He slowed. He was too far away for her to make out specific features, but she’d guess he had to be fit given the distance she’d seen him cover in such a short time. He stretched and she was transfixed. Even the gull and the sea became silent to her ears. Sight was her primary sense again.
He picked up his tee shirt to wipe his face, turning into the wind as he did, giving her a view of a tanned, toned torso that was more than just fit, it was sculpted. For a moment, she was inspired to adjust her artistic medium just for that perfect form.
Fearful that he may catch her staring, despite the distance between them, she pulled the window as closed as she could while still managing to peek out with one eye. He dropped his tee shirt and turned to the sea, pulling a handheld device of some kind from his back pocket. Standing where he was for a moment, he admired the stretch of water she’d been admiring before he came into her eye line. Now it was invisible to her because she was too busy trying to peer closer at this stranger’s muscular calves trained for exercise.
He began to work on the device and it took all of his attention. Wandering from the trodden path, he moved to the rock edge and she held her breath because for half a second she feared he might keep going as he was too engrossed in his device to be paying close attention to what his feet were doing. His hair was long enough for a woman to tunnel her fingers through and it was beaten by the wind, telling her that that position, so near to such a precarious edge, couldn’t be safe. But he stayed there, right at the precipice, working on his device.
Who was he? Why was he here? Was it possible that they weren’t on a private island at all and he was just a citizen? Should she call out and beg for freedom? Except this house was clearly vast, Bess had brought her from one side to the other and Devon was already lost. She would never be able to find her way back the way they’d come. She probably wouldn’t even be able to find the grand entryway that still distracted her thoughts.
The whole building was amazing and her fingers itched to embrace its lines, curves, and angles and to commit those sleek shapes to paper with her delicate lead. But right now, her artist’s eye was focused on something else, a solitary figure, on a wild shore. Alone. Like she craved to be.
She wanted to know more of who he was. Even if she was to call out, the wind would carry her voice away from him and may take it to the ears of those who kept her captive. Maybe he was an employee here, someone who tended the grounds, if there were any. Or maybe there was more going on here than she’d been led to believe and these people didn’t trust her as much as they were trying to convince her they did.
Before Devon was ready to bid farewell to her view, he put the device back in his pocket and took a few backward steps to return to his path, then he was running again. His legs moved slowly in long, easy strides, and then he was gone, out of view. He disappeared around the farthest corner she could see and once again, she was desolate.
SIX
Pulling the window closed, Devon latched it and ran her fingers through her hair. Spinning around, she wanted to seek out Bess, who hadn’t returned. Making a beeline for the door Bess had used, Devon was determined to get answers. Finding the door open an inch, she wondered if the wind had pushed it open or if Bess had left it that way.
But when she got to it, she discovered why Bess and Wren hadn’t come back. They were occupying each other. Their engaged voices made Devon stop. They weren’t right on the other side of the door, because their voices were quiet. But wherever they were, they believed themselves to be alone.
Devon wasn’t going to pass up this chance to collect more information, so she put her own curiosity about the external stranger out of her mind and craned to hear everything that she could.
“I don’t like it,” Bess said. “I know the Kindred has to do things in certain ways. But Art wouldn’t like it either.”
“Don’t invoke our deceased chief, please,” Wren said. “It wasn’t my decision. You know how this works, I follow orders. I don’t make decisions. I only get called on when someone needs patched up. Nothing else is my business.”
“You’re as much a part of this as anyone, you’re the reason Zave does this. It’s only because of you that he got involved at all.” Zave. Devon folded her arms, that was a name she hadn’t heard before and it wasn’t a bird alias either. “You have every right to tell him how you feel. This is one of those strategies that Brodie and Zave come up with together and the rest of you go along with it because you believe they know best.”
“They do know best,” Wren said. “They put their asses on the line more than the rest of us do.”
Bess wasn’t taking any excuses. “Not more than Zara. That girl’s been involved in every mission since her life was consumed by the Kindred.”
“So why aren’t you talking to her?” Wren asked.
Devon didn’t like the whiney, petulant tone in his voice. It was like he was a teenager being blamed for something he insisted wasn’t his fault. Bess was his mother, so maybe this was the way he always spoke to her.
Devon preferred a person to take ownership, for men to be stronger and more decisive. Wren was a doctor, he should have all the confidence in the world because he made life and death decisions all the time.
But he wasn’t taking responsibility for whatever Bess was talking about. “You know sometimes they need their heads knocked together,” Bess said. “Art isn’t here to do that. Zara tries her best, but Zave is still wary with her, you know how he is with women.”
Devon didn’t know who Zave was, she didn’t recognize any of the names that Bess was using and she assumed they were the real names of the people she’d met at the lunch table. Given that they’d admitted to using aliases, it made sense.
“You tried to get him to go to Devon’s room,” Wren said. “Zave wouldn’t do it. You told Devon there was only one person that Zave would listen to and we both know that’s Brodie.”
“And even Brodie couldn’t get through to him,” Bess said.
“But they came up with a plan, and that was why Brodie went to Devon last night, to make her believe that he was the buyer.”
