“Us or the Kindred?” he asked, resting both hands at the back of her neck.
“Both,” she said. Once she told him about her morning, he probably wouldn’t be heading to Rigor’s. All of their plans were about to change. “You shower and—”
“Talk,” he said. For a guy who liked keeping secrets, he was careful about making sure no one else got to keep them.
With him standing here sweaty and distracted, it didn’t seem right to have such a sensitive conversation. But the subject wouldn’t get any easier to broach no matter how long she delayed talking about it or how clean he was.
His face rested in concern, which wasn’t a great starting point because her guess was that his worry would increase when he found out what Kahlil had tried to tempt them with. “This morning, I went to tell Julian about Mischa. It turned out he already knew about her, but he told me that someone had called looking for me.”
Immediately, his body grew rigid and Raven eclipsed Brodie. “Who?”
“He didn’t know, but when I went upstairs…” She took a breath because she knew he would take this news hard. “It was Kahlil. He wants Game Time.”
Brodie’s hands shifted to tighten over her shoulders, he said nothing for about ten seconds, then his grip loosened to slide his hands to the back of her neck again. “You told him where to get off?”
Taking her watch from her wrist, she held it up. “I recorded the meeting and I think you should listen to what he had to say.”
“I don’t need to. I trust that you gave it to him straight,” he said, pulling her forward to kiss her hairline. “I’ll shower and we can get back to Swift.”
“Beau, I…”
He let her go to head for the locker room in the corner beyond this room. If all Kahlil had wanted was Game Time, then she would have shut him down. But she couldn’t let this go by without giving Brodie the chance to see what else was at stake. This wasn’t about money or about dealing with a lowlife like Kahlil.
Brodie’s reaction was the one she’d expected. Except Kahlil’s request for Game Time wasn’t the whole story. She couldn’t conceal the truth because she’d never be able to live with herself if it came out later that they’d had this chance and she’d made a unilateral decision to snub it. Brodie deserved to know that the truth was on the table. It wasn’t her choice to refuse. Only Brodie could make this decision, and the rest of them would fall in line for him.
Before the window of opportunity closed, she blurted out two words. “Future’s Hope,” she said before he took the final step to the locker room.
He stopped. Shouting it out was insensitive, but the urge to say something had clouded wisdom and the words had rushed out on their own. Locking her fingers together, she wouldn’t let herself fidget as he turned to set his gaze on her.
“You’re good,” he said, but there was nothing happy about his statement. “Art’s gone. Grant’s eating worms… and you’re still digging up shit from my past.”
If Brodie hadn’t given Mischa his real name then he wouldn’t have shared details about the demise of his parents with her. Zara’s knowledge could only have come from the one other person she’d met with that morning. The ire radiating from him suggested that he’d deduced that much. Brodie didn’t like to talk about sensitive topics from his past. The idea that an enemy of theirs could be airing his dirty secrets didn’t embarrass Brodie as much as it pissed him off.
“Kahlil offered more than money,” she said. As her pulse began to speed, she fought the urge to go nearer and console him. With his mood the way it was, he wouldn’t appreciate pandering. Any suggestion that he might be fragile or need support would fuel his anger. Instead of catering to his emotional needs, she appealed to his professional ones by holding up the watch. “He says he knows the truth about what happened to your parents.”
His sneer didn’t hint at interest or hope. “And you believed that?” he asked, becoming snide. “Maybe you should be a blonde.”
Mischa had said that to her. The two of them saying such a thing about her on the same day was no coincidence. “Enjoy discussing me with your ex, did you? Did you have a little chat while you helped her settle into my apartment? The same place you screwed me senseless last night?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She wanted to know what was so special about you that you got to stay at my place.”
“Did she?” Zara asked and folded her arms. Mischa had no tact or restraint, Zara had learned that after spending a few seconds with the woman. In the company of a man she was once intimate with, Mischa’s insensitivity would be even less subtle.
“It’s sure not your ability to call a bluff,” he said. “Kahlil dangled that in front of you because he knew you’d bring it to me and try the soft little innocent tiptoeing to cajole me into falling for his bullshit. He doesn’t know dick, and you weren’t smart enough to notice you were being played. Have you learned nothing?”
Given what she’d told him about her feelings of uncertainty with the Kindred, she didn’t appreciate him asking such a question. But she knew him too well to think that he was expecting an answer, though that didn’t moderate the initial kneejerk reaction of her emotions.
“Stop it,” she said, tensing to take careful breaths because only one of them could afford to be irrational at a time. “You’re lashing out at me ‘cause talk of your parents caught you off guard. It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to be angry about it.”
