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Kennedy studied herself in the full-length mirror in her ridiculously small studio apartment in the lower east side of Manhattan. Seventeen floors below her, cars, buses, trucks and taxis scurried and stalled, sped and stopped, but up here, it remained relatively quiet. Only an occasional horn blare alerted her to her presence in this god-awful city. She longed to be back in the wilds of Africa. Then again, she loathed being in a place that constantly reminded her of what she’d lost.
She let out a huge sigh, considering what to wear. Simon left her a text advising what to put on tonight.
Keep it sophisticated. Remove your work gear for once. Try to look like a woman. And for Christ’s sake, wash the smell of tiger piss off your skin.
Tiger piss smelled much like buttered popcorn. She often came home reeking of the stuff.
She stood in nothing special, panties and bra, unable to decide on appropriate attire. She traced a finger along her long, simple tattoo. Blood red, a few strands of thick hair, it started at the delicate juncture between her legs, wound along her hip, wove itself across her ribcage in a lightning bolt pattern, and continued in a ribbon-like swirl until it reached her left breast, punctuating her heart with a tight, unyielding spiral. It held a canyon of meaning but still, as she regarded it, it felt unfinished. “Maybe it will never be complete. Maybe that’s what love is like. It’s always a symphony of loss and longing.” Another deep sigh escaped her lips.
On a whim, she slid off her utilitarian underclothing and sauntered to her dresser in search of something more risqué. Maybe she could use her clothes like a coat of armor. Drawing attention but not inviting it further, a game of seductive, control, and defiance.
She pulled out a set of red silk lingerie, matching bra and thong, and coaxed them over her body. The thong seemed decadent as if it belonged on someone else. The bra allowed her substantial breasts to hang like ripe fruit, to savor by the eyes, but not sip. Mosi had always loved her full breasts, playing with them like a kid before leading her into bliss with his supple body.
She winced at thoughts of Mosi, shoving them away. “Mosi’s not here, is he?” she said to her reflection. She reached her hand into the antique armoire with quick, angry movements and yanked out a red and black dress, something she’d purchased in a drunken haze and never donned. The dress hung one breath short of a hooker’s invitation. She tugged it into place, trying to pull the length a bit longer, and the top a bit higher, then gave up, yielding to her original impulses. “Maybe Simon’s friend has a friend who’s unattached. Then again, maybe I don’t want that.” Again, she fingered the inked slash running along her skin.
At a quarter ‘til nine, the time she agreed to meet Simon downstairs, she picked up her tiny bag, locked the doors behind her, and made her way to the elevator.
“Evening, Ms. Swift,” the part-time uniformed doorman said to her as she entered the lobby, his eyebrows rising high as he regarded her. “Special date tonight?”
“Not really. Only a night with new friends and my stepbrother.”
“Well, enjoy,” he said, leaning across to open the door for her. Once she exited, he followed her outside. “Will you need a cab, Ms. Swift?”
“Not until my brother arrives, Mark. And for the love of Christ, when will you start calling me Kennedy?”
“Sorry, miss. It’s a long-standing habit.”
“Save it for someone who cares. I’m a big nobody.”
“Oh, you’re not a nobody,” he said, his grin growing wider. “You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know, what with your work with the big cats.”
Had a big heart. Past tense. Had.
“And I always see you in the news. The work you do is nothing short of amazing.”
A blush of pride washed across her face. “Thank you. They’re important to me - the tigers.” Not the news coverage.
“And no one walks with them the way you do.” He tipped his hat to her. His eyes lifted to someone in the distance, and Kennedy turned to see what he saw.
Simon, her six four, dark brown haired, blue eyed stepbrother, whistled as he approached. “Now that’s what I’m talking about, little sis,” he said, as he strode closer. “Crow & Wicket here we come.” He lowered his head to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek. When he withdrew, he turned to the doorman and said, “Evening, Mark.”
“Evening, Mr. Preston. Enjoy your night.” He stepped to the street and whistled for a cab. When the yellow car pulled to the curb, he opened the back door and said, “Here you go, Ms. Swift.”
