Family Pride (Blood of the Pride)

by Nantus, Sheryl

  Or redecorate and put a couch over it.

  Bran called out. “Nothing in the bathroom. Looks like they swept everything including the sink and toilet. Garbage can is empty and dry.”

  I opened the minifridge. Not even a bottle of water, much less formula. I hoped the killer had at least taken whatever Molly had stored in here for Liam’s sake.

  “Techs did a good job.” Bran moved around the couch, deftly sidestepping the crimson stain on the carpet. “I want to say it’s a good thing but—” he shook his head, “—the one time you don’t want them to be efficient and they do.”

  I fought against the rising feelings of depression, hopelessness. It wasn’t that I didn’t have faith in Attersley’s CSI buddies but I wasn’t sure Bran could deal with failure. He needed to do something before he exploded with anger and frustration.

  I knew the way the police worked. They’d have fingerprinted every surface and compared it to the hotel employees to eliminate some of the prints. They’d have dropped mine out along with Molly’s.

  Which would still leave them with an overwhelming stack of wild unidentified people who they’d run through the system. Unless, of course, the murderer wore gloves, which made finding a match an exercise in futility.

  “Got something.” Bran held up a long strand of reddish hair. He frowned and stretched it out between two fingers. “Too long for the baby.”

  I took it from him and sniffed it. I could smell the hair dye. “Molly’s.” I crawled around on my knees, squinting at the floor.

  Ten minutes later I was cross-eyed and the back of my head was throbbing.

  “There’s nothing here,” Bran said. “They did a good job of cleaning up.”

  I was beginning to get worried. The longer we stayed here the more likely someone would find us here.

  I wasn’t willing to put too much trust in the cleaning chippie.

  “Let me try something.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity.

  I gave each scent a color as they floated across my inner eye. Red, yellow, green. Various shades of blue for who I suspected were cops. Hank was here as well—cerulean blue for him.

  “Damn.” The scents were too mixed and too many. I had a hard time picking out Liam and Molly amid the swarm of police, crime scene technicians and grumpy detectives. Flailing around in the cloud I took another route—elimination.

  I got to my feet. My knees throbbed and I hoped it wasn’t the first signs of arthritis. It took a second to brush off my jeans and consider adding a permanent supply of painkillers to my pockets.

  “I can tell you Brayton and your father weren’t here.”

  “And?”

  “That’s all.”

  “That’s all?” Bran snapped. “It doesn’t mean they weren’t involved, it doesn’t mean anything.” His voice rose. “You can find a fucking clue in a piss-filled, shitty alleyway and you can’t find squat in a hotel room?”

  A snarl bubbled up in my throat at the reference to Janey Winters. I was tired, terrified and my nerves were jangling like Santa’s sleigh bells.

  “If you can do better, let’s see it.” I moved in close, our noses almost touching so I wouldn’t feel the need to yell and draw attention to our presence. “It’s your goddamn father who got us into this in the first place. He threatened my Pride, he threatened me, he threatened you and he threatened us. Get mad at him but don’t take it out on me.”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Not from where I’m standing.”

  Bran drew back. He drew a hand over his face, brushing away invisible cobwebs. “I’m just...” His fingers twitched. “So fucking annoyed at everyone and everything right now.”

  “Including me?”

  The edge of his mouth twisted up into a sad smile. “Maybe a little bit.”

  I couldn’t help smirking. “Welcome to my world.”

  His hand shot out and grabbed the back of my neck, a rough, possessive grip.

  He pulled me into a heated, breathless kiss. Surprised and shocked, I fell against him without resistance, grabbing his waist for support.

  I gasped as he pulled away. My legs were wobbly and not from crawling on the floor. “What’s that for?”

  “For loving a fool.”

  “That makes two of us.” I relaxed under his touch. “Let me make one last sweep and we’ll go. The longer we stay here the more likely someone’s going to find us.”

