Raven (Kindred #1) (16 page)

“Are you gonna tell him?”

Zara hadn’t realized she’d been absorbed in examining her floor until he spoke. Lifting her chin to focus on him, she couldn’t answer his question, because she didn’t know why his anonymity was so important. But his mind had gone to Grant and to his own secret, proving how concealing his identity was his predominant concern.

She had to understand what they were facing. To give them both a chance to recalibrate in light of this new revelation, she chose to share information that was rightfully his given his connection to CI. “What do you know about Project Game Time?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “We didn’t know the name of the mission. I have a guy, a friend, who can get into any computer system known to man, but we didn’t know what we were looking for.”

Clearing her throat, she explained. “There was a document at the front of the file, titled Project Game Time and there was a floor plan with some measurements but no names.”

“Unless we know what the floor plan relates to—”

“I have a feeling it’s the Grand Hotel,” she said, edging closer when she saw him move toward her. “I don’t know for sure. But Sutcliffe said on the phone that the demonstration was going to happen at midnight on Saturday at the Grand Hotel.”

“Fuck, you’re good, baby,” he said.

She didn’t flinch when he brought his arms around her and she took the squeeze of his embrace as a measure of his admiration for her covert work. “There’s more. A lot more. But I… I have to get to work.”

“What kind of more?” he asked, loosening his clinch, his gaze dimmed on its descent to her mouth.

“I followed the money and Grant’s right, this has been going on for a year… and I don’t think you’ll like what he’s been doing in that time.”

“Ok,” he said, nodding as if to reassure her, he used a finger to hook her hair from her face. “You don’t have to worry about a thing anymore, baby. You belong to me now. You’re always gonna be safe.”

She shook her head and although he looked ready to appease her further, Zara spoke first. “That’s a beautiful sentiment, but I have a feeling I’m going to be the guinea pig.”

His brows lowered in a glower. “The… what?”

She inhaled and her worries made her words crackle. “Grant asked me to go with him to the fundraiser at the Grand on Saturday night. He’s picking me up at ten PM,” she said. Given all she’d learned, her apprehension about the event had increased. She wasn’t so sure she could trust Grant to make sure she was okay while surrounded by evil.

The set of his jaw tightened and he ground his molars as he released her from his arms and turned away with such force that Zara had to grab the chair beside her to catch her balance. Remaining static and quiet when he walked away from her, she awaited his response.

Eventually, he stopped pacing and a split second later his hand rose to rub the back of his head. Then his hand flew out to punch the column beside him and the plaster burst in a shower of powder and paint, making her jump.

He whirled around and the fury on his face made her shrink. “I don’t know what to be madder about,” he shouted. “That you agreed to go on a date when you knew it was gonna be dangerous, or that you agreed to go on a date with your boss while you were fucking me!”

Surprised by his anger, she quickly recovered and knew she could respond in kind because she felt confident that he would never use his strength to hurt her. “First of all,” she said, countering his argument and his tone. “You’re not pissed that I’m going out with my boss, you’re pissed that I’m going out with your brother. Second, he asked me out before you and I ever had sex. And third, what the hell gives you the right to dictate who I date when you’re probably out screwing every night? I’m sorry, did I miss the part where we promised each other a happily ever after?”

With one bound, he got in front of her. “You’re under my control now.”

“Am I?” she asked, glaring at his scowl.

She wasn’t scared of him, not his size or his strength or his mood, because he’d stayed with her, watched over her. She understood more of the man beneath the façade. With all Brodie McCormack had been through—losing his parents, abandoning his birthright and his brother—it was amazing that he was standing here in front of her.

He and Grant had come from the same womb, but they were polar opposites. Grant needed a panderer to pick up after him whereas Brodie needed a challenge. From her experience with the younger McCormack, she’d come to understand that in order to gain his respect, she had to match his ferocity. Because he was a no-nonsense type of guy with laser-precision focus.

“Yeah,” he sneered.

With a parched throat and a hammering heart, she maintained eye contact. “What makes you think that?”

“This,” he said.

Grabbing the back of her neck, he pulled her up to the ends of her toes and planted his mouth over hers. With balled hands, Zara beat at his chest, but there was no force behind her punches and she didn’t try to back away when she could have.

His tongue delved deeper and she sucked it hard, closing her mouth enough to scrape her teeth over him and return his wrath. Pulling their bodies apart, he swept everything off the table to make space for what he planned to do to her.

Zara untied her kimono to signal her compliance and ready herself for his passion. But this man didn’t stop to ask for her blessing, he stole her waist, threw her down onto the surface, and came down on top of her to show her exactly what he could do at a breakfast table.

Tardiness wasn’t a great start to her workday. But she couldn’t say that her day had started out badly overall, not after enjoying ecstasy in a tryst with her lover. So wearing the widest smile she’d ever had, Zara made her peace with running behind at CI and appreciated the solitude of her office. It gave her much-needed time to process the new information rattling around in her head. Not least of which was the identity of her lover.

