This wasn’t the cheap stuff you gave your father and grandfather for Father’s Day either. This was pricey stuff, the liquid gold selling for hundreds of dollars per tiny bottle.
I located the source and smiled inwardly as I forced the scent out of my mind.
Michael’s expensive cologne had turned, the delicately balanced mixture warping and twisting under the sweat and pheromones coming off the businessman.
He was nervous. This situation was far beyond anything he’d dealt with before.
He was terrified.
Michael took a deep breath, the air stuttering out of his lungs as he steadied himself. His eyes closed.
I looked at Bran. He stared at his father intensely as if his gaze alone could pull the confession out.
“Dad,” Bran said, his voice starting strong but trailing down into a whisper as it went on. “Tell me the truth. For the love of God, tell me what your part is in all of this. He’s my half brother. I need to know.”
“Why?” Michael countered. “Why in God’s name do you care about any of this?” He swept his hand around, encompassing the two of us. “I asked her to help me out, that’s all there is to it. Whether or not this baby is my child is none of your business.”
“It is my business.” Bran thumped his chest with a closed fist. “Because I held him and I know he’s ours. You tell me the truth right now or I’m calling the cops and letting them deal with it.” He scowled. “And the press. Let’s see how you handle a roomful of hungry reporters. We’ll start with the Inquisitor and let it go from there.”
I held my breath. It was a hell of a bluff.
“I am your son. Liam is your son.” Bran pressed on. “For my sake and his, tell me the truth.”
“I...” Michael paused and closed his eyes.
I held my breath.
“I asked David Brayton to negotiate the deal with Molly, send her out of the city with the baby and out of my life. I asked him to make sure she’d never return in exchange for being fully provided for, her and the baby.” He drew a shallow, strangled breath. “I did not kill Molly. I did not arrange to have her killed.” His dark eyes snapped open. “I did not mean for any of this to happen.”
I felt dizzy. There was truth in his words. Maybe not what we wanted to hear but it was a confession of sorts.
Michael Hanover was scared—but he wasn’t lying.
Bran looked at me. I nodded, so slight only he could read it.
The unspoken question reverberated between us. If Michael Hanover hadn’t arranged for Keith Shaw to kill Molly Callendar and kidnap Liam—who did?
“Speaking of this baby...where is he?” Michael blustered. “You said you saw him, held him.” He spun around on Bran, eyes blazing as he zeroed in on his son. Fear twisted to anger in a split second, taking over. “But you never met her. You never knew she existed until this entire damned thing got started. So you’ve seen Liam after the murder, after she was killed.”
Michael sounded proud as if he’d finished a tough word puzzle. “So where is he?” His voice rose into attack mode, the tone he used with his underlings and his son. “Where is Liam?”
Bran didn’t flinch.
I cleared my throat.
Michael turned away from his son. “Where is he?”
“Safe,” I replied. “Until we figure this whole thing out.”
He glared at me. “With who?”
“He’s safe,” I repeated. “And he’s not going anywhere until Bran and I decide it’s time to bring him back.”
Michael looked at me, sizing me up. I wasn’t one of his employees who would bob and grovel to stay in his good graces. I didn’t pull a paycheck from any of his companies and I sure as hell wasn’t a recipient of any of his charities.
“I could call the police. Tell them you’re got the baby,” Michael threatened.
I rolled my shoulders back. “You could. But we’ll have to start talking about all those other little nasty details.” I cocked my head to one side. “You want to start this roller-coaster ride right now?”
He turned back to Bran. “Son...” he started.
“No.”
Michael peered at his son. “You could at least let me finish my sentence.”
“I know what you’re going to say and I’m saying no.” He sliced the air from side to side with his right hand. “I’m not going to tell you where Liam is so you can send your flunkies to get him. I’m not going to make her tell you either.”
Bran looked at me and I almost melted. The love and respect rushing from him almost knocked me off my feet. It didn’t matter what happened with his father. He’d already chosen a side and it was beside me.
“I didn’t kill Molly Callendar,” Michael repeated. “What sort of person do you think I am?” He directed this at Bran. “What sort of person kills an ex-lover in this day and age?”
“You’d be surprised. I see it on the news every day.” I glanced at Jazz, who was peeking at us from the top of the stairs. Her little red nose twitched as she watched us. The tip of her long white tail wove around her feet. “Usually before the weather forecast as they go to jail for a long, long time.”
Michael’s nostrils flared.
I continued my questioning. “But if it wasn’t you or Brayton, then who? Someone looking for payback, someone trying to destroy your reputation? You’ve got to have some idea of who else would want to do something as horrible as this.” I couldn’t help pricking him with that needle—his pride. “Because when this breaks, and it will, your name won’t be worth the ink to write it with.”
Michael lifted his head. “You’d be surprised what the business world will tolerate. Has tolerated.” A smile tugged at his lips as if we’d missed a private joke. “I won’t lie. I’ve made plenty of enemies. But I can’t see any of them going to this degree to get back at me.” He gave an angry shake of his head. “Not when there’s a child involved.”