So much for not dealing with his emotions, it seemed they were too assertive to be ignored. “I’m angry that you let this guy play you,” he said, pointing at her with his sports bottle. “What you’ve seen the Kindred do so far, it’s been Sunday school. It’s going to get harder and dirtier from here. You better up your game if you want to—”
“Want to what?” she asked, and scowled after he cut himself off. “Want to stick around? Want to be worthy of you? Thanks, I need you questioning that right now when you know I’ve been… This isn’t about me.” She wasn’t going to bring up her insecurities when he was in this kind of mood because he might say something they wouldn’t be able to take back. “Kahlil says he knows the truth. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. Do you want to pass up the chance to find out? Shouldn’t you at least talk to him or listen to the recording of what he said to me?”
“I know the truth. They’re dead. End of story. Go upstairs and pack your shit. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
When Brodie was done with a conversation, it was over. She wanted to support him, but did that mean respecting his predictable reaction to the news? Or was she supposed to coax him into changing his mind? Kahlil had implied that was what he wanted her to do, but she wasn’t going to make the decision based on his recommendation. She wanted what was best for Brodie.
Hearing the name of the boat and the implication that there had been foul play had shocked her, and Kahlil wasn’t even talking about her parents. Brodie would need time to process this. While he did, she could foresee herself taking the brunt of his emotional journey until he came to a conclusion about what he wanted to do. She wasn’t finished talking about Future’s Hope, she’d just have to bide her time.
As much as she didn’t want to go to Rigor’s with Brodie, Zara went upstairs and did as she was told. All they could do there was sit on their asses speculating about Leatt. There was little else to do about it now that the trail had gone cold.
Given what she’d just told Brodie about Kahlil and his parents’ demise, he was angry, and taking that to Rigor would culminate in the two men fighting. With Kahlil, Leatt, and Cuckoo featuring in their circle now, they didn’t need any more enemies. Explaining that to Brodie wouldn’t alter the inevitable. Reasoning with him was never easy.
Kahlil was supposed to have gone away, back into his hole, after failing to secure Game Time during the first round of bidding. If he was flickering on their radar again, that could indicate other bidders wouldn’t be far behind. Sikorski could know the same as he did and he might make his
own play for Game Time. On top of that, either group could be in league with Leatt.
With Sutcliffe and Grant gone, there could be a feeding frenzy. Kahlil was right that no one else at CI knew about the device. Both he and Sikorski had put eyes on her. Sikorski was the other failed bidder she’d met at the Grand. Art had said he was a crazy person associated with the Russian Bratva, which was just the kind of guy she needed on her tail.
After packing her suitcase, she put it near the foot-board and rounded to sit on the bed, cross-legged, right in the middle. Going to Rigor’s was nothing but disadvantages because she’d miss their spacious bed here, and with Cuckoo taking up residence in Zara’s abode, all she had to look forward to were the cramped conditions at Rigor’s.
Brodie hadn’t come upstairs, but she’d packed quickly. In the gym shower, he’d have peace and quiet and might take the chance to reconsider or at least think through what Kahlil was offering, so she wouldn’t rush him. Using the time she had to herself, she reflected on her day. CI was her past, Brodie had made sure of that, and by giving Cuckoo her apartment, Brodie was making sure Zara had to stay here with him, and he’d been pushing for that for a while.
She didn’t mind giving up CI. Working there hadn’t been the same since Brodie came into her life and she saw the truth of Grant’s capabilities. Now that he was dead, he could never be redeemed, meaning they could never go back to the way things were. Brodie had shown her that opportunities existed for her to have adventures and make a difference. CI had been a compromise, she’d settled there and convinced herself that she loved it, too afraid to take the chance of finding something more fulfilling.
The Kindred were her future and one she could be proud of, if Brodie didn’t lose his patience with her. Kahlil could offer the truth of the most pivotal moment in Brodie’s past. Her thoughts on the subject grew to critical mass until a burst of air came from her lips, and she dipped her head into her open palms. They couldn’t let this pass them by. If she was curious, Brodie had to be too. If the guilty party was out there, then there was a chance of justice, Kindred style. Brodie wouldn’t be interested in evidential proof or courts of law. This was his family. If there were secrets in her family, she would want to know them, so she couldn’t believe Brodie was that much different.
A buzzing sound interrupted her reverie and made her frown. She had no idea what could be making the sound in their bedroom, and it wasn’t a noise she recognized. Rotating her body, the first thing her attention snagged on was Brodie’s nightstand, where they kept the sex toys. His control in bed extended to every aspect of her pleasure delivery.
Crawling to the nightstand, she pulled open the drawer to see if he’d found some way to activate the devices from a remote location. Everything in there was quiet. Brodie wasn’t sending her any message that she was to get started on the foreplay solo.
The buzzing got louder and she slunk off the bed in a crouch, craning to follow the sound to a source. Settling on her purse, which was on top of her suitcase, she pulled apart the opening to see her cell phone illuminated in a green glow. Green. It flashed that color when someone was calling her apartment’s hard line.
Calls hadn’t gone through the physical phone line connected to her apartment for ages. During Brodie’s grieving period, Tuck had worked his magic and now they were part of her Kindred phone profile, meaning all calls to her apartment landline were routed to whatever was her current cell line.
The number flashing on the screen brought a bitter taste to her tongue. It was her father.