  Bran moved to the door and leaned on it. He crossed his arms and waited.

  I went to the center of the room and closed my eyes, trying to shut out the white noise. A couple making love below us. A car outside, backfiring and burning oil. Bran’s heartbeat, fast and increasing with every second.

  I wiped out the personal scents in my mental kaleidoscope. Disregard the people, drop the living components. Look at the list of smells from nonhuman sources.

  Baby powder. Deodorant. Sour milk.

  A dense, acidic taste landed at the back of my throat. Not hair dye, not blood.

  Tobacco. Thick, unfiltered cigarette—maybe a Camel.

  Molly wasn’t a smoker and I knew the cops damned well wouldn’t have lit up while processing a crime scene.

  I dropped to the ground and inspected the carpet near where the crib had sat. Sure enough there was a scattering of ashes so faint it might have been missed by the techs. The gray residue ground into the shag by multiple shoes, pushed so deep into the carpet it’d be invisible to the naked eye.

  But not invisible to a Felis.

  I spun the scenario, whispering it loud enough for Bran.

  “He came in here via the front door, probably knocked right after I left. Either she opens it without looking, thinking it’s me, or he cons his way in saying he’s room service or housekeeping or whatever.”

  I looked at the scarlet stain. “Liam’s sleeping in the crib. The killer doesn’t make small talk, doesn’t bargain with Molly.” I lifted my hand and curled my fingers in, index pointing at the stain. “He shoots her using a silencer. One bullet straight to the heart. She hits the ground and he does the follow-up to the back of her head. No one hears the noise.”

  I turned toward where I’d last seen the crib. “Liam either sleeps through it all or doesn’t understand what’s going on, God willing. All he knows is this strange man’s grabbing his stuff.”

  Bran nodded, urging me on.

  I continued. “He’s smoking the entire time, cool and collected. He doesn’t panic if Liam makes a noise, doesn’t flinch at shooting a woman and stealing her baby.” I waved at the almost invisible ash. “Cigarette burns too long while he’s here while he’s packing the baby up. Ash falls off and he grinds it into the carpet or doesn’t worry about it. Not dumb enough to leave the butt behind—he finishes the smoke in here or outside but he keeps the butt with him.”

  It wasn’t what we’d come for but it was something.

  Especially if it helped find Liam.

  “Well done.” Bran smiled.

  I tapped my nose. “A powerful thing, this is.”

  He leaned in and kissed the tip. “I’d say. Wonder how you stand to be with me some mornings, the way I must smell.” His voice dipped down. “Especially after a busy night.”

  I wrinkled my nose, adding in a dramatic sigh. “I survive. Besides, the shared showers provide a bonus.” I went to the door. “Let’s move before your sweet little girl decides to sell us out to a higher bidder.”

  The lobby was clogged with visitors checking out, the frazzled hotel clerk fighting to stem the tide of nervous questions and wary looks. We slipped through the crowd and out onto the street past the doorman who struggled to keep the door open for all the pedestrian traffic.

  It was after eight in the evening, late
enough for the attire to switch from business suits to jeans and T-shirts. A group of teenagers yelled assorted curses at a fancy sports car cruising slowly down Yonge Street, heading for the end of the road at Lake Ontario. A nearby hot dog vendor flipped over a grilled onion, making my mouth water. The neon signs were coming on with buzzes and hums, lighting up the sky.

  It’d be a lovely evening if there wasn’t a missing baby out there.

  I resisted the urge to start checking every stroller going by. Whoever the killer was, he was long gone.

  Didn’t mean I wasn’t glancing at everyone passing us with a child in their arms.

  I tugged at Bran’s arm as he went to wave over a cab from the taxi stand. He frowned and lowered his hand.

  “Let’s walk for a bit.” I wanted him to work off some of the stress and if we talked I wouldn’t be worrying about a snooping cab driver.

