Michael looked around the living room with a nervous glance.
“Just us,” Bran said, guessing at the reason.
“Good.”
I headed for the couch and sat down.
The two men stayed silent. This wasn’t going to be easy or quick.
Jazz trilled, then nudged my hand and lay down beside me, letting out a demanding merp. I patted her head and reached for the ever-present packet of cat treats on the unbroken side table.
Bran didn’t look over.
It was like watching a young lion and an old lion jousting for leadership. Bran rubbed his chin, unwilling or unable to sit down while Michael took up a position in the center of the living room, arms crossed, waiting for something.
Michael loosened his tie and cleared his throat with something close to a cough.
Jazz, sensing the tension, scooted up the stairs with a last nudge of her cold clammy nose on my hand.
“I’m not sure where to start,” the elder Hanover mumbled.
Bran stayed silent.
I got up and perched myself on the edge of the sofa and spun an imaginary wheel with my fingers. “Let’s begin with you blackmailing me last night.”
Michael glared at me. “I don’t like that word.”
“I don’t like being threatened. So now we’re equal.”
The elder Hanover eyeballed me, searching for a weakness. I knew he was looking for a way to break through my armor and make me bend to his will.
“Don’t even try. You don’t have enough mojo to get out of this.” I let a snarl creep into my voice. I was tired of parents and family. “At the start you pulled me into this because you wanted to have no paper trail leading back to you and your associates. The sad thing is I might have done it for nothing if you’d asked nicely. Instead you threaten to fuck me over by digging up my family tree,” I rumbled. “And trust me—you wouldn’t be happy with the results of your excavation. Some roots are better left unearthed.”
Michael crossed his arms. “Maybe I should send in the diggers regardless of what happens here.”
I wagged my finger in the air. “I wouldn’t. Not unless you want to be responsible for more deaths.”
That earned me a frown and a cautious look before the stoic mask returned.
I didn’t flinch. I already felt partially responsible for Callendar’s death—I couldn’t allow myself to get wrapped up in emotional bondage again.
“Who is Molly Callendar?” Bran growled. I heard the anger and sadness in his voice battling for control.
Michael looked over. “A woman.” The dismissive tone sent my pulse skyrocketing. “A temp who worked in my office, doing paperwork and the like.” He waved his hand to the side. “No one special.”
Bran slapped his hand down on the remaining side table, making me jump. It sounded like a rifle going off. “She’s the fucking mother of your son.”
Michael’s response didn’t change. He didn’t break into tears or start raging. I could almost see the computer inside his mind weighing what to say and how to look while saying it.
He was a pro at keeping secrets.
“Says who? You? The police?” His tone shifted to dismissive. “Rebecca here, of the mysterious past and less than reputable employment?” He scowled at Bran. “Who says the baby’s mine?”
“Is he?” Bran stopped pacing and faced his father. “Is Liam your son?”
“Where did you get such a crazy idea?” Michael nodded in my direction. “Did she put you up to this?” He gave Bran a predatory look. “What’s your game here?”
“Is Liam your son?”
“Looks to me like you’ve already made up your mind,” Michael shot back. “What wild theories are spinning around in that brain of yours? What crazed, warped worlds are you wandering through right now?” He gave me a sideways glance. “Did she give you some sort of drug? Are you drinking too much?”
Bran wasn’t going to be diverted from his mission. “Molly Callendar’s baby. Is he your son?”
Michael glared at me, hoping for a better reaction. “What have you put into his head?”
“Nothing but the truth,” I replied in as calm a voice as I could muster. Part of me wanted to jump up and claw his face to shreds, pound that smug smile into snail snot for what he was putting my mate through.
The other, saner part, reminded me this wasn’t my fight. I couldn’t fight Bran’s battles and he couldn’t fight mine.
Didn’t mean I couldn’t be ready to jump in if needed.
“Is he your son?” Bran repeated through clenched teeth.
Michael let out a sigh. “Brandon, don’t be such a drama queen.” He studied his well-manicured fingernails. “You make it sound like it’s something important.”
Bran moved in on his father, charging into his personal space. “Molly Callendar is dead and I think you’re responsible.”
Michael tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, ignoring the challenge. “Oh, do you?” He sneered at me. “And why would I have your girlfriend run papers back and forth if I were going to kill Molly Callendar?”
I noted he’d already placed himself at the center of the murder conspiracy. “You had David Brayton play the role of Callendar’s ex-lover to keep you out of the picture.” I kept spinning the scenario. “You asked him to pretend to be the father and arrange for the payoff to Molly and Liam.”
“Liam,” Michael Hanover repeated, rolling the word out far longer than he should have. “Nice name.”
I ignored him. “Brayton negotiated a good deal for her and she agreed to keep everything secret. But maybe sometime between me returning to Brayton’s office and going back with new terms she changed her mind. Perhaps she decided she wasn’t happy with the idea of leaving town and starting a new life elsewhere.” I tried to keep the snarl out of my voice, only partially succeeding. “Maybe Molly flinched, didn’t want to leave her family and friends in order to live a lie out west. Possibly she called you up direct and asked for more money, maybe she asked for official recognition for Liam and inclusion in your family tree, something you weren’t prepared to deliver.” I paused, breathless from running down the theories.
