Falcon (Kindred, #5)

SEVEN-2

“I don’t understand them. Tech is easy, it’s clean and has rhythm that makes sense to me. People are a host of contradictions. I like sense and order, one and one should always equal two.”

This was the most he’d said since their conversation began. He loved what he did, even if he didn’t let it trickle into his tone or demeanor. He enjoyed thinking about it, speaking about it, creating was his passion.

“My great passion is art,” she said, giving him some space but moving across to lean on the solid stone banister at the edge of the view below. “Pencil, pastel, paint, I love them all. I don’t need order. Often when I sit down at my easel, I don’t know exactly where the colors will end up on the canvas. There’s nothing I enjoy more than spending time alone with my pencils and sketch books.”

“Then you can identify.”

To a degree, she could understand why he was so happy to live his life alone. Loving what he did meant he was always occupied and happy even when there was no one else around. “Unlike you, I like light. I’m captivated by how the angles and brilliance can alter the mood of a piece, just as it can alter the mood of a moment.”

“Like this one?”

“You came to me in the night to try and hide who you are.”

“I like the night. It’s quiet and calm.”

“But you ran during the day, when the sea was wild.” And anything but calm. “The view is inspiring.”

“Sometimes I run at night.”

His movements had put him back into the blackness that filled the enclosed hallway that this covered mezzanine led to. She could be hallucinating and talking to herself, anyone watching might think that she was, but she knew it was no delusion, this man was real, she could feel his presence, actually feel it, even though there was a wide space between them.

“If that’s true then please, don’t go near the edge like you did today. My heart was in my throat when you went so close to the rocks.”

“If I fell, maybe you’d have had your freedom.”

“Maybe,” she said, moving forward to lean on one of the arch’s vertical posts. “Or maybe there would’ve been nobody around to authorize my release.”

“We make decisions by committee around here. If you think that manipulating me—”

“If I wanted to manipulate any man, I’d choose Wren. He’d be easier to get close to, wouldn’t he?” she asked.

Raven would be off-limits because for one thing, he seemed a bit unhinged, and the second reason was Swallow. She wouldn’t like another woman cozying up to her man. Bess and Wren had referenced Swallow’s involvement in Kindred missions, too, so it probably wouldn’t be smart to mess with her.

“All Kindred men have women issues,” he said.

Although it wasn’t guaranteed, that might have been a joke or at least as close to light-hearted as he got. “Is that a pre-requisite?” A laugh was too much to expect. “I think there’s hope for you. Granted, I don’t know much about your normal behavior, but already you’ve broken your mold for me, haven’t you?”

“You’ve put up more of a fight than the other girls. Most are just grateful to be free of where they were, so they don’t question our motives or question our trust.”

“How many times have you done this?”

“Enough.”

The war would continue. Ending human trafficking hadn’t been achieved by even the furthest-reaching law enforcement agencies in the world. One small band of men couldn’t hope to make much of a dent, but that didn’t seem to matter, they just kept on plugging away. “You’re a dedicated bunch. How did your group get involved in crime fighting?”

“How about you tell me how you ended up in Mexico.”

“Mexico, is that where I was?” She’d suspected as much. South America was her assumed location, but she hadn’t had it confirmed until now.

“The Mexican mafia is becoming the largest, most widespread organized crime disease in the country, and they’re not as ethical as the Italian mafia were back in the day.”

Her assumption that he was intelligent was right; he was clear and articulate when he wanted to be. “You know a lot about it.”

“Information’s easy to gather.”

They had to be practiced if they could be so nonchalant about wandering into danger, and she’d been told that the Kindred had various skills, including their computer whiz, who must be able to access whatever files they needed to put knowledge together. Except she doubted the Mexican cartels kept up-to-date employee records and informative calendars for the Kindred to hack, which might be why Zave’s cryptic comment felt frustrated.

Devon heard what he didn’t say. “But there’s more that you want to know?”

“I want to know what made you so suspicious of people.”

So that was how she’d gotten his attention, by question everything that was done to her here, and everything that was said, though that didn’t explain why he’d been so gentle with her after the auction.

“I am proud of that suspicion and would advise everyone to have it,” she said. “Shouldn’t you feel the same given your hobby?”

“Yes,” he said. “But my experience has made me this way. What made you this way?”

He emerged from the darkness, just enough for her to make out his outline again, and she tried not to overreact. Like he was an animal she could spook if she reacted to strongly, she tried to maintain the same posture and tone.

“I lost my parents young,” she said. “My brother looked out for me. But I was always independent, we butted heads all the time. I thought I knew best, so I jumped in without looking because I was sure I could handle anything.”

“And you couldn’t?”

“As it turned out, I couldn’t,” she said. Their trust might be building, but she wasn’t going to reveal all of her humiliations at once. “Tell me about the woman that got you involved with this.”

He shook his head, proving that he was coming out of his shell, and the triumph over the challenge he posed made her more determined to extract more from him, to get closer, maybe close enough to touch.