  Bran pulled off the bandages and examined his hands as we walked, the leather duster billowing out behind him as he took long, purposeful strides. I knew it was more from anger than any intent to get away from the hotel.

  “I need to talk to my father,” he whispered. “I need to get his side in this, find out what he knows or doesn’t know.” The unspoken question hung between us—whether his father hired Molly’s killer or not.

  “Do you think he’ll tell you the truth?”

  His pace increased. “I’ll make him tell me. I can’t go on not knowing his involvement in this.”

  I sped up my steps, taking two to his one to try to keep even. “We will.” I took his hand, slowing him a fraction. “As soon as Liam’s safe.”

  Bran paused and I saw the inner conflict, the urge to beat the truth out of his father versus the need to find his half brother.

  “I’ve never been a mother but I do know enough about babies to know they’re high-maintenance. Whoever wanted Molly dead will be moving to get Liam out of this thug’s hands soon enough. I doubt this guy’s working as a babysitter on the side and knows much more than how to change a diaper, if that.”

  Bran licked his lips. “If that,” he repeated. “And if Liam doesn’t get out of this punk’s hands soon enough who knows what could happen.”

  I didn’t pursue that line of thinking.

  It would only be a few steps from a hotel or flophouse to a Dumpster to get rid of a baby’s body and vanish into the underground if the kidnapping went wrong. The police files were filled with missing children who’d never been found.

  My stomach lurched at the idea of Liam joining their ranks. I’d held the wee one for only a few minutes but he’d taken a stranglehold on my heart.

  Bran shifted to one side to avoid a gaggle of schoolgirls giggling over something on their cell phones. “I wish you could tell the cops about my father.” His right hand waved in the air impotently. “It’d make a big difference.”

  “It would. But without anything more than my word they won’t give your father a second look. He’s too powerful and he’ll throw up a blockade of lawyers that’ll keep everyone out.” I shook my head. “It’d take a court order to get a paternity test done and I don’t see your father voluntarily agreeing.”

  “Could we use my DNA?” Bran interrupted. “Check Liam’s genes against mine?”

  I blinked, a small beam of sunlight chasing away the heavy cloud in my mind. “We could. I think the results would show that. But going from that to your father is a hell of a leap and there’d be a lot of denial flying around.” I gestured at the busy street. “Meanwhile Liam’s still out there.”

  Bran stopped and spun around, away from the human migration. He put his back against a stone pillar of some ancient building, masquerading now as an office building. The deep sigh tore at my heart.

  “I don’t know if I’m screwed up or not.” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “I’m pissed off about the affair, I’m pissed off about the baby—but I’m most pissed off because he tried to blackmail you.” He held up his fists. “I’ve never been so angry in my life.”

  I put my hands over his fists. “I know. And I appreciate it.”

  “If it were just you and me,” he huffed, “I’d be able to deal better. But this is so much more, so many other lives getting messed up because he has to be in control of everything and everyone.” Bran looked upward. “If only I’d faced him down before, told him I wasn’t taking his shit anymore. Not letting him run my life and my mother’s, bribing me to stay silent while he screwed around on her.”

  “You were a kid when it started. How could you know what was going on? Don’t overanalyze it.” The cold stone against my back cooled the growing anger against Michael Hanover. “Don’t get caught up in the cycle of wondering what if—it’ll keep you from seeing straight. I’ve played the game and once you get started you get twisted up and turned around.”

  Bran looked at me. “Your parents?”

  I studied an empty cardboard box. “I could have been in the car with them. I should have been.”

  “Why weren’t you?”

  I rubbed my nose. “I threw a hissy fit about staying back with Ruth and helping her cook pies. It was a holiday. It wasn’t supposed to be a permanent visit.”

  “Except it turned into one.”

  I swallowed hard. “We rushed to the hospital and the pies burned. Never helped her cook after that. Playing ‘what if’ can screw you up. Took me a few years to figure it out.” I touched Bran’s shoulder. “Although I’m happy I’m pretty high up the list of things that mean a lot to you.”

