Swallow (Kindred, #2)

ONE –––––––– Brodie McCormack had told her that she wasn’t allowed to leave his property, but he had done little to welcome her into his home. Zara Bandini chose to view his indifference as acceptance because he hadn’t banished her after commanding her to stay. The truth was he’d given up caring about everything since his Uncle Art had been murdered, so she couldn’t be insulted by his inattention. With every new demonstration of apathy, she became more worried about her love’s mental state. Grief was a dangerous beast that could consume and contort a man until he became unrecognizable. Brodie, the man she’d fallen in love with, was still in there, he was just struggling to navigate the path back to her. At thirteen, Brodie McCormack had lost his parents. Now at thirty-three, he’d lost his guardian and mentor. Since his life was torn apart by the death of his mother and father in an explosion on their boat twenty years ago, Art had been his rock. After that tragedy, Brodie had lost his way, and it had been up to Art to guide his nephew through the trauma. Three months had passed since they’d watched the Kindred Chief succumb to the gunshot wound delivered by Albert Sutcliffe in the Atlas warehouse. Since that day, Brodie had locked himself in the manor he’d inherited from his parents and shunned the world. The task of keeping the sniper alive had fallen to her and Zara had done her best to look after him, but she feared that wasn’t good enough. He just didn’t seem to want to liberate himself from the darkness that was his perpetual companion. During his long periods of aversion to company, she had been afforded the chance to explore McCormack Manor and learn the quirks of the building. What began as a way to entertain herself grew into a bigger project. She tended to forgotten rooms, welcomed the light, and put her own touches around the place, taking the harsh masculine edge from the home that had once been a palace meant for Brodie’s mother. Living in a large city, in an apartment without exterior space, she hadn’t had a recent chance to test her yardwork skills. Zara had been raised in the country and was no stranger to getting dirty. When she waded out onto the grounds, it struck her that she’d missed toiling in the sunshine. Maintaining such a vast estate wasn’t a task meant for a single person. Zara embraced being tossed in at the deep end because she needed the distraction. Broken objects could be repaired with time and attention. Her lover was broken too, but fixing him wasn’t as simple as a new coat of paint or a few soft furnishings. So much of McCormack Manor had gone to ruin with Art and Brodie as its distracted caretakers. The Kindred had abroad missions to focus on, meaning uncle and nephew were rarely here for any more than a few weeks at a time. Hence how the place had fallen into disrepair. Since Art had pulled a teenage Brodie out of his parental bereavement funk, no one had spent such an extended period of time here. On that particular day, Zara Bandini was just finishing up with her checks in main security in the basement of the grand gothic manor house. It had become her daily duty to inspect the systems, to make sure the perimeter was secure, and that all the cameras were unobstructed. In the months since losing Art, she’d become efficient through necessity more than desire. At first, filling the chief’s shoes was daunting, but it had become clear that no one else was going to step up to the plate and these routine duties wouldn’t perform themselves. Glancing at the clock, she registered the time. If she wanted to be punctual for the funeral, she would have to speed up. The last thing she wanted to do was arrive late. Her entrance would be conspicuous given that she was expected on the front pew. While typing in the last commands to the computer log, she stood up. Rolling the seat away with her locked knees, Zara remained bowed over the keyboard to conclude her work. With a final keystroke, she adjusted one of her diamond earrings with two fingertips and straightened to scan the bank of monitors in front of her once more. Satisfied that she’d completed her duty, she hooked her purse over her head to let it rest across her body and headed for the exit. Thinking about the grim day ahead, she went into the blackened basement corridor. Funerals reminded her of the day they’d buried her mother. Pity had surrounded her and at fourteen, she should have been thinking about boys and makeup. Instead, she went from caring for her withering mother to caring for a home she did not intend to die in. Her father and brother would have been happy to keep her in the family home, cooking and cleaning, and never again thinking about the future. But she wouldn’t repeat her mother’s mistakes. Zara wanted to make something of herself, and while her life hadn’t followed the path she might have projected, she had made a difference in the world—albeit with Kindred help and guidance. Zara would much rather blend into the background today. But she’d agreed to sit with Grant McCormack, CEO of CI, who was grieving the loss of one of his youngest VP’s. Losing a vibrant man, full of such potential, was a shock. As a victim of a mugging gone wrong, they’d lost him to murder, which distressed the high society members he moved amongst. Since meeting Raven, which was Brodie’s professional alias, she’d become more accustomed to death and wasn’t so surprised that these kind of things could happen. Bunking in with a professional marksman would do that to a girl. Especially when he had a habit of putting bullets in men who got too close to her. Zara would be happy to avoid memories of her mother and the other more recent losses she’d suffered. If she could, she would limit her time at the wake. After showing her face, she should be able to sneak out early. Grant would have plenty of hands to shake, giving him plenty of distractions. Hurrying along the basement corridor toward the stairwell at the end, she came to an abrupt halt when the door to her