Raven was an abstract guy who was all danger and mystery. Learning that he was in fact Brodie McCormack, brother of her boss and son of a business tycoon, she felt much more secure with him and with what they were doing. Raven was elusive and it would be impossible for a real relationship to endure between her and a phantom. Caring for Brodie McCormack was real. He was three-dimensional flesh and blood. His severe manner suggested he’d gone through a gauntlet of torture since losing his parents and she couldn’t stop her thoughts from flitting back to him.

Her breakfast table hadn’t endured their morning escapades. He’d promised to pay for the plaster damage on the column and the broken furniture, but to Zara, those things were irrelevant. Clarity left her in awe. He had trusted her with so much, not just about the device and its history, but with his own identity as well. Granted, it hadn’t been a voluntary admission, but he hadn’t tried to deny it or dismiss its relevance.

Having the knowledge of who he was, when so few people did, gave her a secret that had the capability to unravel Raven’s world. During her research into Grant McCormack and CI, half a decade ago, before she was employed here. Zara had learned of the existence of a younger McCormack brother.

After the death of their parents, the younger brother disappeared off the grid, leading many in the media articles she read to believe that he had been killed in the accident, or had suffered some terrible fate not long after it. Although as far as she knew, there was no official death certificate on public record.

Curiosity bloomed within her. At several points during her day, Zara drifted off into a daydream and wondered about the mysterious life of the man she’d accepted into her life. It was no longer her singular mission to uncover the details of Grant’s corrupt business dealings.

Zara wanted to learn the truth about Brodie McCormack as well, of where he’d been and what had happened to him, since there was no record of him after the age of thirteen. The media had reported that there were no school records or college transcripts, no criminal convictions or official certification. At the time of reading those articles, she’d been intrigued, but not enough to question or investigate them.

Finding out about Brodie’s past wouldn’t be done under the radar. For one thing, if he discovered her poking into his business uninvited, he would retract his trust and may hurt her, as he’d warned he would if she betrayed him. Getting to know Brodie would have to be done the old-fashioned way, using her feminine wiles, and it helped that he seemed to be partial to exploiting them.

This morning he had disappeared while she was in the shower. As disappointed as she was to find that he was gone, she wasn’t concerned. It was actually encouraging that he had gone without drumming into her the need for secrecy about his identity. That was how she knew that she did indeed have his trust. Her declaration had been vindicated: by giving her his trust, he’d earned hers in return.

At some point, he would appear back in her life. When he did return, Zara would share the rest of what she had learned. Once everything was out in the open, she hoped that he would begin to clue her in about how they were going to take these people down.

Throughout the day, her thoughts bounced back to her night and her morning with Raven—except now, she would have to think of him as Brodie and that might take some getting used to. Being preoccupied with thoughts of a man was supposed to be a part of immature youth, something she thought she had gotten over. This wasn’t a time to be scatterbrained by sex and potential intimacy, with terrorists on their tail and possible destruction of life. She would have to keep her head in the game.

Speculating about how this might play out, Zara was typing up a report Grant needed when her computer froze and that was something that didn’t happen given CI’s technological capability. Removing her hands from the keyboard, she was about to reach for her phone to call the IT department when a white window popped up on her screen and letters began to appear as though someone was typing on her computer in real time.

“We need the file number.”

The cursor jumped to the next line and flashed there as though she was expected to respond to this command. Glancing around, she wondered if this was a test, or a con of some kind. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. She doubted CI had the ability to freeze out a user and override her computer like this. Given her position in the company, there would be no need for an internal user to be communicating with her like this when an email would suffice for a legitimate query.

“Who is this?” she typed into the window.

“Irrelevant,” came the reply. “All I need is the number.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she typed back. Although she didn’t know any hackers personally, she did know that people could be conned into giving out information they didn’t want to give over a computer.

“He was right about you.” The words came up a letter at a time and she re-read them when the sentence was complete.

“He, who?” she wrote because she wasn’t going to admit to her connection to Raven or Brodie when this person could be luring her into a trap.

“Your lover.”

Still unconvinced about this intruder’s motive, she stayed vague. “Which one?” she asked, folding her arms on the desk and hoping that Brodie was standing behind whoever this digital interloper was.

The concept that she could have more than one lover would piss him off, if his reaction about her going to the Grand with Grant was anything to go by. But she wanted him riled, his passion fired hers, and the memory of his possessiveness aroused her so much that she wriggled in her chair and pressed her thighs together.

“The one you made pancakes for this morning,” came the response and she could almost hear Brodie’s voice snapping at her, though she still wasn’t sure who she was communicating with. “The one who punched a hole in your apartment.”

Ok, so that was sort of confirmation that she was talking to Brodie or someone associated with him, except those things could be known by anyone watching through her windows. Suddenly, she understood what Brodie meant about her windows being a weakness.

Not ready to show her cards, Zara was still aware that she could be communicating with an enemy masquerading as her lover. “If he wants information, he can ask for it himself,” she responded and sat back in her chair to await the response to her sass.

She didn’t have to wait long. “We are Kindred,” came the reply. “You belong to us.”

