Raven (Kindred #1) (18 page)

“We’re open to suggestions,” Brodie said. But she was still trying to think of something when Art came out of her office.

“Time to split,” Art said. “Swift will buzz Falcon.”

Brodie removed her hands from his jacket and moved in time with Art in the direction of her front door. Except if they left now she wouldn’t see them again.

In a last ditch effort to stop them from walking into harm’s way, she reached for the one thing that might make them think twice. “I’ll tell Grant,” she exclaimed. Both men stopped to turn and glare at her. “I will. I can’t let you do this. It’s insane.”

“What did you think we were gonna do with the info?” Brodie asked. “Write it in a journal?”

“There’s law enforcement and—”

“Bureaucracy slows progress and doesn’t yield results,” Art said. “If you’re going to jeopardize the mission then—”

“No,” Brodie said, opening a hand toward his uncle who was just behind him. “Baby—”

“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head and backing up toward the couch. “You’re not going to sweet talk me into changing my mind. I gave you that information because I thought we were going to expose the danger. I didn’t think you were going to go all gung-ho and endanger yourself.”

“I told you not to fall for me,” he said, losing the softness he had used in his attempt to placate her.

“You think this is about us?” she scoffed. Their relationship was secondary to their lives. “This is about stupidity. What will happen when you all get yourselves killed? Am I supposed to finish the job on my own?”

“We do this all the time, girlie,” Art said. “You don’t understand how highly trained all of us are. This is a piece of cake. It’s actually one of our less dangerous missions because it doesn’t require direct contact with any of our targets.”

“He said he was going to take out three of them,” she said, jabbing a finger in Brodie’s direction.

Art’s mouth opened before he laughed a long hysterical stream that made him press his hands to his ribs. “You think he has to go near anyone to kill them? He’s a marksman. Do you know what that means? He can hollow out a dime from two hundred yards,” he said, approaching her. “The three of them will be dead before the first guy hits the floor. Then all he has to do is saunter over there and blast the place to high heaven.” Slapping a hand to Brodie’s shoulder, he gave him a yank. “Come on, Rave.”

“You’re a murderer,” she murmured.

“An assassin,” Art said.

Brodie’s eyes stayed on hers and their darkness intensified. She had made so many excuses for him and believed him to be safe because he protected her. Zara had been alone with a man who was a killer for hire. A man she had been naked with and slept with had the ability to kill with impunity. While her connection to him seemed to strengthen every time they were together, she speculated on how a killer got rid of a woman when he was finished with her.

“You’re not…”

“What did you think I did with my time?” Brodie asked.

She had to admit that his fighting skills and involvement in this situation suggested he didn’t live a wholesome life and he had stated that he excelled at killing. “Ok,” she conceded. “If you think you can do this without getting yourselves hurt then have at it. But Grant isn’t to be hurt… and don’t come to me for anything else. We’re through.”

“You don’t get to walk away,” Brodie snarled and moved out of Art’s reach to come toward her. “You were warned that there was no exit once you were in.”

Standing up to him, she remained steadfast. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Shoot me? You have everything you need. I’ve told you everything. Destroy everything and then Grant will have nothing to sell and the world will be safe again.”

“Kid,” Art said in a sedate tone and Brodie’s head snapped in his uncle’s direction. “Release.”

Brodie flashed his growling gaze to her again and then whipped around to follow his uncle, who grabbed his tools and opened the door to depart. Once they were gone and she could no longer hear them in the stairwell, she began to clean up.

Her stomach grumbled so Zara sat down to fork a couple of pieces of chicken into her mouth. The food was good, incredible in fact, but her appetite wasn’t up to finishing anything. She boxed up the remaining food and washed the dishes, trying to lose herself in mundane tasks.

In need of a distraction, she went into her office and the first thing she did was look for her file on Game Time. It was gone. Flopping into her chair, Zara closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She’d been played. Even though she’d wanted to believe Brodie was righteous, she had been conned, probably as hundreds of women had been before her.

Purdy’s was crowded the following evening when she went in for her usual Friday drink after work. Zara liked that the buzz of conversation filling the establishment muffled some of her thoughts. One glass of wine didn’t manage to numb her, so she had a second. Her life was a mess. She’d betrayed her boss and fallen for his brother, who it turned out would rather jump head first into a hazardous, possibly life-threatening situation, than admit to her his true feelings on any subject.

After being handed her third drink, she began to gulp, and only stopped drinking when someone sat on the stool beside hers. Having managed to snag a table in the corner, she hadn’t expected company. Being social was the last thing on her mind, and probably beyond her capability with the volume of alcohol pulsating through her bloodstream.

“It’s busy,” the man said.

His dashing smile and lingering gaze made her sigh and plonk her glass down on the table. “If you’re looking to get laid, I’m really not in the mood,” she said, glad of the gumption that the wine gave her.

His head jerked an inch as though he hadn’t been expecting such a direct statement. “How about a little conversation,” he said, laying his arms around his bourbon glass.

