“Yes, yes, we do.” She smiled at Bran. “You grew up to be a smart man.” There was a waver in her voice, scratching nails across my inner chalkboard.
Bran gave me a sideways glance before nodding. “Yes, Mom. I’m pretty smart.”
“Smarter than your father.” She looked at me for a second before returning her attention to Bran. “At least you’ve been careful. You don’t have any little bastards out there waiting to come knocking on our front door years from now to demand their inheritance.”
We all froze in place.
Michael stayed silent.
Bran took short, measured breaths.
A stabbing pain erupted behind my left eye.
“A child, Michael.” The sharp reprimand in her voice reminded me of Jess. “You idiot. I knew you were screwing around on me, but a child? What were you thinking? Haven’t you ever heard of a condom?” She brushed one hand across her face as if pushing a curtain aside. “You haven’t touched me in years and I never complained once even though you know I wanted another child.”
She shook her head. “You sent her down to the charity floor where everyone could see her, see the results of your infidelity.” Her voice broke on the last word, the sob tearing down the last barrier. “She complained about having to take off her ankle bracelet because of the swelling. The silly bitch showed it to a coworker as I was walking by.”
Bernadette took a deep breath before continuing. “She told her friend it was from a weekend trip, a visit to a little boutique in Montreal. Les Deux Amant. I may not be a private investigator but I’m not stupid. She couldn’t afford to go there, not on a temp’s salary. And she sure as hell couldn’t afford an ankle bracelet from an exclusive boutique you’ve taken me to a handful of times. I checked the credit card receipts and there it was, bright as day.” Her voice rose. “When I heard she’d transferred in from Brayton’s office I knew you were involved—Brayton’s an idiot at the best of times and wouldn’t buy jewelry for his own wife, much less a mistress.”
The headache blossomed into a full-fledged migraine with a nausea chaser.
Michael Hanover had sent Molly Callendar to her doom with a simple office transfer.
Bran stepped between his parents, caught between the pair. He lifted both hands, palms out between the two as if he could raise a wall between them with his mind.
“It was an accident,” Michael answered calmly. “She was going to leave us alone, take the child and go as far away as she could. It was the best solution under the circumstances.”
Bernadette gave a dainty snort.
“The best under the circumstances. Do you have any idea what that means?”
A single tear broke free and ran down her left cheek. The streak of dark mascara reminded me of war paint. “Do you know how hard I work to keep this company going? All the damned glad-handing, all the stupid board meetings, all the bloody charity balls and dinners and crap I have to deal with while you prance off with your business buddies to play golf and smoke cigars?”
Michael shook his head, frowning. “I don’t understand.”
“The best solution would have been for you to get legal custody from her, use the legal resources at our disposal and take the child.” Bernadette shook her head. “That child has your blood, Hanover blood. Despite your moral failings he deserves a better life than being raised in a trailer park by some trashy woman who’ll probably end up popping out baby after baby with anyone who wanders by. He deserves the same sort of upbringing our son received.”
Bran blinked. “Like me?”
I moved closer to Bran. His right hand moved toward me, finding and grabbing on to me like a drowning man to a life preserver.
“You had the best.” Bernadette looked at him. “You had the private tutors, the proper schools and the best university. Everything you deserved.”
“Because of my name,” Bran said.
“Because of the Hanover name,” Bernadette corrected him. She turned her attention back to Michael. “I was not about to let this baby roam through the public school system and become another dropout, another failed statistic of the educational system.” She shuddered. “What sort of man would he become? What sort of future would he have with that sort of handicapped start to life?”
I knew the truth but had to say it out loud. “You did it. You arranged for Molly Callendar to be killed.”
Bernadette nodded as if I’d asked her if she liked milk or cream with her coffee. There was no remorse in her eyes and more than a little crazy leaking out.
“It was the only thing to do. I couldn’t allow Michael to let this little baby go off into the world. A check arriving every few months for his mother to spend on cigarettes and beer? What could that silly bitch offer him?”
“She was his mother,” I replied.
Bernadette shrugged. “An accident of genetics.” She eyed Michael. “Your father and grandfather worked hard to make Hanover Investments a success; my family gave you what you wanted to move to the next level, including me. I couldn’t let you throw it all away with an uneducated, untrained illegitimate child showing up in a few decades to take it from us.”
“You followed me to the hotel. Or to be more precise your paid killer did.” I spoke calmly and slowly as if to a child. I wasn’t sure where to go with this or what to do. The situation was spinning out of control and all I could do was hang on for the ride.
“I knew Michael was talking to you about something sleazy, something your type would be dealing in.” Her upper lip curled away from brilliant white teeth. “It didn’t take a genius to figure out he wanted you to help Brayton finish out this little charade. It was easy to have someone follow you and find the woman.” She tilted her head to one side. “You’re not so bright when it comes down to it.”
I ignored the slight. “How did you find someone to do the job?”
“If you give to enough charities you can always find someone willing to take out the garbage.” She giggled. “He was shocked at first but we got down to negotiations soon enough.”
“Keith Shaw,” I added. “You met him when you were at Second Chance, Second Life. He was on parole for murder and you knew he’d be easy to buy.” I knew now why I’d had an odd feeling on the street, the feeling of being watched. “You told him to follow me the second I left the offices and he tracked me to the hotel and Molly’s room.”
Bernadette glared at me. “You’re not as incompetent as you look.”
Her right hand ducked inside the purse and returned with a small silver-plated automatic, a ladies’ weapon. She swung her arm out to one side, sweeping it around. “Now all of you listen to me.” Her voice hardened.
I took a deep breath. This was going from bad to worse to deadly at warp speed.