“Maybe dwarves came up from their underground caves and killed her for not agreeing to marry their evil king,” Michael drawled.
I looked at Bran. We were spinning our wheels and going nowhere fast.
“Such a wild theory.” Michael crossed his arms, feet anchored to the floor. “And your proof is...” His eyes bored into mine like a diamond drill. Here was a man who’d withstood legal questioning on financial affairs and had dozens of expensive lawyers on speed dial. He wasn’t going to break down on my watch.
Mentally I stuttered, smashing into the invisible wall.
Bran moved in to save me. “You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to see the resemblance, Dad.” He held up his hands, his voice suddenly soft and gentle. “I held him. He’s adorable and has red hair and the cutest wee eyes.”
Michael drew a sharp breath, something almost like a gasp.
Bran’s voice went up a notch. “Did you ever see him? Did you ever hold him?”
The mask fell back into place. Michael’s features hardened. “Of course not. Why would I?”
Bran stuttered through the reply, shocked. “Because he’s your son. My brother.”
“Technically he would be your half brother,” Michael corrected him. “And what makes you think he’s even that?”
I resisted the urge to squirm off the edge of the sofa. We were wandering into the danger zone.
“He looks like you. Like me,” Bran said.
Michael huffed. “Bullshit. You looked like a turnip when you were born. Didn’t make me think your mother banged a farm wagon.”
Bran glanced at me.
It was enough to redirect his father to a new target.
“Rebecca.” Michael turned away from Bran, zeroing in on me. “What makes you think he’s my son?”
“Brayton’s a bad liar. So was Molly.” I gestured at Bran. “Ask him—I can smell a lie a mile away. It’s my job.” I kept talking, waiting for signs the story was taking hold. “Let me lay it out for you. You ask for a favor, albeit blackmailing me for it. I trot over to Brayton’s office and he spins a tale for me about his wife and a secret lover and a baby.” I glared at the older man. “You don’t think I’ve seen someone lie for a friend before? He blusters and blathers and flaps his arms like he’s about to take flight. I’ve seen—” I coughed.
I was about to say crib brothers.
I doubted he’d understand a Felis reference.
“I’ve seen family lie for family and friends lie for friends. I don’t know what you’ve got on Brayton but he’s not as good a liar as you are.”
His eyes narrowed. He was buying some of it but not all.
I bit my tongue to keep the urge to tell him it’d taken seconds to scent his paternity on Liam’s wee little body. My theory would have to be enough to convince him—one Hanover knowing about the Felis was enough. I couldn’t afford to say more and at this point I didn’t give a rat’s ass if he believed me or not.
I sneaked a glance at Bran. You could bounce a coin off his shoulders, the tension pulling the shirt so tight across his frame.
“But it’s all gone belly-up and now the question you have to ask yourself now is, will Brayton take the fall for you? It’s one thing to play the jilted lover, the single father sending monthly checks to his son. Quite another to go down on a murder rap for killing Molly Callendar. Maybe he’s your best friend, maybe you’ve got dirt on him. Maybe he owes you a big favor for all those years of making money and squirreling it away in offshore accounts. But is it enough to keep him quiet through a murder trial and prison? Or is he going to jump at the chance to cut a deal and throw you to the wolves to save his own skin?”
Michael’s face armor faltered for a second before hardening again. But it was enough to let me see the cracks.
I stayed on the offensive.
“Brayton’s going to get one of the best defense lawyers and those men and women don’t flinch at digging up bodies to save their clients. She’s going to ask questions and check schedules and use all her resources to establish an alibi for Brayton and throw the jury off his trail. Question is, what will the hunters find when they start following the trail back through Hanover Investments?”
Michael cleared his throat. It sounded like a rifle shot in the silence.
I kept going. “I can tell you what they’ll find. They’ll find whoever was paid to kill Molly. People talk, people gossip—and when there’s a baby missing people tend to throw everyone under the bus to keep a child safe. When they find Molly’s killer is he going to point the finger at your or at Brayton? Did you pay him enough to keep quiet through a murder and kidnapping rap or is he going to roll for a few years off his sentence?”
I knew Shaw was dead but he didn’t. Easier to let him believe Shaw could be found and flipped for a plea deal.
“When they drag the guy you paid into the station, can you count on him not to talk? Follow the money—right back to your office.” I smiled and spread my hands. “And if he doesn’t spill everything the cops will still be throwing charges around. They’ll get one of you for the murder and the other for assisting. They don’t care which name goes on the arrest warrant as long as it sticks.”
Now it was my turn to circle Michael and Bran, taking soft silent steps around my living room. Michael stared straight ahead while Bran watched me with a mixture of fear and sadness. I was shredding his father in front of him and it had to be done.