“But he wasn’t,” Bess insisted. Devon had never heard her voice so strained. “That’s what I have a problem with. You’re lying to that girl and she’s been through enough.”
“What was the alternative?” Wren asked. “If we didn’t let her meet the buyer, she wouldn’t tell us what she knows. Now she thinks she’s met the buyer, she’ll tell us the truth. She’s honest—”
“But we’re not?” Bess asked. “I don’t like lying.”
“I know you don’t, Mom. But we do this for a reason, we got involved for a reason, we save these women for a reason.”
“I know, son, because of Bronwyn,” Bess said, and she became soft and soothing. “I know, Thad, sweetheart, and I’m sorry. I don’t have a problem with what you do. I don’t have a problem with what any of you do. You know how proud I am of you all. You put yourselves in danger time and time again and you never ask for thanks or gratitude.”
“You lost your brother,” Thad said. “We’ve all made sacrifices.”
“And Zara lost her life too,” Bess said. “If it wasn’t for you, she wouldn’t be here, and that’s what gives you the right to stand up and tell them that they have to be honest with Devon.”
“I can shout it out. Zara can, too, and she can work on Brodie. But when Brodie and Zave get together they’re like an iron wall, they don’t bend, I’ve never seen loyalty like it. They stand together; they would do anything for each other. Brodie would never risk Zara’s life, he loves her too much, but anything else can be sacrificed. He’d do anything to defend Zave too. They’re closer than brothers.”
“They both lost their parents in the same way,” Bess said. “Their bond is deep. But you have to tell Devon the truth. If she finds it out later—”
“What do you want me to do?” Wren asked, exasperated. “I can march out there and tell her the truth. Will Zara stand behind me
? Probably, because she’s too nice not to. But Brodie, he’ll go ballistic and when Zave hears about it… that’s it, he’ll shut down, he’ll go back to how he was before.”
“You don’t know that,” Bess said. “He’s come so far in these past few years. If we just push a little more…”
“Then yeah, we could make progress, or he could regress,” Wren said.
“I don’t think so.” There was a curiosity in Bess’ voice, which made Devon lean in closer. “Did you see how he was with her on the trip here? I only saw them when they arrived, but I’ve never seen him with any other girls the way he was with Devon. He carried her all the way up to that room in his arms and laid her on that bed like she was precious. I watched the way he stroked her hair—”
“I know,” Wren said. “It was different. I don’t understand it but it was. From the minute he brought her out of there, I knew there was something different about her for him.”
“Do you think that’s why he’s being so stubborn?” Bess asked. “That he knows she’s different? That for some reason, he cares about her in a special way?”
“And he’s worried about getting too close?” Wren asked. “It’s a possibility. But I don’t see him sacrificing the mission for that, he’s bullheaded. I’ve never seen him go ga-ga for a girl, not even when we were kids and there were dozens of them in his life. There was never one that stood out.”
“He’s older now and been through a lot,” Bess said.
All of this was fascinating for Devon and several facts had become clear from this short spell of listening in. First off, the guy who had come to visit her last night, Raven, also known as Brodie, wasn’t the man who’d bought her at all. Swallow, who had to be Zara, as it had been stated she and Raven were in love, wasn’t ignored by her Brodie, she was ignored by this Zave character who they were talking about.
Zave was the man who had bought her, he had to be. Wren, who she now knew was called Thad, just said Zave had brought her out of the auction. By themselves, these facts were interesting, and it was startling to learn that while Devon thought she was making progress in receiving honesty, she was actually being drawn further into a pit of lies.
But this man, Zave, she’d made an impression on him. Although she didn’t know how she’d done it. Why was she different? Why had he carried her so carefully to the room and stroked her hair in a gesture which suggested affection? Devon couldn’t be flattered.
Hearing a noise from beyond the door, she worried they might be coming. Stumbling back a few steps, she fled back to the table and her previous seat. Did this Zave person keep his distance because he cared for her? But how could he? They didn’t know each other. She couldn’t get the notion from her head that it was unsettling for him to be stroking her hair. A man she had never seen had had his hands on her, even in such a benign way, not only without her permission, but without her knowledge, too.
Picking up a stick of celery, she took a bite for no other reason than it would look good for her to be eating if someone was to come in. She thought about the man on the shore. Could that be him? The man they were talking about? He’d made an impression on her, for sure. He was the only person she’d seen who didn’t have a name. It had to be him.
She couldn’t be here anymore, she couldn’t be honest with people who lied to her, but she couldn’t decide how to tackle the situation in a way that would earn her freedom. If she told the truth about overhearing the conversation, it might prompt them to be honest with her or they could get mad.
Bess came back in. “Have you had something to eat?”
Devon was amazed at how quickly she’d gone from having a fraught conversation with her son to having a pleasant, breezy tone as she addressed the prisoner.
“Yes,” Devon said, dropping her celery onto her plate and standing up. “Thank you.”
“I can take you back to your room—”
“No. If you want to prove you trust me, I want a different room, one without a lock on the door, in this part of the house.” Bess was startled. “You can talk to your family about it, but I don’t want to be in that room anymore. If you want me to share with you, then you’ll share with me, and that starts by giving me some freedom. If this house is truly on an island, I can’t go anywhere, can I? Even if I wanted to run, I wouldn’t get far. Your friend Raven told me last night, it’s cold here, and I’d only be punishing myself.”