  He looked at me, deep brown eyes filled with anger and angst. “You’re my world, Rebecca. There’s no one before I want to remember and there’ll be no one after you.”

  The emotions wrapped around me like a second skin, warm and soothing.

  I ran a finger over his lips, choking on my words. There was nothing I could say, nothing would even come close.

  His fist uncurled and linked with my hand, fingers intertwining. We stood there for a few minutes, watching the herds of tourists surge back and forth.

  I jumped as my cell phone vibrated. It took me a few seconds of fumbling accompanied by swearing before I got it out of my pocket.

  Bran tensed up beside me. His jaw tightened to the point of obvious pain.

  I stared at the caller identification. “It’s Jess,” I whispered before opening the connection. Bran ducked in close as I tilted the phone to the side so he could hear.

  “Where are you two? I called the house and you weren’t there.” The disciplinary tone had me wincing.

  “We went back to the hotel room to look for clues. Our suspect smokes Camels, no filters.” I could taste the grimy slime on my tongue. “It’s not much, but—”

  “Good,” Jess said. “We’ve got a few suspicious hits and that’ll help weed them out. Let me call you back in a few minutes after we dump the chaff.” The line went dead.

  Chapter Six

  “What does that mean?” Bran asked.

  “It means members of the family are reporting seeing a redheaded baby with someone who’s obviously not his father or mother.”

  “How many of you are there?” Bran asked. “I mean, out there.” He waved at the street.

  “Hundreds. Maybe thousands. I’ve never worried about getting an actual count.” I rubbed a particularly itchy spot on my back against the rough brick. “You saw how many lived in Penscotta. They work and live normal lives like everyone else.”

  “Except they’re Felis.”

  “Except for that.”

  “Now you’ve got me wondering how many people I pass by every day who are family,” Bran said, eyes searching the crowd. “Don’t you think about it?”

  “No.” I couldn’t help the bitterness creeping into my speech. “I’m outcast, remember?”

  He looked at me. “Not
so much now, according to Jess.”

  I shrugged. “Talk is cheap. All I know is when I was growing up in the foster care system any Felis I met ignored me, turned their backs on me.” I scanned the human migration around us. “After a while I stopped looking for them.”

  The cell phone buzzed for attention.

  “Okay,” Jess said. “I’ve got something.” A painful silence followed for a few seconds. “Go to Tony’s Convenience over at Sterling and McCaster. It’s west of Yonge Street by about three blocks.”

  Bran stepped away, lifting his hand and pointing at the traffic.

  “What’s the red flag?” I scowled as a pair of cabs sped on by, ignoring us.

  “Guy came in to buy diapers and formula bouncing a baby on his hip like a sack of potatoes. Seemed uneasy and didn’t look comfortable carrying the baby.”

  “Pretty thin.” I watched Bran flip the bird at another cab charging through the intersection without slowing down.

  “Best we got right now. Guy also bought smokes—might be Camels but Tony wasn’t sure. We’ll check the receipt when we get there but he didn’t approve of the guy smoking round the baby. That’s what made him even more memorable, puffing like a chimney in the kid’s face. Not too many idiots doing it these days, thank God.”

  “‘We’?” I choked on the one syllable.

  The chuckle startled me. “Kit, you can’t ask me to call a hunt and not expect me to get involved. It’s my neck on the line with the Board for getting us all involved and if I’m going to take a hit I’m sure as hell going to bring you along for the ride. See you there.”

  She cut the connection.

  I flashed back to a memory of my first hunt, of Ruth helping me back to the house. Jess had watched us come in, sitting on the porch with her legs swinging back and forth as we limped along the trail coming out of the forest, me hobbling along with a broken ankle and leaning on the older woman for support.

  The last Board member waiting for the last hunter to come home.

  “You’re the last.” She looked at her watch. “Late by about eight hours.”