Swallow (Kindred Book 2)

by Scarlett Finn

  Making dinner was the easiest part of the night. While doing it, she speculated about who they might be dining with. Art had told her only six people had set foot in this house since Brodie inherited it. Of those six, she only knew four: Brodie, Art, Tuck, and herself. That left two vacant spots.

  The Kindred included those four and the other two aliases she’d heard were Falcon and Wren, neither of whom she’d met. Falcon’s real name was Zave, and Wren’s was Thad, she knew that much. She also knew that they were cousins to each other and to Brodie. Other than that, she wasn’t too sure how they all fit together. Zave’s special skill was hardware, Brodie had told her that once. Wren’s contribution was a little murkier. But these people were important to Brodie and so they were important to her.

  At regular intervals, she glanced back toward the kitchen door, expecting strangers to walk in at any minute. They never did. She had just come upstairs from the cellar with the wine when the kitchen door opened and Tuck came in.

  “Hello,” she said, pleased to see a friend. “You’re just in time.” Handing him the bottle, she pulled the corkscrew from a drawer and put it on the counter before going back to the stove to stir the sauce. “What time are the guests arriving?”

  “Everyone is already here, come on,” he said, putting the bottle aside with the corkscrew. Following her to the stove, he stretched an arm out to snag her shoulder before sliding it all the way around her. Urging her away from her task, Tuck pulled her toward the door.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, dropping the spoon into the pot and shuffling along beside him.

  “It’s time to meet everyone,” Tuck said.

  When they ate as a group at the manor, they always ate at the kitchen island. Apparently, this time it was going to be different. Instead of everyone coming to her in the kitchen, as she’d expected them to, the dinner party was going on elsewhere.

  Tuck took her out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and bypassed the grand entranceway of the house to take her to a room tucked in the back corner of the building, right near the high rocky shore. The massive windows on the far wall of this formal dining room displayed a view of the rain and the angry sea. Brodie was staring out at the scene with his back to the room. But she was more interested in the men around the circular black table, which was big enough for ten, but only set for five.

  The two men seated at the table stood up. The shorter one, who was only a couple of inches shorter, was wearing a wide smile. But the other man, whose hair and eyes were black as night, was wearing a scowl that made her shrink and search out Tuck’s hand.

  He patted the back of it and led her toward the table wearing a smile, which she was sure showed amusement at her expense. “You know Bess from the camera downstairs?” Tuck asked.

  There was no other woman in this room, but Zara knew who he was referring to. Bess was the woman who frequently popped onto one of the screens in the main security room downstairs in Tuck’s favorite part of the lair. Bess was Art’s younger sister and, as far as Zara could tell, she lived in the manor’s sister house. Built as the second of a pair by Grant McCormack Senior.

  “I know Bess,” Zara said, having had many conversations with her during Brodie’s dark hours. Having someone to talk to, a friend, was invaluable. Bess was grieving her brother and didn’t appear to have much, if any, female outlet.

  “She’s my mother,” the shorter man said, coming around the table toward them.

  Relaxing, she couldn’t be intimidated by his ease. “You’re Thad,” Zara said, tilting her head to receive his kiss on her cheek.

  Tuck left her side to go to Brodie, who was still staring at the blackness beyond the window with a hand propped on the window frame high above his head. Zave gave her the once over, said nothing, and followed Tuck to Brodie’s side.

  “You’ll have to forgive my cousins and their penchant for brooding,” Thad said, putting an arm around her to look at the men she was watching. “I’m told it’s what comes with superior intellect. At least that’s true in Zave’s case. I don’t know what Brodie’s excuse is.”

  “Physical prowess,” she said and was charmed when Thad laughed without hesitation.

  The three men by the window were mumbling to each other about something, making no apology for excluding her and Thad. None reacted or seemed to hear her and Thad’s comments.

  Thad had to be used to the snub, because he didn’t even pause to await a reaction from the trio. “I understand you’re making dinner,” he said, and she nodded. Preoccupied by the men at the window, she wanted to know what they were talking about but was hesitant to inject herself into the conversation in case it wasn’t Kindred related. “Do you need any help?”