Kennedy folded her body into the back seat and slid over, making room for Simon. She ran her thumbs across her fingertips nervously, still amped from her encounter with Raja. In her mind, all she could see was the tiger’s teeth, his massive body shooting toward her like a bullet, his confusion, and ferocity at war with one another. “How was your day?” she asked in an attempt to calm down.
He studied her, curiosity evident in his eyes. “Same old, same old. Watching people ooh and ahh over art. Writing statements for exhibitions. Research. Gallery tours.”
“Don’t be coy, curatorial assistant,” she teased. “You love your work at MoMA.”
“I do,” he said, smiling at her indulgently. “So, what’s new in tiger town? What’s got you so edgy over there, picking at your fingernails?”
She chewed on her lower lip.
“Sis,” he said. “Spill it. More headaches with Barnes?”
“Worse. I think he really has it in for me. He told an intern to let Raja into the enclosure where I was working on the pool plumbing. The cat almost killed me. I was terrified.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Simon’s outburst flew from his mouth with such force, it made her jump. “Easy, Simon. I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not all right. I can see it. You’re tense. Edgy. I thought it came from resistance to our night out. I know you only pretend to enjoy yourself. Still. You can’t blame a brother for trying.” His eyes turned tender. “Or for caring.” His expression darkened. “That man’s a complete bastard. If any harm comes to you over his actions, I’m going to kill him.” The words launched from him like a torpedo.
She and her brother, step or not, were as close as any two siblings could get, even though they met late in life. They’d been part of a family since she was sixteen and he was seventeen when her divorced dad re-married. Before her life as a New Yorker, her father had the soul of a well-meaning hippie as he tried to find a place for himself in the world, moving them around the country in search of fulfillment. He’d finally landed a job as top-tier management at an alternate energy research facility in New York City.
Some sort of switch had gone off when he married Simon’s mother, a social-climbing bitch. The free-spirit disappeared, replaced by a clawing, climbing, wanting desperately to please his new wife kind of attitude. Trying to score points with his status-climbing wife and take care of his moody, introverted daughter, he’d poured money into getting Kennedy into the private high school where Dante went, hoping she’d find her place. The only things she found at that school were a couple friends, Dante, heartbreak, and the thread of connection to Beskerming. She’d found a brochure on the place in her school counselor’s office and instantly longed to go there.
Kennedy blinked, realizing her brother hadn’t stopped talking.
Simon was a gentle geek, loving the art world, staying as far away from conflict as he could manage. For him to say such a bold statement about her boss troubled her.
“I’m not a child. I can take care of myself,” she said.
“You work with deadly animals,” he said, meeting her eyes with his steady, penetrating gaze. “Sure, you form a bond. But we both know the risks of working with wild animals.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “We do.”
Simon reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Seriously, Kennedy. If anything, anything at all happens to you under his employment, I’m going to shove his man parts so far up inside him...”
She cut off his tirade. “Easy, Lone Ranger. I hear you’re pissed. I am, too. But the program’s in trouble. That concerns me more than Barnes’ bullshit. We need new funds, and fast. I do not want to be the one to witness the euthanizing of the cats. They’re...well, we’re a strange family. They’re wonderful, magical creatures. I love each and every one who enters the sanctuary.” She wiped at a pesky tear in the corner of her eye. “So, who’s this new friend we’re meeting?” she asked, guiding the conversation in a new direction as the cab slid through the nighttime traffic.
“Zander King. He’s one of the best climbers in the world.”
“Climb, as in the mountains?” Kennedy asked, tugging at her skirt.
“Yeah. Mountains, walls, boulders, waterfalls...if it’s vertical, he climbs it. He’s a really amazing guy. A billionaire. Runs a company called EXcape. It’s high-end adventure gear. We’ll be meeting with his main crew—his assistant Mia, his sideman Kent and, of course, his girl, Trisha.”
She blinked at the idea of climbing anything. She preferred her risks on flat land.
When they pulled in front of Crow & Wicket, she winced. “A real bar?” she groaned.
“What? You’ve been sober for over a year. Think you can’t handle it? If you can’t, I won’t force you to go inside. I only thought...” He shrugged and held his palms up.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage. My sponsor’s been encouraging me to get out more. You know, learn how to mix in places that might seem risky. I’ll have to do it sooner or later. I can’t hide in a tiger pen for the rest of my life.” She gave him a wan smile.
