Family Pride (Blood of the Pride)

by Nantus, Sheryl

  The sweaty financial advisor led me to a corner room—a spartan, emotionless square with a wonderful view of the office tower next to us. A generic wooden desk with two office chairs. It had all the personality of a blank greeting card.

  He gestured at the chair as he moved around the desk and sat down.

  I sat back in the plush leather and crossed my legs, balancing my elbows on my knees and touching my fingertips together.

  Brayton cleared his throat. “It’s a mess.” He withdrew a snow-white handkerchief from an inside pocket and wiped his face. “I mean, thank you for agreeing to help out. Michael said he was going to find someone safe, someone outside of the office and, well—” he spread his hands with a weary smile, “—here you are.”

  “Michael Hanover’s a good friend,” I deadpanned.

  “There’s this woman...” Brayton paused, a sheepish smile on his face. “I guess you’ve heard that phrase plenty of times.” He played with the gold wedding band on his finger, twisting it over red, irritated skin.

  “A few.” I allowed myself a grin. “And she’s not your wife.”

  “No.” Brayton shook his head. “No, she’s not. Her name is Molly, Molly Callendar. She, ah, used to be a temp here. A few days a week doing odd tasks for anyone who needed her.”

  I couldn’t resist. “And you ‘needed’ her.”

  His cheeks turned scarlet. A little pink tongue flicked out to wet dry, chapped lips.

  “I’m not here to judge you or your actions. That’s not my job.” I leaned in. “What do you need me to do for you?”

  “There’s a baby,” he whispered. “A boy.”

  I sat back. This was familiar ground and I felt more comfortable, despite the circumstances. “I assume there’s no question of paternity.”

  He frowned. “Molly wouldn’t be unfaithful.”

  Unlike you. “Have you had a paternity test done?”

  “No need to,” Brayton said. “I accept the child as my own. She put my name on the birth certificate with my permission.” He dabbed at his forehead again. “The, ah, affair was over before I found out she was pregnant. She showed up six months after quitting with the baby in her arms and told me it was mine.” He drew a staggered breath. “I won’t leave my wife and Molly knows that, accepts that. It’s over between us but now there’s a baby involved and I want to do what’s right for him.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I can’t have my reputation ruined over this. I won’t let it be ruined and Molly agrees this is what’s best for all of us. That’s why I want the paperwork done under the table, as quietly as possible. I don’t want anyone to find out.”

  “Understood. And you want me to...” I pushed the conversation along. The faster I got the details the faster I could do this “favor” and the faster I could get out from under Hanover’s fat thumb.

  “I want to get a signed agreement from her regarding child support.”

  I sat back. “That’s all?” The hairs on the back of my neck shot to attention.

  Brayton wiped his face again. “It may not seem like much to you but it’s something of major concern to both of us. She, ah, she’s demanding a legal document. She says she trusts me right now in regards to our financial arrangements but is worried about the future—if I pass away before the child reaches maturity and the estate cuts off the payment plan we’d set up.” The damp cloth sat on the desk in a muddled mess.

  I shifted in my chair. I’d heard this tune before. Same dance, different partners. “What do you need from me?”

  “I’ve drawn up this agreement with my lawyer. I need you to take it to her at her hotel and see if she’ll accept it. Obviously she can’t come to the office and we want to be as discreet as possible.” His left hand slipped into a desk drawer. “I think the terms are agreeable. That’s where you come in.” The thick wad of paper slid toward me.

  “I’m not a lawyer.” I didn’t touch the stack. “I’m not a paralegal. I can’t advise her on any legal documents.”

  “True. But that’s not what I need you for. I need a smart, quiet courier to go over there and wait, get it signed and come back.” He grabbed the handkerchief again and folded it into a neat square. “She’s a good woman, a sensible woman.” Brayton tucked the wet handkerchief back in his pocket. “We both made a mistake but don’t want our child to pay for it. I just need to get this signed and tucked away and it’ll be over and done with.”

  I didn’t say anything. He’d already distanced himself from the entire affair by refusing to use her name past the initial identification. In his mind the entire affair was already over and done with, papers filed and checks pre-signed and sent out.

  “Why me?”

  He blinked rapidly, sending out SOS messages. “What?”

  I pointed at the wall and the unseen front desk. “You can get a bike courier there and back in the length of time we’ve been talking. Fast, quick and no questions. Why me?”

  Brayton rubbed the back of his neck with the damp handkerchief. “Couriers need to be paid. Receipts are signed, tracked, recorded. I don’t want any trace of this operation.” He glanced at the shut door and lowered his voice. “There are people who might use this against me.”

  “And Molly.”

  He drew back as if touched with a live wire. “And her, as well. Michael told me you could keep it quiet, keep it under your hat.”

  “I’m good at keeping secrets.” I tried not to choke on the words.

  “Here’s the address she’s staying at.” He scribbled a note on a piece of paper and shoved it across the desk. “It’s a hotel. She gave up her apartment when she had the boy. I’m paying for it—when the agreement is finalized she’ll be moving west. It’s all for the best.” He reached for a plain brown envelope and stuffed the folder inside.