Bess nodded. “I don’t know if the boys will agree to that.”
The hierarchy here, whether official or not, would dictate that Bess wasn’t a decision maker, she’d said as much herself. Her hesitancy wasn’t a surprise, but Devon wasn’t going to back down just because she liked this woman’s nature.
“I can tell you who they fear, who’s in charge. I can tell you when he visits and what their vulnerabilities might be. I can even tell you about an aborted mutiny that they’re desperate to keep quiet. News of that would probably get them all killed if word about the top guy is true. Now you guys can come together and decide if that information’s worth having. You’ll only get it if you let me see what’s going on here. Are you actually vigilantes intent on helping people or are you nothing but a bunch of liars and criminals? Or you can let me go and I’ll tell everything I know to the cops.”
“I’ll talk to them.”
“Ok,” Devon said, sitting herself back down. “I’ll wait right here for your answer.”
SEVEN
Devon got her way. After waiting for an inordinate amount of time, she was shown to a bedroom on the floor above the dining room, which had the same view, suggesting to her that they didn’t want her to see more than she had to.
But it had a view and that was a step up from where she’d been before—she’d learned to be thankful for life’s small graces. While the furniture was sparse, she had a bed and a chair and a TV. Before this ordeal, she had never been one to watch a lot of TV, but when she found it was tuned to the movie channels, she enjoyed losing herself in fantasy for a couple of hours.
The bathroom attached to this room was larger than the last one and had a full bath. Throughout her day, she kept one eye on the door. After Bess had shown her the room, Devon checked that the door wasn’t locked. She’d been overjoyed to find it wasn’t, more so than any person should be about an opening door. The blue circle was present on the doorknob, but it must have been disabled because every time she checked the door it would open.
She never got much beyond opening it a couple of inches. Her room led to a mezzanine floor that overlooked the grand entryway. Either they’d put her here to taunt her with the possibility of an easy escape or those doors were unlocked and she could make a break for it. Maybe that was what they were waiting for and if they’d been truthful about where they were, they could use her attempt at escape to return her to her previous digs.
Whether they were expecting her to try to run or not, she couldn’t ignore the chance. She made a conscious choice to wait until nightfall, when it would be easier to hide from them outside, if she got that far, and it turned out that they weren’t isolated.
Devon had only the dress that Bess had given her and a nightgown like the one she’d had in her previous room. If rescuing women was something they did on a regular basis, she presumed they bought the basic cotton, oversized gowns in bulk.
Neither item of apparel was warm and she didn’t have shoes either. If she got lost outside then Raven was probably right that she’d freeze to death. All of this would be moot if she couldn’t find a way out of the building. So far all of the windows she’d seen were tall and narrow, at most only a foot or two wide. Her view also told her that this side of the house was raised. If she had to climb out of a window, she couldn’t do it here or she’d hit rocks.
The narrow strip of grass she’d seen the mysterious man running on earlier was thirty feet below her bedroom and only a few feet wide. She’d never be able to jump and aim for there, beyond were more rocks then the waves. No, she’d need a better plan than ka
mikazing herself just to make a point.
Anxiety reined as she formed her plan. No one came back into her bedroom, not even to offer her food, and she wondered at the plans they might be cooking up. Except Devon had to focus on herself.
Without a clock in the room, she couldn’t be exactly sure what time it was, so she waited until darkness fell and tried to occupy herself, hopefully giving the rest of the house time to drift off to sleep.
When she couldn’t take the waiting anymore, she tiptoed towards the door, telling herself that even if she didn’t get out tonight, she could gather valuable intelligence about where she was.
Turning the handle, so as not to make a sound, she pulled open the door just enough to allow herself to slip out. Taking one careful step out of the room, she hoped that the thump of her heart wouldn’t alert her captors to what she was doing. Looking left and then right, she checked for observers or flashing lights that might indicate she was being watched.
“Need something?”
The voice came from nowhere and she stumbled back, clambering to catch the thick doorframe that her back struck. Frantic in her search for the source of the voice, she couldn’t decipher any person until, to the left, in the shadow cast by one of the repeating arches that showcased the grand entryway below, a figure stepped out.
He didn’t come near enough to remove the darkness from his face, but she knew this wasn’t Raven, and Wren didn’t have the same formidable stature.
“Zave,” she whispered, unsure if it was a question or a statement.
“You were watching me.”
The only time she’d ever laid eyes on him was at lunch when she’d seen him outside. She didn’t know how he could have seen her. “And now you’re watching me,” she said. “What are you doing out here?”
“I live here.”
Stoic, the lack of intonation in his deep voice didn’t help her figure this man out. So intrigued by who he was and what motivated him, she forgot about her own escape plans for a minute. “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing standing outside my bedroom. Your aunt and your cousin think you have some kind of special interest in me.” Maybe saying something that might upset his equilibrium would help to put them on equal footing because her heart hadn’t slowed, in fact it was speeding up.
Falcon (Kindred #5) Page 6