her father. But… Mischa was cosmopolitan, social… She didn’t mind having him locked in a cage for her private use, but she wouldn’t be seen with him in public.”

  “Brodie wouldn’t have minded that,” Zara said, learning that jealousy tasted more bitter than coffee. “He doesn’t like to be seen in public.”

  Art was shaking his head and wearing a sneer of revulsion. “She was cold and ruthless. Brodie was blinded by her beauty, but I could tell, she was rotten all the way to her core. She did some work with us and she took a… psychopathic enjoyment from it. We called her Cuckoo, she hated it, but Tuck and I agreed it made sense. She was half a step away from asking Raven to kill just to get her off. That was when I knew enough was enough.”

  So Art had been instrumental in ending the relationship. Brodie would listen to his uncle’s advice, but she was surprised to hear he hadn’t fought for his woman if there was a chance of love between them. Maybe the association had been more sexual than emotional.

  Taking another drink of the delicious coffee, Zara shrugged off her distaste at the turn of the conversation. Pushing her mug onto the table, she sidled a little closer. “I wish I could say he got carried away with me, but it wasn’t any emotional connection that made him stay,” she said. “I told him to. I told him if he spent the night and had breakfast with me that I would tell him anything he wanted to know.”

  Art’s lips slanted up. “You might think that’s the reason. But I know my nephew. Painting him into a corner like that… you gave him an excuse to do what he wanted to do anyway.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged.

  “Cuckoo made me wary of what a woman could do to him. But you… you’re not like her. You’re exactly what he needs.”

  Art’s optimism made her draw back a little. “Like I said, I wouldn’t read too much into it. He wanted information from me and he got it. It just so happened that he got some sex into the bargain.”

  “When we first started researching you,” Art said and she squirmed at the notion these men had been investigating her. “It was because Albert Sutcliffe’s men were watching you. We wanted to know what had them intrigued. So Brodie went to check you out and when he came back… it had been years since I’d seen him smile like he did that night. He never smiled like that with Mischa… You had him at that very minute. I don’t know how or why, but you did.”

  “He told me he thought I looked naughty the first time he saw me,” she stated.

  Art held up his hands. “Hey, what happens between a man and his woman—”

  “I know that he’s told all of you the dirty details,” she said, pointing at her coffee mug. “How else would you know I drink my coffee black? And your friend on the computer knew intimate things about—”

  “My friend on the computer was kicked out of the room when you started questioning who he was… which was very smart by the way,” Art said, turning his whole body in her direction. “You should never admit details when you don’t know for sure who you’re talking to. Brodie kicked us out after your question about lovers. We didn’t get back in until he was done.”

  Art could just be telling her what she wanted to hear. “If that’s true, why didn’t he just announce himself?”

  “It pays to hide your identity from others and you have to be humble enough to realize there’s always a chance that someone is watching you.”

  They were concerned about insulating themselves, but weren’t so concerned about her safety. “So you were happy for them to know that I was giving out company secrets, just not who I was giving them to?”

  “Look here,” he said, elevating an arm onto the back of the couch. “Brodie has gone above and beyond to keep you safe. He’s risked exposure for you and he has never done that for another soul… I taught him better than that.”

  Lifting her own arm to the back of the couch, Zara laid her hand over his. “I’m sure he’s very grateful for everything you’ve done for him.”

  Fixing her in his sights, Art’s eyes grew heavy. “You cut him deep,” he said, sliding his hand back a bit, though his fingers stayed under hers. “Last night with that murderer bullshit.”

  Never had Zara thought she would be involved in anything like Game Time. Terrorists and ambiguous “demonstrations” weren’t meant to be a part of her life. Last night, she’d acted on impulse, speaking before she had a chance to process. “I didn’t know what he did,” she said, shrinking in light of the truth.

  Her actions, her words, they did hurt Brodie. All along, he’d been honest, and had never made himself out to be a saint. The shock of being drawn into his world made her lash out because being taken advantage of was her greatest fear.

  Coming from a small town, Zara had wanted people in the big city to believe she was street smart. More than once she’d had it proven to her that she wasn’t as savvy as she wanted to believe. Since arriving here, she had come a long way, so far that those in her hometown probably wouldn’t recognize her.

  Art’s scowl was a return to his disapproving parent manner. “He saved your life, that’s what he did, and you should be grateful for that.”

  “I am,” she said, thrusting her shoulders back to beseech his gaze. “Please don’t think I’m not, I… I guess I was reacting rather than thinking because I was hurt… It’s not like he and I made any promises to each other. But it just… I tell him I trust him, then his buddy communicates through my computer and I come home to you erasing every shred of evidence that he ever existed in my life.”

  Art rel
axed some. “You were hurt. You thought you were being dumped.”

  She wasn’t going to deny the truth. “I thought he used sex to get what he wanted and I was disappointed in myself for letting it happen. He told me he was watching the people who were watching me. Who was that?”

  “Tim Sutcliffe was supposed to sweep you off your feet so that you’d talk him up to Grant. His uncle, Albert Sutcliffe, was meeting with Grant in New York that Monday and it was at that meeting that Grant led him to believe you knew everything about the deal.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why would he say that?”

  “Grant probably wanted to cover his ass and saying he has an accomplice helps to insulate him and makes others believe he is not ashamed of what he’s doing. Divulging that his actions were a secret would open him up to blackmail and the threat of assassination.”

  “Oh my God,” she exhaled, curling her fingers around her throat. So she was his safety net and the one who was supposed to ask questions if he suddenly vanished. The sad truth was, if Grant had disappeared, she probably would have gone on a crusade to find him without any idea of the danger she’d be walking into. “Are they still watching?”

  He shrugged. “Brodie’s been keeping an eye on their positions and so far it looks like you’re in the clear. I guess they didn’t expect to lose young Tim. It’s probably not worth the risk of someone else’s life to have you watched. Who knows what would happen if anyone else tried to move in on you, especially now that you’ve got Brodie’s attention.”

  “Do they know that?”

  “That you’re with him? No.” Art shook his head. “No one can see into your bedroom and Brodie’s discreet. He knows how to cover his tracks.”

  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.

  TWELVE

  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 c
ouch, 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.