  I stood up and took the note and the envelope. “Does your wife suspect anything?”

  “I hope not.” His lower lip trembled. “I hope to God not.”

  I didn’t tell him the odds were not in his favor. It’d been my experience that most women knew when their men were stepping out on them. My money was on a nasty divorce within the next year or so for David Brayton.

  He swallowed loudly. “I need this done quickly and quietly.”

  I stuffed the envelope into my messenger bag, trying not to feel dirty. “Let me get going. The faster I get there and back the faster we’re done.”

  With Michael Hanover, my inner voice snapped.

  I gestured at the phone on his desk. “Give me your business card. I’ll call if there’s any problems.” I tapped my pocket and the cell phone inside.

  He handed over the gold-embossed card along with a couple of twenty-dollar bills. “For the cabs. Don’t worry about giving me any change back; keep what’s left.”

  I looked at him with my best professional face on, the one I reserved for troublesome clients. “Let me point out that if I find you’ve coerced her into this, any part of this, in any way, I will not only advise her not to sign but I’ll help her find a good lawyer and rip you to pieces. Hanover might be purchasing my services but neither of you can afford my soul.”

  It had to be said. I wasn’t going to be part of any deal forcing this woman to do anything against her will.

  I could deal with Hanover’s blackmail.

  I wouldn’t be responsible for pushing an innocent woman down an unwanted path.

  Another beaded line of sweat appeared on his forehead.

  I walked out.

  The receptionist gave me a respectful smile and nod as I passed her spotless desk.

  A long line of cabs waiting at the taxi stand, politely waiting to be called into service. I waved the first car over with a wave and watched the driver leap behind the wheel and drive toward me.

  The hairs on the back of my neck tingled.

/>   I turned back toward the crystal palaces surrounding me. Someone was watching me. It could have been a curious visitor staring out of a window waiting for his chance to dump more money into the investment game.

  It was more likely Hanover making sure I was busy dancing to his perverse tune.

  I resisted the urge to wave and got into the cab.

  * * *

  Much to my surprise the hotel wasn’t one of the dives on Lakeshore Boulevard, selling rooms by the hour, but a clean respectable one off of Yonge Street. Tucked between a movie theater and a pricey shoe shop, the hotel catered to tourists looking to stay right in the middle of the city’s downtown action.

  The doorman gripped the brass doorknob as I exited the cab. He touched the brim of his cap and smiled.

  This wasn’t any cheap dive. This was a luxury hotel catering to rich visitors.

  “Welcome to the Belmont Arms.” He swept his arm inward. “The front desk is right over there.”

  I almost tripped over the deep, luxurious scarlet carpet, anchoring a series of chairs and couches that definitely weren’t from the secondhand store. The décor was typical tourist chic with framed pictures of Lake Ontario and other scenic Toronto highlights circling around on the walls while low classic music hummed out of invisible speakers. Two large groups clustered around the front desk, elderly tourists waiting for their guide. The harried clerk waved her arms in the air as she tried to herd one group to the side.

  I bypassed the desk and headed for the elevator. Molly Callendar was on the second floor at the far end of the corridor, right by the emergency exit stairs.

  A breakfast tray sat on the floor by the door, the remains of stuffed French toast and coffee waiting to be removed.

  My stomach growled, reminding me I’d rushed out before grabbing anything to eat. I made a mental note to stop by the hot dog vendor when this was all over.

  I rapped on the door and waited. Darkness covered the spyhole and I knew she was there assessing whether to open the door to me.

  After a few seconds the door opened.

  “Hello. You must be the courier.”

  Molly Callendar wasn’t anything like what I expected. Instead of a witless young woman who tripped into an office affair I saw a tall, slender woman close to my own age with short red hair brushing her shoulders. She smiled at me and stepped back to allow me to enter.

  The harsh chemical smell told me she’d recently colored her hair. It made sense considering she was about to relocate and wanted to change her appearance. An oversized flowery blouse and blue jeans completed the image of harried mother.

  “I’m Rebecca.” I scanned the room behind her automatically. Standard hotel issue, including a kitchenette. A portable crib sat in the far corner. “You’re Molly Callendar?”

  “Yes. You must be from David’s office.” She gestured me in with a nervous glance into the hallway. Molly closed and locked the door before moving to sit on the couch, motioning for me to join her.

  I sat opposite her in an overstuffed dark red chair, then pulled the envelope out of my messenger bag. “I brought the agreement for you to look over. Before we get started I have to ask—are you being forced into this? Is he threatening you in any way? Are you or the baby afraid for your life?”

  “No, not at all.”

  I heard the truth in her voice. My shoulder muscles eased up, the tension rushing out of them as I watched her.

  “I have to ask, you understand.” I passed over the envelope. “I want to make sure you’re doing this of your own volition. If you think you’re in danger I can take you to a shelter, someplace safe for you and the baby.” I knew I sounded paranoid but I’d seen angry men lash out at anything, anyone vulnerable if they felt they weren’t getting what they perceived as their fair part.

  There was no one more vulnerable than a mother and her newborn.