“That’s not my story to tell,” he said after a pause. “She is why we do this. But she wasn’t mine.”

Something profound and almost romantic about that statement drew her closer to him, and this time he didn’t back away. “Did you want her to be?”

“Women,” he said with a light-hearted dismissiveness. “Why do you have to make everything about love?”

Was that another different experience that had brought him to that conclusion? “Love is the most effective motivator.”

The philosophy of relationships wasn’t something she shied away from discussing. “Some would say that love is merely an extension of sex.”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, strong but said without thought, she wished he could take it back. He made no physical indication that the word had impacted him, but for some reason, hearing the word aloud in the company of this man, standing alone in the dark, made her n*****s peak. Her chin fell to allow her hair to hide her face, and the thumping of her heart fell to her gut.

Backtracking the topic that she hadn’t even opened up, she tried to quell her inappropriate awareness. “Not all love is linked to s*x,” she mumbled. “There’s parental love, sibling love, friendship love.”

“You’re embarrassed.”

The volume of his word made her gasp and look up, and sure enough, there he was, right in front of her. Intent black eyes fixated on her with an intense curiosity that made her even more self-conscious. “I’m not,” she said, and when she tried to withdraw, he caught her shoulder. Although she gasped, she didn’t resist.

His head tilted. “s*x,” he murmured and her insides quaked. If she looked at him now, she might combust, but he got even closer, so close that she couldn’t breathe. “Did they touch you, shy?”

“Wren already asked me that,” she whispered.

One finger curled under her chin and when he urged her head back, Devon was forced to make the eye contact she’d avoided. “Now I’m asking you.”

“Why would I lie to Wren, but tell you the truth?”

“Because you are special,” he said even though she could tell from the way his eyes tapered he’d rather not have to confess that truth.

“Why?”

“I don’t have a f*****g clue,” he said, and then he lowered his mouth onto hers.

This kiss wasn’t like any other she’d ever had. Sensing his patience, she guessed it was for her benefit because he didn’t strike her as the restrained type, not if he was stalking her bedroom and kissing her in hallways.

But from the moment she’d watched him run along that shore, she’d known he wasn’t like any other man on Earth. Something about the way he moved, his confidence, his enduring pace, it displayed a resolve that was proven in what he did by rescuing women like her.

Opening her lips, she tried to tease his tongue, but he withdrew, dropping his hand from her face and taking a step back. “They didn’t touch me,” she said and tried to narrow the space, but he retreated, maintaining the distance between them. “I can’t tell if you’re afraid of me or afraid of what will happen if you let someone in.”

Moving away again, he didn’t give her the courtesy of a response. “Take care of yourself, Devon,” he said.

But she couldn’t let him walk away from her. In an estate this large, she may never see him again. “I’ll work with you, not with them.”

He stopped. “What? Why?”

“I think you’ve isolated yourself for too long,” she said. “I think your aunt and cousin want you to do more than just exist. You do what’s expected of you and not an iota more. All the money in the world can’t save you, Zave, you need to live your life.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve spoken more to me tonight than you have to any other girl you’ve pulled out of that hell. From the way Bess and Wren speak, you’ve said more to me than you have to them for a long time. I don’t know what it is, but you do feel connected to me whether you like it or not.”

“If that’s true, then we stay the hell away from each other.”

“I disagree,” she said and went toward him, slowly again, so as not to scare him away. “What I went through... I can’t share that experience with just anyone. I have to trust you.”

The humiliation, the pain, the sorrow, it all came together sometimes to leave her devastated and she’d never tried to just talk about it, to tell the story. Somehow she knew that she wouldn’t be able to tell Bess. She’d worry that the woman would be overwhelmed with pity and her own distress at the tale.

Wren was a doctor and had probably heard all sorts of tragedies throughout his career, but there was something too casual about him, something that made her fear he wouldn’t understand the gravity of what she’d endured.

Anything she told to Raven would be told to Swallow and vice versa. She didn’t know the couple half as well as she knew Bess and Wren, but Devon already knew she’d never be comfortable enough to confide in them. Their bond with each other was too great; she’d feel like an interloper if she tried to insinuate herself into their lives with accounts of her own experience.

Maybe that was what bonded her to Zave. Whatever had gone on in that auction hall, he’d been the one to pull her out and bring her here to safety. His serious nature gave her confidence that he’d find her statements as profound to himself as they were to her.

His exhale was slow but unimpressed. “You’re not shy about making demands.”

Usually she would be, but she had to assert herself or the Kindred would own her. “Sleep on it. Figure out if the mission is more important than your seclusion.”

Returning to her room, Devon closed the door and went to bed. Tucking her feet back under the sheet, she halved her body to pull the bedspread too. Adjusting her pillow, she relaxed to let her eyes close. Now that she knew who was behind this and where she was, it was much easier to surrender to sleep.