left opened. Brodie startled her from her thoughts when he emerged from the gym, damp from the shower, wiping a towel over his jaw. His brown hair was wet and because personal grooming wasn’t high on his to-do list these days, it hadn’t been cut in months. She hadn’t been aware that they’d occupied the same floor because she hadn’t sought him out this morning. These days he didn’t surface from his bedroom until closer to noon—if he came out at all. Giving her the once over, his expression registered no change in his thoughts. “What’s with the getup?” he asked, still examining her demure black dress and conservative heels. “You going to a costume party?” It didn’t surprise her that he didn’t know what time of the day it was or what season they were in. It was just another example of his lack of focus. The outfit she was wearing had been typical of her daily wardrobe before Brodie came into her life. Now, she spent more time in casual or workout clothes, or items that she didn’t mind getting dirty in the yard when she went out to work in the muck. There wasn’t any affection or joy in his features. Brodie had become a shut in, and there were times she feared she’d never be able to reach him again. “I’m going to a funeral,” she said, edging closer to curl her fingers around the waistband of his shorts. Any glimmer of conversation spelled a good day. Savoring every chance to connect with him, she wouldn’t give up on him or let him be lost forever. He needed a constant, a touchstone, and she wanted to be that beacon for him. By the way he was looking down his nose at her, she could tell he was considering possibilities. “Anyone I know?” “I doubt it,” she said, trailing a fingernail up the center of his vest. “He was a VP at CI. He was killed by a mugger. Random shooting.” The story didn’t interest him, she could tell by how his attention cooled. Nothing seemed to interest him anymore, except brooding solitude. Sometimes he drank into the night, sometimes she wouldn’t see him for days. Other times, he kept her locked up with him so he could gorge himself on her body. Those times were physical. He wouldn’t talk to her, not about anything but s*x. But there had been times she gleaned his inner needs in the way he touched her. One of the less enjoyable tasks that had fallen to her was arranging for the engraving of Art’s headstone. With Tuck’s help, they’d affixed the granite slab to Art’s plot. Tuck took off as soon as the job was done. He hadn’t opened up to her, but she could tell that Art’s death was taking its toll on the hacker too. Dirty and tired, tears had stained her face when she’d come back inside to find Brodie waiting on the stairs for her. It was nights like that one which kept her love for him alive. He hadn’t said anything, he’d just taken her hand and led her up to his bedroom where he made quiet love to her before holding her against him all night. Later on, she discovered that he’d watched her and Tuck working from one of the high manor towers that gave him a partial view of the headstones through the treetops. Thinking of that day always made her crave his devotion. “Do you need anything before I go?” she asked. Slowly, his head angled to the left. Zara clung to him during these rare interactions and always took the opportunity to touch him when she got close enough. The physical connection spurred on her desire to stay at the side of this man who was floundering. Whipping the towel off his neck, he dropped it to the floor then groped for the zip under her arm. He slid it down. As it descended, her heart rate ascended. She didn’t have time for games. Didn’t have time to sate his wants now, but if she said no, Brodie would only want her more. “I’m late,” she said, but he grabbed her ribcage and rushed her against the wall with a thump that expelled the air from her lungs. The strap of her purse slipped from her shoulder to her elbow and encircled her upper body until she straightened her arm and let it fall to the floor in a wide loop around her feet. With narrow eyes and lips, his gaze drilled into her. “Sorry, baby, you won’t be going to that party,” he murmured. A funeral wasn’t a party and she didn’t know why he would object to her going. It could be he didn’t want her being around Grant, which she would be if she went to any CI event. Maybe he was worried about her well-being and didn’t want her to go to a solemn occasion without him there to support her. It was more likely that he was just horny and didn’t want her to stray when he required her attention. The shadows beneath his eyes betrayed that she’d been wrong. He wasn’t awake early as she’d thought, he hadn’t gone to bed yet. He’d emerged from the gym, so she guessed that he’d worked out before taking his shower, which was something he did when he was frustrated. It was possible he’d tried to exorcize his arousal through physical exertion or maybe he’d had a rough night of grief. Either way, she wished he’d sought her out sooner. “What you got going on under the dress?” he asked and stepped back to pull her straps from her shoulders, though they only fell as far as her elbows before the dress caught on the apex of her breasts, hiding from him what she wore beneath. He wasn’t patient. Grabbing the neckline, he tugged it down and seemed pissed off to find her b*a there blocking his view. But he leaned away to get a look at her legs beneath the hem of her dress. When his lit eyes landed on hers, she felt exposed. She didn’t have to be n***d for Brodie to know her habits. “Let me see ‘em,” he grumbled and, although he was tense, he did seem to be enjoying this game. With the heels of her hands on her hips, she gathered up the fabric of her dress just enough to let the lace tops of her stockings peek from beneath. She knew how to tease him, knew what he wanted to see. His gruff single laugh made her shoulder blades press deeper into the wall at her back as her pelvis rose towards his. Coming a step closer, he took her hips, but only long enough to give them a brief squeeze before he let go.