“Was your affair with Callendar well-known? Aside from Brayton, did anyone else in the office know about you two?” I found myself leaning forward against the mental battering from Michael Hanover. The man dominated a room as much as Jess, if not more. “Secretaries, personal assistants, limo drivers?”
He gave a halfhearted shrug. “People in our world tend to see what they’re told to see—nothing else.” His lips curled into a wry smile. “You write the check, you write the reality.”
I wasn’t one to actively hate anyone but Michael Hanover was beginning to work his way up the ladder.
“We didn’t fool around in the office. I knew better. Met in hotel rooms away from her apartment, used private transportation, the usual options open to men in this type of situation.” He eyed Bran. “I know how to keep secrets. She learned how to. Molly knew there was nothing more to our relationship than pure physical attraction. I never promised her marriage or anything more than total carnal satisfaction.” A wolfish leer appeared. “But I’m sure you know about that, son.”
He looked at me. “Did he tell you about all the women he screwed before you crawled into his bed? All the debauched games he used to play? The man’s a chip off the old block.”
I fought back the urge to yawn. I wasn’t going to be diverted from the matter at hand. A quick glance at Bran confirmed he wasn’t falling for it either.
Bran pressed his lips together, showing the strain this questioning was putting on him. He wasn’t going to rise to his father’s baiting to get away from the topic at hand. But I could tell he was getting tired and annoyed and about to lose his temper in a horrible explosion of anger.
I wanted to hug Bran, tell him everything was going to be okay.
I couldn’t lie. Everything was definitely not going to be okay, not for a long, long while.
Silence wrapped around us like a death shroud, sucking the energy
away.
“Enough.” I broke the standoff and stepped forward, taking the attention away from Bran. I dug out my cell phone and brought up the image of Shaw’s license. I shoved it in Michael’s face. “Do you know this man? Have you ever seen him before?”
Michael peered at the standard ugly government-issue image. “Can’t say that I do.” He swallowed hard. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he studied the picture. “Is he the one who killed Molly?” The sadness in his voice startled me, the sense of loss almost overwhelming his steely confidence.
It was the first sign of honest emotion I’d seen in the man since we’d met. The wavering in his voice, the sudden tenderness when he said her name, it showed the real Michael Hanover under all the smoke and mirrors.
“We think so.” I glanced toward the kitchen, desperately needing a drink. The Brown Betty held cold tea but I knew we had more beer in the refrigerator.
Unfortunately this wasn’t the right time for a good drunk. That’d come later.
I continued digging. “Do you have a specific nemesis, business or personal, someone who would do something like this? A reporter sniffing around for a story, a dubious business connection your radar told you would be trouble. A former friend out for revenge, a former lover.”
Michael stood for a minute in thought, his forehead creased with worry.
I stole a glance at Bran, who was staring at the floor.
“No,” Michael finally confessed. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had my share of dealings bordering on illegal.” His halfhearted smirk pissed me off. “On the razor’s edge and barely this side of the law. But not enough to warrant this sort of response. Besides, an illegitimate child isn’t big news these days. Maybe ten, twenty years ago it’d break your reputation. Now it’s a footnote at the bottom of the newspaper, a commentary in the financial section.” He spread his hands. “No offense but they’d have to try harder to wipe me out. Bigger fish to fry and so forth. It’d be a blip on the business radar if it’d show up at all. After all, it’s only a baby.”
I couldn’t figure Michael Hanover out. His tone fluctuated back and forth between his love for Molly and his disdain for Liam and vice versa. Whatever else the man might be, he rode the emotional hurricane on a minute-to-minute basis.
“It’s my brother,” Bran repeated.
“Your half brother. Remember that.”
I winced inside. Words were power and whatever happened here wouldn’t be easily forgotten by either side.
Bran crossed his arms in front of him. “You don’t tell me what to remember. Okay let’s take this from the top. If we believe you—” Bran held up a finger, forestalling any reply from his father. “If we believe you didn’t have her killed, who did?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t particularly care if you believe me or not. The fact is I didn’t kill Molly or have her killed. And if you had any proof to the contrary I’m sure your fine friend on the police force would have already arrested me or, at the least, taken me in for further questioning.”
I must have made some sort of sound, because Michael stared at me.
“Oh yes,” he purred. “Don’t forget I’ve already been to the station and spoken to your friend Detective Attersley. I told him about how I asked you to do this favor for me—a little thing considering you’re sleeping with my son and trying to move up in the world.”
Michael pointed at me. “I was part of your damned alibi, Rebecca. I told them about sending you to Brayton and took you off the suspect list. I didn’t like it and my lawyers told me not to do it but I figured it was the right thing to do. Keep your name clean.” He glanced over at his son. “But I could call them back. I could weave a different tale if I wanted to. Tell them about the baby being your half brother and lay the foundation for them to suspect you and Rebecca here.” A sneer touched his lips. “Wouldn’t it be a story for the Inquisitor—eh, son? About how you found out Liam was your half brother and you arranged for him to be kidnapped and killed to keep him from his part of the Hanover fortune?”
I resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
The balls would be a much better target.
I drew back, ready to deliver the mother of all kicks to the family jewels, when a breeze brought me more than Michael’s nervous sweat and Bran’s natural musk.
Another scent—one I’d recognize anywhere.
Chapter Ten
A soft sound came from behind us, accompanied by a sickening-sweet whiff of perfume. I closed my eyes and berated myself for not locking the front door.
“What about the Hanover fortune?”
Bernadette Hanover stood in the doorway.
At the back of my mind came the quiet fact I’d been taught on the farm—always have an exit strategy. I’d instinctively left the front door open for a quick exit in case things got ugly.
Except now things were about to get very, very messy. Exploding cans of spaghetti in a pure-white room messy.
She wore a long black coat over her overpriced jeans, a wisp of white ruffle sticking out at her neck. A small black handbag swung from her left elbow.
“What about the fortune?” she repeated.
Michael crossed the room with a handful of long, quick strides to stand in front of her. He took hold of her arms as if she were a porcelain doll teetering on the edge of a cliff.
“You shouldn’t be here. How did you get here?”
“I asked Andrea where you were. She said you were meeting with Bran.” She smiled, artificially whitened teeth almost blinding me. “I called your driver and he told me the address.”
“Ah. Yes.” Michael turned toward Bran and me. “We were just talking about...ah...” His face went blank.
He might have been a practiced liar but not a good one when it came to improvising excuses for discussing murder.
I stepped in, seeing his confusion—not to rescue him but to try to minimize the damage from friendly fire.
“We were talking about making a donation to help find the missing child. You remember when we met at the police station?” I tried to make my tone light, fluffy like cotton candy. “The AMBER Alert and all.”
Bernadette frowned for a second and looked up to one side, accessing her memory file. “Yes, I remember. Horrible thing.” She pushed by Michael and approached me, ignoring her husband. “A reward would be a great idea.” Her voice slipped from soft putty to hardened steel. “But that’s not what you were talking about.”
I looked at Bran, not sure how to handle this.
“Don’t worry about it.” Michael stepped up beside her. “I thought you’d be at the board meeting and I didn’t want to bother you.” He touched her arm. “Now that you’re here, let’s go out to a nice café and relax; let these two crazy kids have some time together. I can call Armando’s and get us a table for dinner.”
Bernadette looked at him. “I’m fine, dear.” The coolness in her words screamed frostbite. “Do you know how boring those meetings are?”
Michael grinned. “I know. But you enjoy helping out people.” He looked at Bran. “We all do.” The hardness in his words warned his son to not reveal anything, to leave it to him.
I wasn’t sure if it was the best option. From where I stood Michael had made nothing but bad decisions from the start where Molly Callendar was involved.
The sweat poured off the elder Hanover’s forehead, dripping from the edge of his nose. The sour smell increased to the point of threatening to choke me out.
“I don’t. Not anymore.” Bernadette took a few steps away from her husband. “Do you know what goes on at those meetings? They’re nothing but gossip central. Women nattering about this and that, about what’s happening with their husbands, their boyfriends.” She stared at Michael. “Their husbands’ lovers.”
Both men moved toward her at o
nce. I hung back, unsure what to do. I’d seen husband/wife confrontations before in this very place, in my office usually due to something I’d discovered on the urging of one or the other. Usually I was able to push one party out the door with the threat of calling the police or, if all else failed, showing off my Taser.
But this was family and I didn’t know what to say or do.
Being neutral didn’t seem to be enough.
“What are you talking about?” Michael tried to bluff, the pasted-on smile beginning to weaken around the edges.
Bernadette’s face hardened into a scowl, the words grinding through clenched teeth. “I know about you and Molly. And all the others.” She looked at Bran, her deep blue eyes wide and sad. “If I had a dime for every woman your father’s screwed I’d be independently wealthy.”
Despite the situation I choked back a laugh.
“She was just a diversion, a flavor of the month.” Michael walked toward her, his arms outstretched. “It wasn’t anything serious.”
“They never are.” She glanced over Michael’s shoulder. “You deal with this sort of stuff all the time, Rebecca. Do men ever just have one affair?”
I swallowed hard. This was not the conversation I wanted to have with my possible in-laws.
“It depends on the relationship between the husband and wife.” I fumbled through the verbal minefield. “Some men regret having an affair and spend the rest of their lives making up for it. Some women never forgive them no matter what they say or do.” I tried hard not to look at Michael. “Some men can’t handle a monogamous relationship, period.”
“And some women put up with it—” Bernadette waved a hand in front of her as if brushing away a fly, “—because of the perks, to be rather crude. Dip your wick anywhere you want but keep the bills paid.” Her voice dropped a level. “And never, never look over the credit card bills and ask what this charge or that charge was for.”
“Bernadette...” Michael’s voice shifted to low and threatening. “Let’s go home and discuss this over a drink or two. We don’t need to bring Bran into this.”
Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) Page 18