  She hadn’t given a lot of thought to what the rest of Brodie’s family would be like. Though if she had, she wouldn’t have pegged any of them to be as jolly and approachable as Thad seemed to be.

  Accepting his offer, they left the three others to their whispering and went into the kitchen where she began to prepare the pasta. Thad stirred the meatballs into the sauce and took a drip from the spoon into his mouth.

  “Mm, this is excellent. It’s almost as good as Uncle Art’s,” Thad said, stealing another taste.

  She smiled and put a lid on the pot. “It is Uncle Art’s,” she admitted and began to uncork the wine Tuck had abandoned earlier. “It’s the last of his sauce from the freezer. I supposed this was a special occasion. We don’t often have guests.”

  “You’re good for Brodie,” Thad said, taking wine glasses from the cupboard to bring them to her. She poured out the liquid and seated herself with him at the lower part of the kitchen island. “I can tell that already.”

  “Art thought so,” she said, sampling the rich red wine.

  Thad had light brown hair and boyish looks, he was happy and open, and everything the rest of the clan wasn’t. But he made a good first impression. “It’s good that you met him and that you got to know him before…” The glow of his smile dimmed and he grew wary, like he was worried he’d made a misstep, although he probably carried grief of his own over losing his Uncle Art.

  She missed Art, but couldn’t claim to have the same ownership over the grief the cousins shared. “He was a good man who didn’t deserve to die in the way that he did.” Not that he deserved to die at all. Art had the cleanest hands of all those involved in the Game Time project.

  He relaxed into another smile, it was his default mode. “I meant it’s good that you got to know Brodie before Art died. Zave said he’s been going through a dark time but that you’ve stuck by him, even though it’s been rough. You’re a tough cookie to take on Brodie and all his shit. Though I have to say, it’s understandable that Art’s death hit him this hard given how close they were, they were sort of codependent, I guess you could say.”

  She appreciated that her loyalty had been noted by the others, but Thad was talking about things she knew and she wanted to use this chance to gain new information. “Like you and Zave?” she asked, placing her glass on the tile to leave her stool and check on the food.

  He laughed. “No, I wish. I’m utterly dependent on him, and everybody knows it too.”

  She retrieved a serving dish and put it in the oven to warm. Hearing him declare himself dependent on Zave, without any indication of it being a reciprocal dependence, was unexpected. But it didn’t upset or shame him, there was no male bravado interfering trying to cover up the truth. Thad’s smile came back with a vengeance and he swigged more wine.

  Zave would be a tough nut to crack, getting to know him would be impossible given that he didn’t say much. “He seems…” She couldn’t put words to the impression that Zave gave. “What’s his story?”

  “It’s a long one,” Thad said and as frustrating as his discretion was, it was also admirable. “What has Brodie told you about what we do?”

  “Very little,” she said when the truth was he’d told her nothing. What she knew of Brodie’s cousins came from Bess and Art.
“I know you’re all part of the Kindred.”

  “And so are you,” Thad said, raising his glass in congratulations before he became serious. “That’s why we’re here. Brodie needs to plan this op to take Sutcliffe down, and for the first time we don’t have Art checking us all. I think we’ll close ranks for a while, work closer until we’re steady on our feet again.”

  She appreciated that none of the men would openly ask one another for help in an admission that they couldn’t cope. But Brodie had to have called this meeting on the back of what had happened to her in Purdy’s and with Sutcliffe. Zave and Thad had dropped everything to be here, proving that they stood by Kindred Priority One.

  Having support from their corner meant a lot to her, as it would to Brodie. “I appreciate you being here for Brodie, and I’m sorry for the loss of your uncle,” she said.

  “We’re here to make sure we don’t lose anyone else,” he said, picking up his wineglass and hers. “How is the food coming? Brodie will kick my ass if I’m alone with his girlfriend for too long.”