She was past the point of objecting to his presumption and she planned to go home as soon as she finished her wine. So if the guy wanted to sit and babble for the next ten minutes, she wasn’t going to fight with him. Most men did what the hell they wanted to; one berating conversation wouldn’t affect the arrogance of his gender.

“You are a looker,” he said and she picked up her wine to avoid focusing on his leer. “I’m glad I came to see for myself.”

That sounded sinister enough that she lowered her glass from her mouth to examine his cold expression. His eyes were iceberg blue. His nose was crooked, indicating it had probably been broken in the past. A scar on his neck attracted her scrutiny. It looked to be deep enough that it was a wonder he survived the initial wound.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“Routine is a godsend,” he said. “And you are a creature of habit, Zara. Guys like me appreciate that.” Scanning the room, he nodded and smiled at her again. “This is a nice place.”

Not interested in the details of the setting, she kept her eyes locked onto him. If he knew who she was, then he wanted something. Intoxication began to decrease and she moved her leg to confirm her purse—containing Brodie’s Sig—was on her lap. “Who are you and what do you want?” she asked.

“You want to watch the company you keep,” he said. Edging even closer, his smile began to fade. “You wouldn’t want to be standing too close to Raven when I put a bullet between his eyes, would you? Brain matter doesn’t come out of silk, honestly, that shit stains.”

“Who are you?” she asked and the haze of intoxication lifted. “Are you a buyer?”

With a brief laugh, the corner of his mouth twisted. “A buyer? No,” he said. “I don’t give a damn about the device he’s chasing or who it kills. I care about Raven and watching him die. I’m here to ask you to pass on a message.” Getting closer, his arm brushed hers. “You tell him that payback’s a bitch and I have my eyes on his prize… Canada is lovely this time of year.”

“What does that—” He shifted back to his original position, downed his drink and then got up and left as quickly as he’d appeared. Fixing her eyes on her wine glass, Zara second-guessed whether any of that had really just happened or if she’d imagined the whole thing.

Deciding that the potential threat was too serious to dismiss, she abandoned the rest of her wine and sped out of the bar in search of a cab.

Brodie had warned her about security at is house, but Zara assumed that the place wasn’t impenetrable. She got the cab to drop her off half a mile from her destination, for three reasons. One, folklore around here said that no one lived on this piece of land. As a woman on her own, she would look odd strutting up to a derelict property. The cab driver would likely remember her as a nut and might tell someone about the peculiar fare.

The second reason was she didn’t know exactly where the front entrance was. Having never been here before and with Grant never mentioning it, the layout had been something she had failed to commit to memory.

The third reason, which some might say was juvenile, was she didn’t want those inside to see her coming. They were supposed to be on her side, but she feared making a target of herself.

The cab driver dropped her off at an address near a club she used to frequent. It was the only nearby address she could deliver to him with confidence because she didn’t know the area well and the point was to make this trip as forgettable as possible. Brodie couldn’t object to her showing up if she proved she’d taken precautions to safeguard his obscurity.

On arrival, she paid her money, got out of the car, and loitered on the sidewalk like she might be meeting someone. It was only when the cab was out of sight that she began her journey.

Her shoes pinched, and if she’d known that this trek was on her agenda, Zara would have put on different footwear that morning. But these shoes went well with the black suit dress and jacket she wore to the office. The discomfort in her feet did make her consider aborting this job a couple of times. But the mental picture of the man in the bar kept her moving forward.

Brodie wouldn’t be watching her any more, not now that he had the information he wanted. If it hadn’t been for the development in Purdy’s, Zara would have had no reason to see him again. Despite her anger at being used, she couldn’t dismiss the new player who was threatening Brodie’s life.

Just because she was pissed, didn’t mean that she wanted him dead, so she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard the warning. No doubt Brodie would argue that he could take care of himself and she knew that to be true—if he knew the threat was coming at him.

The walk took much longer than she’d anticipated. The gates to the property were further away than she’d assumed they would be. There were no lights to illuminate her route anymore; she’d passed the last streetlight on the block the cab had left her on. The closer she got to her destination, the more daunting the environment became.

A brick wall stood ten feet high and had iron railings above that with razor wire coiled around it, revealing that Brodie’s parents had been the paranoid sort. That they had been so uneasy about strangers made Zara uneasy too. The boundary of the McCormack property stretched the full width of this peninsula and although she couldn’t see the house, she knew it was there somewhere.

Nothing about this picture was inviting. Trees and bushes crowded around the wall, indicating the land had been left to ruin. Yet, the wall was in top shape, betraying that someone had maintained the perimeter. She ran her fingers along the rough grey stone as she looked for an opening.

Her hope for a nice wrought iron gate she could slip through unnoticed began to dwindle. When she did find the way in she was shocked to see a huge metal beast of a gate painted as black as the night around it.

There was no handle to open it. Figuring there must be some way to operate it, she searched for a good ten minutes before standing back and admitting defeat. Brodie had told her not to just show up and now she knew why, because it was nothing more than a big fat waste of time.