  She nodded. “Thank you. I’m sure there might be women who fall into that sort of situation but I’m not one of them.” The wad of legal documents fell onto her lap from the overturned envelope. “David’s a nice fellow but we both got...stupid.” Molly shook her head. “Both of us were fools. I should have known better, taken more precautions. I knew he wasn’t going to leave his wife but it was the right time and the right place.” She glanced at the crib, a gentle smile replacing the sadness of talking about her ex-lover. “But I can’t be too mad at the man. He did give me Liam.”

  I glanced over as she flipped through the pages. “Liam. Lovely name.”

  “Runs in my family. He’ll be the third generation. My father has it as a middle name and my grandfather had it as a first.” She picked up a pen from the table, monogrammed with the hotel’s name, and turned her attention to the forms. “Excuse me.”

  “Take as long as you need.” I sat back. “There’s no rush. Make sure you read everything through and understand what’s being proposed and agreed to. If you have any questions, ask. I’m not a lawyer but I might be able to help you decipher the legalspeak.”

  She chuckled. “I think I’ll manage. If it’s got to do with money I’m pretty hip.” Her attention went to the agreement. Molly chewed on the end of the pen as she flipped pages back and forth.

  I didn’t say a word.

  My cell phone buzzed against my hip. I snatched it up, giving Molly a quick look. She hadn’t turned away from studying the papers.

  The text message leaped out at me in blocky letters.

  It was from Bran.

  WHERE R U?

  I chuckled. He’d easily forsworn basic English for the textspeak.

  My fingers bounced across the tiny keyboard. I hadn’t gotten all the bells and whistles of this fancy model figured out. It was easier to mangle simple sentences than compose odes like other people could.

  I FINE. WORKIN

  I heard Shakespeare spinning in his grave like a wind turbine in my mind.

  The response shot back a minute later. Molly ignored me, her pen zipping across the pages as she initialed some sections and boldly stroked through others.

  MISS U. BED COLD. COME BCK SOON. LUV U

  The lump in my throat could have throttled T. rex. I’d become a pretty good liar over the years due to my profession but this wasn’t trying to trick some guy into telling me about his mistress or digging at some bar floozy to see how often a client came in and drank away his paycheck before going home.

  This was the man I loved.

  Each letter singed my fingertips as if I were pounding on red-hot iron. I needed to get this done and done quickly.

  BE BACK ASAP. LUV U 2

  The response shot back within seconds.

  XOXOXO. I CALL LATER MAYBE WE MEET FOR LNCH?

  I closed the tiny keyboard and felt even worse, if it were possible.

  Molly scribbled something in the margin on one of the pages. “I’m changing this from quarterly to monthly. I don’t want to end up destitute ’cause David forgot to make a payment. Monthly I can at least budget for mistakes and hold it together until things are sorted out.” She looked over. “I’m telling you because I know he’s going to give a big sigh and say he wouldn’t forget.” Her thin lips twisted into a smile. “He forgets.”

  The baby stirred in the portable crib. A low burble started, rising in volume.

  I got up and waved Molly back to studying the forms. “I’ll get him.”

  She eyed me for a second, sizing me up, before nodding. “That would be great, thanks. I’ll be done in a few minutes.” She returned to reading and marking up the paperwork.

  I walked over to the dark purple crib and leaned in to see Liam. The blue-eyed boy grinned at me. He didn’t have much hair, the reddish fuzz on his head barely enough to cover the fair skin. Wrapped securely in a light blue blanket he cooed and gurgled at me, a little bundle of happiness. />
  “Aren’t you a sweetie?” I purred. He flicked his little tongue out with a look of surprise, as if he’d just discovered it.

  I leaned in and picked him up carefully, supporting his neck and back as I’d been taught by Ruth.

  I sighed, missing my old friend. She’d been a surrogate mother to me and dozens of other Felis kids, from changing our diapers to helping us on our first hunts. The wound of losing her was still raw.

  Liam burbled at me. He blinked, trying to figure out who this stranger was.

  I smiled back and took a deep whiff of baby powder, formula...

  And something familiar.

  Liam settled into the crook of my arm, smacking his lips in anticipation of a feeding. I drew in a deep breath before focusing all my senses on the baby in my arms.

  I smelled Molly’s scent on him, fresh and powerful.

  A secondary smell lay under, a blending of his parents. It wasn’t as reliable as DNA but for the Felis it was as important. I’d been able to identify a Felis’s lost child once through the scent of the boy’s fur, a combination of the two parents along with his own distinct trace.

  I sniffed again, mentally eliminating Molly from the mix.

  The father wasn’t Brayton. My short time in the office had provided enough for me to remember his scent. His sweat had thickened the air around us—imperceptible to anyone unless they had enhanced senses.

  Like a Felis. Like me.

  I tried to calm my racing heart. If Brayton was willing to take in someone else’s child as his own, who was I to interfere? The arrangement between the two adults was none of my business as long as there was nothing illegal going on.

  There was something familiar about the smell, like a faint memory of a mother’s cooking in the kitchen. I wrinkled my nose and mentally flipped through my files, trying to identify the father.