Clearing her throat, she picked up, watching the bedroom door in case Brodie came in to join her. “Dad?”
She didn’t even bother with hello. Pleasant social calls had never been a feature of their relationship. Bad news was the only reason she could figure for this call.
“Zara,” he barked, in his gruff smoker’s voice. “Good. Thought your number might be different.”
Good guess because it had changed more than once. That he was getting to talk to her was a testament to Tuck’s skills rather than dumb luck.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, backing toward the bed to lean on the foot-board. The last thing she needed was a battle with her family. Soon she was going to be working to convince Brodie of the merits of remaining faithful to his own and getting justice for his parents. “You never call, is there—”
“It’s your brother,” he said, giving her the courtesy of getting straight to the point. “We figure since you’ve been up in that big city with the fancy job for so long, you gotta have some serious dough, right?”
Money. Well, at least no one was terminal. As bad news went, she’d take financial worries over health woes any day. “I don’t... How much do you need?” She wasn’t rich by any stretch, but if her father was lowering himself to tapping her resources, they must be in serious need.
“Just twenty grand.”
Just... Her mouth fell open. “I can’t get my hands in that much. Why do you need it?”
“Your brother got bit by the IRS, bastards, they want paid for doing jackshit or they’re taking the farm. That’s our land, been in the family for—”
“I understand.” Her father cared more for the dirt than he did his own daughter.
Chastising her father and brother for not paying their taxes on time would be redundant and hypocritical. Her boyfriend shot people for a living and had probably never paid taxes in his life.
Still, twenty grand was almost the total amount of her savings, and she was reluctant to hand that over when she knew it would never be repaid. If the roles were reversed, her father would be more likely to give her an earful than a handout.
Elevating her chin, she observed her sumptuous surroundings. She lived in a huge manor house with a man who had plenty of means. Keeping her nest egg to herself in light of the turn her life had taken seemed rather selfish.
“So you’ll get it to us?” her father asked. “Has to be soon like.”
“Let me see what I can work out,” she said, and the line disconnected without any attempt at an awkward goodbye.
Her family was as broken as Brodie’s, except the fractures in her relationships with her relatives weren’t caused by death, not all of them anyway. Given the losses she’d experienced recently, she should take some time and do something about those fractures before she lost the chance for reconciliation for good. The next time her father or brother got in touch, it would probably be to tell her the other was gone.
Brodie didn’t want her out of his eye line, but he and Tuck had work to do, work that they didn’t need her for. After Brodie’s semi-assertion, she was beginning to see her role in the Kindred as more of hanger-on than as an actual useful colleague. On the plus side of that, it freed up time, so she could deal with these kind of unexpected personal issues without impacting Kindred progress. Mischa had CI to look after. Zara didn’t even have an apartment to clean.
Snatching her suitcase and tossing the strap of her purse across her body, she figured she had to make peace with the past before she could figure out the future. Kahlil and the Kindred would wait. She could be back with Brodie inside a day. Scribbling a note for him, she doubted he’d have a problem with her being independent when it was that ability to rely on herself and face problems that had attracted him to her and kept them all going in the aftermath of losing Art.
If she had her own familial demon to confront, she wasn’t going to shrink and hide, she was going to deal with it head on.
SEVEN
She’d been so damn sure about this trip that she’d ditched the man she trusted more than any other to make it. The flight was just a few hours, and it took little time to rent a car and drive to her father’s. The heat of the early evening sun joined her as she stood on the sidewalk, staring at the front door of her father’s home in the suburbs.
The house she was looking at now wasn’t the one she’d grown up in. Her brother had taken over the farm a couple of years ago, and while her father did sti
ll work in those fields, he’d moved out of what had been her childhood home in deference to her brother and his new family.
Coming here had seemed like such a good idea when she was sitting in the safety of the manor, and she’d gone on autopilot to make the journey. The moment she’d stepped out of the car and crossed the street to stand on the sidewalk where she was now, the instinct to progress disappeared. Taking in the modest home with its patch of grass out front, she watched the length of the intersecting path stretch. It wasn’t more than a few yards, but it was going to be the longest few yards of her life.
She stood frozen, with her suitcase at her back and her car parked on the other side of the street behind her. Escape was still a possibility. Settling an old conflict was a great theory, but there was a reason she’d never tried to mend her relationship with her father. Experience taught her that he was old school and didn’t understand her life choices. She wanted him to tell her that he was proud, to apologize for his behavior, and to admit that he’d loved her all along. Great dream.
Now that she was close enough to envision him in this place, she played the scenario forward. She’d walk into that house, he’d look her up and down, and assume she’d fucked everything up. He’d demand the money, show no interest in her life, and either tell her to leave or to cook him something. Her dreams could only be fulfilled by a paternal figure who wanted to love her. To get what she wanted, her father would have to be a different man, and her taking time to travel here wouldn’t change who he was.
Cuckoo (Kindred Book 3) Page 8