“You said you’d conquered it. I’ve only ever taken you to...I didn’t mean to...I only thought...” Her brother seemed helpless as he stumbled over his words.
“I’ll be fine. I haven’t touched a drop in three hundred and seventy-two days. Remember, I got tangled up in drink from tragedy. I couldn’t cope. I have a caring sponsor and a good brother to keep me on the straight and narrow.”
Simon smiled at her gratefully and helped her from the cab. After paying the cabbie, he asked, “Do you ever miss it? Like, do you ever want to drink again?”
She blew out her breath. “There’s not a day goes by I don’t think about having a shot of whiskey, my drink of choice. Or pop an oxy. But then I pull myself together, remember that drinking and drugging only made me numb, it didn’t make me deal, and I get over it. There’s a reason for the one step at a time philosophy.”
He nodded and pulled open the door for her to enter.
Unable to rely on 108 proof for courage, she made a silent prayer to the moonlit night to give her strength. She walked inside, her head high, her insides feeling like a hive of crawling bees. Moving in some slow motion trance, she grew aware of several sets of male eyes tracking her as she made her way through the bar like prey crossing the savanna. She kept control over her shaky emotions, feigning confidence she didn’t possess.
“Simon. Over here,” a man called as if throwing her a lifeline.
She and her brother made their way to the table in the corner, where two men and two women sat. Kennedy swallowed her discomfort and smiled. “Hello, I’m Kennedy,” she said, extending her hand.
The man who’d called them over stood and reached for her hand. “Zander King,” he said, shaking her hand with warm confidence. “And this is my girlfriend, Trisha Banks.” With love for her evident in his eyes, he indicated the petite brunette sitting in the chair next to his.
A spark of longing flashed inside Kennedy. “My pleasure,” she said.
“And this slob is my wingman, Kent Manning,” he said, indicating a tall, good-looking blonde guy with Nordic features. “He’s my CFO, besides the guy who does all the digging on anyone I need details on. The guy’s a whiz when it comes to research. He’s got the soul of a forensics expert.”
Kent’s eyes swept up and down her. “Hi,” he said, lifting his chin.
“Last but not least, Mia Akiyama. She’s basically another arm of mine—one I couldn’t live without.”
“You’ve got that right.” Mia stirred her cocktail with the colorful paper umbrella leaning against the inside of her glass. “Hi,” she said, with a warm smile. “I’ve had way too many of these,” she said, indicating her colorful drink. “Feel free to finish this one for me.”
Kennedy let out a chuckle. “Thank you, but I don’t drink cocktails.”
“Shot of tequila, then?” Mia asked, tossing her straight, jet black hair with a jerk of her head.
Kennedy’s face burned with embarrassment. Maybe this will be harder than I think.
“She doesn’t drink alcohol,” Simon said, coming to her rescue. “But she can toss back a mean Coca-Cola,” he added.
Everyone laughed, easing the tension in Kennedy’s stomach.
“Then let’s order one for you, straight away,” Zander said, lifting his finger to signal a waitress. “And get you settled. Sit.” He gestured toward one of the chairs placed around the table. “The rest of the group will be joining us shortly.”
Kennedy’s eyes glanced to Simon. She made big, pleading eyes at him. She’d been prepared for Zander’s group, and their warm, friendly welcome made her relax. But now she had to deal with more people, all wondering why she didn’t drink. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the exit.
“Easy, sis,” her brother murmured in her ear. “I’ve got you. The minute you say the word, we leave.”
Reassured, she nodded and settled in her seat. “So,” she began, a nervous edge to her voice. “Who are the rest of your group?”
“I’ll let you see for yourself,” he said, as his eyes glanced toward the opposite end of the club.
Kennedy turned to see what or who he looked at.
Like waves of grain, club goers parted to let the newcomers pass, their mouths agape, their eyes wide with wonder.
Two guys and a girl strode in the front. Another guy trailed behind them, smiling and waving like royalty. When they approached the table, the two males parted to give her a full frontal visual of none other than Dante Vega. In the flesh.