  Thad could do serious, but not for too long it seemed. So she shifted away from the solemn and prepped the food for serving, while Thad took their glasses and the wine through to the dining room. He came back to help her take the food and plates through to the table where she served food for everyone and took her own seat.

  TWELVE

  Dinner started quietly. Brodie, Tuck, and Zave sat down leaving an empty chair on each side of themselves, so everyone had plenty of elbow room. Thad poured wine for everyone except Zave and topped off her glass, and she was pleased to see that their new guests were much more aware of table manners than Brodie was, or Art had been. She was just seating herself after retrieving a second bottle of wine when Thad spoke to her.

  Everyone else was eating, but Thad was looking at her. “So, Zara, you work for Saint Grant?” Thad asked. “I haven’t seen him since I was a kid, in diapers probably, how is he?”

  Grant hadn’t been a fan of Art’s, which she guessed extended into Art’s siblings. He hadn’t made an effort to get to know Brodie and had ignored his cousins. Though there was nothing stopping those cousins from trying to get into his life now. If the cousins made friends, she should get a reprieve from her covert work at CI where she was trying to wheedle information out of a boss who didn’t trust her.

  “I think he might appreciate a call from his cousin,” she said, slurping the sauce from her fork. It was possible that Grant knew nothing of his cousins’ health, just as it seemed he was in the dark about Brodie’s before the Game Time debacle. “Or does he think you’re both dead too?”

  Thad laughed, and Zave didn’t show any signs he’d heard her, or that he bothered to listen when she’d spoken. “He knows we’re alive... at least, I’d guess he does.” Thad turned his blank expression to Brodie. “Does he?”

  Her love was distracted, but at least he answered. “Far as I know,” Brodie said, reaching for his wine to clear the food from his mouth with the liquid. “You’ll have to forgive Zara’s tone. She’s protective of her shining knight. He can do nothing wrong in her eyes.”

  Though he grumbled most of the words, Brodie was eloquent. Sometimes she forgot that he’d been raised in high society. Art had erased most traces of that aspect of his upbringing, but every once in a while, glimmers of it shone through his gruff countenance. After that declaration though, she wasn’t in the mood to give him credit for anything.

  She’d gotten over her notions of Grant’s virtue long ago. “He can do plenty wrong and he has,” she said, guessing that Brodie was still smarting over the conversation he’d overheard her and Grant having that afternoon through the bug he’d planted. “That doesn’t mean I have to automatically think the rest of you are saints. I chose your side when it came to Game Time, didn’t I?”

  Thad stopped eating to lean nearer to her. “We saw Brodie all the time when we were growing up,” Thad said. “Him and Zave were closer back then. Back when Zave’s life was nothing but sex and excess.”

  “She doesn’t need another history lesson,” Brodie muttered, probably fed up of others educating her on his past. Art did it. Grant did it. Even Tuck had let her in on a few tidbits.

  But she didn’t waste her time examining Brodie’s irritation; she knew what that looked like. She watched Zave, the bored man who ate his food and said nothing to anyone while managing to convey how unimpressed he was all at the same time.

  She struggled to imagine how he might seduce a woman or indulge in anything. It was clear that simple pleasures weren’t enough for him. Maybe he had to be coked up before he had the inclination to talk. It wasn’t any lack of confidence that kept him quiet, he sure didn’t look shy. He sat straight, focused on the task in front of him, and slighted everything else.

  His jet-black hair and the stubble on his face didn’t make him look unkempt. He just didn’t seem to care much for meticulous grooming. He wasn’t unattractive and she wondered if maybe women on the west coast were happy to jump to attention for a man when he snapped his fingers just because he had a square jaw and alluring eyes. Zave didn’t have the social skills to manipulate a woman into bed with him that was for sure, he’d have to be willing to talk to her for that to be possible.

  When no one responded to what Thad had said he released a meek laugh and carried on. “I guess we’ve changed since then,” he said. Leaning closer still, he made eye contact, “Zave doesn’t talk about those days anymore.”

  Brodie didn’t like to talk about his personal history either. “We are not here to talk about the past,” Brodie piped up. “We’re here to talk about Sutcliffe, Saint, and what to do about the mess he created for us.”