Disturbed by the cultish reply, she thought about the friend Brodie had referred to, the one who could access any computer. This had to be that guy because CI’s digital security was top rate. It would take a pro to sneak under the corporate defenses.

“How do I know you are who you say you are?” she typed because she didn’t want to walk into any kind of trap. Brodie would tell her to be cautious and she understood the need for that vigilance.

“Taxicab.”

Zara blinked twice at the word. So their private safe word was apparently some kind of code of identification now and that made her squirm for less lustful reasons. If Brodie had given out that piece of information, what else had he told his unit?

“File number?” the words came up on the screen beneath their safe word, and although she was embarrassed, she was assured that this person was in Brodie’s inner circle.

“00793” she typed. Almost as soon as the last digit flashed onto the screen, the window vanished and her previous project came back up unaffected by the interruption.

Agreeing to trust Brodie had come with extras she hadn’t bargained for. When she saw him next, she had to get answers about this group. She had to know what being involved with them was going to entail.

It was dark when she left work. Grant had been in meetings for most of the day, so she’d seen very little of him. Since she knew a McCormack family secret, she was quite happy to avoid her boss because she wasn’t sure how her poker face would hold up. Although she’d managed not to rouse his suspicions yet, so that gave her optimism.

With her arms full of files, Zara unlocked her apartment door and pushed it aside. Artificial light filled the space, which should have been dark. It was joined by the sumptuous scents of food, except there shouldn’t be a soul here.

Fear didn’t spear her as it might have before, because with the lights on, the space wasn’t ominous. Brodie had never turned on lights and made himself at home, but ensconced in the promise of his protection, she was assured he’d appear to take down any threats if the need arose.

“Hello?” she called out and an unknown man appeared from behind the closest column with a paintbrush in his hand.

“Are you gonna stand there all night and let the bought air out?” he asked and disappeared behind the column again.

Her confused brow wrinkled. The stranger’s presence was unexpected. She had no idea why he would be here. “Uh, who the hell are you?” she asked, coming inside and kicking the door shut with her heel.

“Handy man,” he called without showing himself.

Relaxing her expression and her shoulders, she recognized bullshit when she heard it. “Handy man,” she repeated, not believing it for a second.

Approaching his position, she took note of the new dining table in place of the old one. The stranger came into her field of vision and she examined the patched column he was painting. When Brodie promised to do something, he didn’t mess around. Although she hadn’t known it was his plan to invite strangers into her home to do the work.

Dumping her files on the table, she swung her purse from her arm and discarded it while glancing toward the kitchen where she saw pots simmering on the stove.

“What is going on?” she asked, taking her jacket off and putting it and her keys beside the files.

“Dinner,” he said, wiping his brush with a cloth and putting it in a box of tools he had on the floor beside him.

He could be as nonchalant and unthreatening as he wanted to be, his response didn’t begin to explain why he was here, and her patience for these anomalies in her life was wearing thin. “Who are you?” she asked again.

Unimpressed and expectant, she turned her back to the kitchen, and propped a hand on the back of one of her dining chairs and awaited an answer with the air of a critical parent. The man was tall and lithe, he had dark grey hair with flashes of white through it, but he was attractive and alert. Still, that didn’t mean she knew who he was or why he was here.

Wiping his hands on a rag hanging out the pocket of his overalls, he dropped it to offer his hand. “Art,” he said. “And you’re our secret weapon.”

“Our?” she asked, shaking his hand because it was the polite thing to do. Some of the wind had been taken from her sails. Brodie had referred to Art as the chief. This man would know everything about what was going on.

Just then, at the far end of her apartment, Brodie came out of her office flicking through her desk planner. “You’re late,” he said, without taking his eyes away from her planner.

Agog that he would be so presumptuous as to go into her office at all, she couldn’t ignore the infringement of her privacy. Without an ounce of shame, he was flicking through the pages of her personal planner. It didn’t matter that there was nothing incriminating in there, she was just amazed at his gall.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, watching him read as he approached.

Still reading her notes and appointments, he didn’t conceal his actions. “Getting to know you better,” he said.

That was the way to do it. Everything was in there from doctor’s appointments to the dates of her cycle. Zara took notes about birth control and medications as well as when bills were due and grocery lists. As soon as he was close enough, she snatched the planner from his hands and snapped it closed.

“Try asking me a question,” she said. Earlier, she had considered how she would get to know Brodie through time and experience. Apparently, he wasn’t as patient or respectful.

“Fixed your column,” he said with a sideways nod in the direction of the repair.

“I see that.”

“Art cooked,” Brodie said, glancing at the kitchen behind her. “I don’t cook.”

Riled by Brodie snooping in her office and by this new person in her apartment, her anger grew. She didn’t want to be railroaded and had thought she and Brodie were forging a relationship of trust, now she wasn’t so sure. “What the hell have I gotten myself involved in?” she demanded, folding her arms around the book she’d stolen from Brodie. “Information! You said you wanted information, not to take over my life!” Color caught the corner of her eye and her mouth fell open at the sight of the curtains now hanging on either side of each of the windows that she’d been too distracted to notice before. “Window treatments?”