Taking another step back, Zara considered how she could get the message to him. But she couldn’t hack into anyone’s computer, and if he wasn’t watching her then the light in her apartment window would be useless.

As she was about to turn and go home, there was a thud and then an electrical whirring sound. Less than five seconds later, the gate began to slide to the left. It was opening. Brodie had been telling the truth about security because she hadn’t made an intrusive approach that could have drawn someone’s attention. Yet, they’d known she was here.

Another thud signaled the end of the gate’s movement. It had only opened a couple of feet, but that was enough space for her to get through. Edging closer, Zara swallowed away her apprehension and proceeded forward. This could be a trap. A security system might be programmed to let people in only to decapitate them with a huge swinging axe or something. But having come this far, she ventured forth.

The ambient light faded further when she inched through the gate. Taking a step forward, she was overwhelmed by how overgrown the grounds were. They were reminiscent of a fairy tale forest where the unsuspecting heroine was gobbled up by the hungry wolf.

Another thud sounded and the gate began to roll back. She watched it close and with that, her chance of escape was lost. Light suddenly blared on and she whipped around to see the headlights of a jeep illuminating her and the flora all around her. Holding up a hand to shield her eyes, she saw someone move across the beam of light and come closer.

“He said you were tenacious.” The voice belonged to Art and her hand lowered a little. “You’ve got a set on you girl, showing up here after threatening us.”

“How did you know I was here?” she called. “Or are you going to tell me it’s a coincidence that you were just driving by?”

“Recognizing a coincidence is the first step to solving a mystery,” he said as though he’d said the words a thousand times before. “What are you doing here?”

He sounded more impressed than peeved, so she stepped in his direction. “I have a message for Brodie.”

“He’s not home. You’re lucky about that. He never would’ve let you in. Only five people have been in his house in the last twenty years.”

Zara assumed she was about to be flung off the property. It was probable he’d let her in just to tell her not to draw attention to the place by snooping around. “Well, I—“

“How would you like to be the sixth?” he asked and was close enough now to hold out a hand.

Dropping her shielding hand into his, she knew this wasn’t going to be as simple as delivering a message.

Art said nothing in the jeep on the way to the house, which was much further from the gates than she’d thought it would be. After driving for around two miles, the house emerged from the darkness when she had given up looking for it.

Three floors high, it was constructed with a dark grey stone that made the gothic towers appear even more ominous. Art drove to the side of the building and down a ramp through an open garage door into an underground parking area. When he turned off the engine and got out of the vehicle, she did the same, though she wasn’t quite sure what was going to come next or why he’d allowed her inside when Brodie wasn’t even here.

“I just—”

“Upstairs,” Art said, already moving away from her.

Zara hurried to catch him up to him. He pressed his thumb to a dull blue pad next to a door, and she recognized the CI fingerprint recognition tech. He took her up a spiral staircase and through a set of doors. One wall of this space was open in a series of pointed arches. Stepping out from beneath the standard-height ceiling, Zara had to re-inhale the oxygen taken from her lungs at the sight of the cavernous entryway, floored with the most incredible wood that she had to stop and admire it.

“It’s Macassar ebony,” he said. “The house is gothic revival.” Moving through a pointed arch behind her, he took her hand to bring her into the main space. The double wide stone staircase drew her eye up to the vaulted ceiling three stories above.

“It’s incredible,” she said, almost unable to believe it. The pointed arch windows high above them were made up of smaller rectangles. Some were clear glass, some were textured, and others were colored.

“It has a twin,” he said.

“A what?” she asked, absorbing the features of this incredible space with wide eyes filled with wonder. There were a series of black doors forty feet from the foot of the stairs, which she assumed were the front doors.

“Two identical homes were built simultaneously by Grant Senior in the seventies. This one on the east coast and the other on an island off the coast of Washington state.”

Still open-mouthed, she drank in the atmosphere of this echoing marvel. “Why?”

“Because my sister had her husband wrapped around her little finger,” he said and this got her attention. Art’s sister was Brodie’s mother and Grant Senior’s wife. “My family was originally from the West Coast and my sister didn’t like to be away from our mother back then. Grant Senior built the other house for our mother.”

Taking on one project like this would’ve been a challenge. Two could be considered insanity. “That must have cost a fortune.”

“Yes, it did,” he said with a half-smile and a nod. “He was showing off and my mother, Brodie’s grandmother, was a very difficult woman to please. Come through to the kitchen.”

Art guided her through a series of doors and passages. Eventually they came out in a large kitchen set at the side of the house. It had a twenty-five foot ceiling and the same style of windows as the entry way did. These were high above as well, stretching across the wall above the stove at the height of the second story.

The room was huge and in addition to the wraparound units and the double-width stove, there was a dual height island, and a den area with a couch, and a couple of armchairs around a coffee table, which sat beneath a wall-mounted TV.

“I just made coffee, would you like some?” he asked. “Or there’s wine in the cellar if you’d—”