I continued. “Now here’s how I would play it if I were your lawyer. You might have told the thug to take Liam from Molly and leave her behind but it goes all wrong. Molly puts up a fight and won’t give her baby up. She throws something at him, threatens to call the cops, maybe she starts to scream hoping to draw attention to herself. Guy panics and shoots her. Now he’s fucked—this isn’t what he wanted, what he was paid for. He takes the baby as agreed to but now there’s a problem—instead of a kidnapping you’ve got a dead woman, something you can’t make go away with your money. He runs and now things are a lot more complicated. He calls Brayton and now it’s spiraling out of control. Brayton didn’t sign on for this.”
A slight tic appeared on the elder Hanover’s left cheek.
I went in for the kill.
“If you go to the cops now and explain what’s going on you might save your ass. I know we don’t have the death penalty in Canada but a full confession would help Molly’s family to begin to move on and allow you to cut some sort of deal,” I offered. “A good lawyer can work out a plea deal, maybe a few years on lighter charges and probation. You didn’t pull the trigger.” I played the final card. “Liam’s got to start life without a mother. Let’s not make it worse by putting his father in prison.”
Michael looked at me intently for a long minute, studying me.
I didn’t move.
His eyes locked with mine as he tried to assess how serious I was.
I glared back.
His lips split apart into a wide smile.
He clapped, the hollow sound echoing through the living room.
“Bravo.” He glanced at Bran. “She’s got a great imagination. I can only wonder what you two get up to in bed.”
Bran scowled, his fists at his side.
“I’ve read some good detective stories. Sherlock Holmes, the usual. Loved the Spenser series. Can’t say the same for the television series—I think Ellery Queen was the best.” Michael sauntered back and forth in front of us, hands clasped behind his back. “If I recall correctly in all of these stories the bad guys have a motive, a raison d’être for committing the crime.” He paused for effect. “So what’s my motive in killing Molly Callendar?”
I winced inside.
“Ah.” He wagged a finger at me. “And there’s the rub. If I wanted Molly killed I’d have done it before she had the baby, perhaps when she announced she was pregnant.”
My stomach twisted into knots. “When Molly told you she was expecting what was the work situation? Did you let her go?”
Michael stopped and shot me a puzzled look. “What sort of man do you think I am?”
I swallowed back my response.
“She worked up until her ninth month, as long as the doctor said she could.” He lowered his chin and let out a chuckle. “Brayton told her she could leave whenever she wanted but she asked to finish out her contract. Have to appreciate that sort of work ethic.”
I resisted the urge to grin. I loved it when people forgot to compare notes.
Made it easier to catch him/her in a blatant lie.
“So Brayton knew about the pregnancy from the start?” I asked.
Michael nodded.
“Strange. He told me he didn’t know anything about Liam until she showed up with him in her arms asking for child support.”
Michael’s lips slipped into a tight thin line.
It wasn’t a smoking gun but it was a definite crack in the wall.
I didn’t spend any time enjoying my victory. “Who did you tell about Molly other than Brayton?”
Silence.
“I’m not asking you for your credit card number. I’m asking who else knew Molly was pregnant.”
Bran interjected. “Brayton’s assistant? His receptionist?”
Michael’s nostrils flared. “When she began showing she requested a transfer to another area so she could sit down more. It was the least we could do for her.”
I noted he hadn’t confessed yet to fathering Liam.
“Where did you send her?” I asked.
“Down to the charities and foundation floors.” He gave a little shrug. “Put her to work pushing papers until she left to give birth.” Michael smiled. “Even had a goodbye card and collection going around on the floor if I recall correctly. I tucked a twenty into the envelope.” His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. “Least I could do.”
Bran shook his head. “You bastard.”
Michael took three short steps, stopped in front of Bran and slapped him.
Hard. This wasn’t a love tap. It was the sort of slap men shot each other over.
I charged toward the two men, skidding to a stop on the hardwood floor inches from them as the reality hit me.
This wasn’t something I could fix. This wasn’t anything I should be trying to fix.
This was between them.
Father and son.
Betrayer and betrayed.
Bran glared at his father as his right cheek flared an angry scarlet. He didn’t move away, didn’t give an inch.
“You bastard,” he repeated. “You get her pregnant and then shove her out of your life with a few dollars. Like anyone else who didn’t want to play by your rules.”
Michael sighed. “Don’t be such a drama queen, Bran. If, for the sake of argument, I did have an affair with Molly Callendar and she got pregnant I would have offered to pay for an abortion if she wanted it. And if she didn’t I’d support her carrying the child to term and consider making arrangements for both of them to have a good life elsewhere.” He pulled out a white handkerchief and mopped his forehead.
Bran’s mouth fell open as if someone had stolen his speech.
I couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing that wouldn’t involve swear words.
There was a faintly sour taste at the back of my mouth, as if I’d drunk vinegar. I swallowed and licked my lips, trying to identify the source. I inhaled once, a sharp puff that laid down the scents around me.
The overlying sweet scent of male cologne drifted in.
I wrinkled my nose. Bran had given up putting anything other than deodorant on after our first few days together resulted in major migraines for yours truly. I liked my men au naturel—as much as possible.
Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) Page 17