  The mess wasn’t entirely Grant’s fault. Zara realized that it wasn’t the time to point that out to Brodie, not while he was sitting with his brothers-in-arms wearing his game face. Zave put his fork on the table and took his napkin from his lap, signaling that he’d finished eating, even though his plate wasn’t empty.

  That had to be some sort of signal for Thad, because he sat up straight and stopped smiling. “Where are we at?” Thad asked. “We know Sutcliffe is out for payback.”

  “Payback,” Tuck said. “For the murder of his nephew, or because he didn’t get the product he was so intent on using to kill hundreds of people?”

  “Sutcliffe doesn’t want to kill,” Zave said, and she was so surprised by the sound of his deep voice that she almost didn’t process what he’d said.

  When she did, she was sort of offended by his comment because the only use Sutcliffe had for Game Time was to use it for harm. “So what does he want?” she asked.

  Zave picked up his glass, swirled the water in it, and let it slide down his throat, taking his sweet time before answering her question. “Attention,” Zave answered.

  Thad swallowed a meatball and linked his hands over his plate. “He’s right. I would agree with that. Sutcliffe only wants to kill those who don’t support him. But he wants to increase his ranks in the meantime. Purdy’s had to be a recruitment drive, Sutcliffe wants the world to know what he’s doing in hopes that droves will show up to support him.”

  “Or it’s training,” Tuck said. “The gang fell apart the minute they lost their leader. This wasn’t a squadron of pros.”

  She was impressed that these men had done their research. Discussions had obviously gone on without her, everyone was briefed and up to speed. Zara was just glad to be keeping up.

  “So what do we do?” she asked. “Do we worry about him training his army or him getting his hands on Game Time? He can’t get his hands on the device while we have it. But Grant wants it back, he asked me for it today and put me on a two week deadline.” The men looked at each other, bypassing her. “Grant trusts Sutcliffe too and I think he wants to be a bigger part of whatever he’s doing. But we can’t trust Sutcliffe, he’s already killed Grant’s housekeeper and his VP. Grant could be next.” Their reaction to this would be the litmus test for their views on wh
at to do with Grant during and at the end of this mission.

  “There’s no evidence that Grant is his primary target,” Zave said. “If he’s building more devices, I’d say Sutcliffe and Saint are allies.”

  Grant had admitted to commissioning Winter Chill again and if that got up to speed they could have a conveyer belt of Game Time devices rolling twenty-four, seven. But that obviously wasn’t their main concern because she was the only one to bring up Game Time so far.

  “So who is his primary target?” she asked, trying to gauge the stony faces surrounding her.

  “We don’t know,” Tuck answered. “That’s why we have to find out what his primary motive is. If it’s revenge for Tim’s death, then it’s Brodie he wants. If it’s the embarrassment of being setup, then it’s you.”

  They were right. Protecting the Kindred had to be their priority, because if anything happened to them, there would be no one trying to stop Sutcliffe until it was too late. “Do you think he’ll hurt Grant after he gets the device from him?” she asked because she and Brodie had protection, Grant was the little lamb trotting into the wolf’s mouth. He gave all of his faith to Sutcliffe when Sutcliffe was not an honorable man.

  The brooders kept on brooding, leaving Thad to respond to her. “If he’s pissed at Grant for what happened in the Atlas warehouse? Yeah, he will. He never would’ve been in the position to lose his men and be injured if it wasn’t for Grant,” Thad said. “Grant sold him a Bill of Goods. Sutcliffe is probably wary about Grant’s promises to deliver. Especially since Grant is working from scratch, so it’s going to take him a long time to come up with the product. Sutcliffe believed that this device, that Game Time, could change the world, could change his life. The man built a dream on that idea and then it all went pear-shaped.”

  So he was embarrassed, dejected, and grief-stricken. Zara looked down at her plate. As delicious as the food appeared, she no longer had an appetite and so as Zave had done, she took her napkin from her thigh, put it on the table, and sat back to fold her arms.