Chapter Eleven
I studied the weapon. It was a small caliber, most likely a .22. It wasn’t likely to kill you unless you placed a lucky shot right into the head or a vital organ. But a bullet was a bullet and I’d rather no one got shot in my house today.
Michael glared at her. “What are you doing?”
I winced at his tone. If he was hoping to intimidate her into giving up her weapon and her advantage it wasn’t going to happen. This was a woman who’d gleefully ordered the death of another human being without any sign of remorse—she wasn’t going to weep because her hubby grew a pair.
“Keeping our future secure.” She waved the light weapon around. “The baby’s better off with me, with us. We’ll give him everything he needs, everything he deserves.”
“So you’re going to show up with Liam at the next charity ball?” I brought her attention back to me, keeping my eye on where the pistol was pointed. “How are you going to explain him away?” I gestured at her slim form. “You don’t look pregnant. Going to be tough explaining a year-old child away as a newborn if
you’re planning the ‘taking a year abroad for my health’ scenario and returning with him in your arms.”
She let out an annoyed sigh. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s a classic scenario. A distant relative’s child brought to us after an unfortunate accident overseas. We adopt the baby as our own and no one cares as long as the proper paperwork gets filed. If you have enough money you can make anything happen.” Her warped smile grated on my eyes. “Hanover Investments will have a future.”
“What?” Bran interrupted. “What about me?” His grip tightened on my fingers.
“You’re still our son. But you’ve never shown any interest in the business. This fascination with journalism—we thought you’d outgrow it in time and consider your responsibilities to us, to your heritage.”
I frowned. We were slipping down the rabbit hole fast and furiously. “He’s a respected journalist. What do you want from him?”
Bernadette smiled. “I wanted him to step up and be a man, claim his place. Instead he persists in writing these stories for pennies, scrabbling out a living when he could be working beside his father.”
“I like what I’m doing. It’s my life,” Bran replied.
“But you could do so much better,” Bernadette whined. The pistol waved in my direction. “You just need to expand your vision.” Her upper lip curled up. “If you came back to the family business you couldn’t bring her to the dances, to the parties. The Knights have a lovely daughter and the Bentlesons have two. Good families, good reputations. They’d kill to marry into the Hanover line.”
I bit my tongue at the unfortunate phrasing.
“But I don’t want to,” Bran interrupted. He raised our entwined hands. “I love her.”
“Love,” Bernadette scoffed. “Love won’t keep a roof over your head or food on the table. Money does. You should know that. You’re living in the condo, the one we bought. You’re cashing those monthly checks. So don’t tell me how important love is to you when you have your fingers in your father’s pocket.”
My pulse hammered in my ears. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Bran was thinking, what he was going through. Within the last twenty-four hours he’d discovered his father was an adulterer and his mother was a murderess, along with the existence of a half-brother. I wondered why his head hadn’t exploded.
To say this was a lose-lose situation was a major understatement. The least that could come out of this was someone going to prison for a long time.
The worse would be more dead bodies. Judging from the wild look in Bernadette’s eyes it was a viable possibility.
Her hand shook, not from the weight of the tiny weapon. Her master plan was unraveling and I wasn’t sure how far she’d go to keep it alive. I kept watching the pistol barrel as it jumped up and down, left and right on her emotional wild ride.
I might be able to get out of the way of a bullet with my Felis reflexes but I knew Bran wouldn’t and I was darned sure Michael couldn’t.
“So you hired Keith Shaw to follow me to the hotel and find Molly Callendar. You told him to kill her and take the baby back to his own hotel room until you could meet him.” I kept talking, hoping to find some way to bring her back to earth and ground her in reality. Maybe if she realized the depth of what she’d done, the enormity of her bad decisions, she might come around and let us settle this as best we could.
She stared at me.
I didn’t see a high-society woman trying to do what she thought was best for her family.
All I saw was madness.
My heart went into overdrive.
Any hunter will tell you the most dangerous animal isn’t necessarily the one that’s injured or cornered.
The rabid ones are right up there, because when you don’t fear anything you might do anything.
I continued talking, trying to predict her next move. “He sat there in his dirty, grungy little hotel room waiting for your phone call to arrange to drop off the baby or for you to show up and finish the deal.”
The small pistol moved between the three of us, shifting targets. “The woman left her apartment weeks ago, not long after the baby was born. I didn’t know where she was.” She scowled at Michael. “She didn’t leave anything behind, nothing to track her with”
Michael didn’t say anything.
“I paid for her parents to be followed. I figured they’d go visit their daughter at least once before she left town. Nothing.” The spittle flew from her lips. “Damned woman thought she had it all figured out—don’t let anyone know where you’re going, and cover your tracks. I had nothing and Shaw was waiting.”
Her eyes tracked to her husband. “Until we had dinner and you asked to talk to Rebecca alone. I knew you didn’t like her any more than I did. I told Shaw to be there when you had your meeting with her and she trotted off like a good little courier girl to go to where the bitch was holed up.” Her voice broke. “Nice fucking hotel. Keeping your whore in high style.”
Bran’s grip tightened.
“I told Shaw to follow Rebecca and as soon as she was gone to take care of the woman. I knew the cops would look at Brayton. As far as I can tell they still are. The sole ones who know who Liam is are right here. I went to the hotel where Shaw agreed to meet me and saw you walking in, you and Rebecca with some other woman. I waited until I thought it was safe and went to Shaw’s room. He was dead and the baby gone.” The edges of her mouth twitched. “Killing Shaw saved me a bit of cash—I assumed he’d ask for more when he had the baby in hand. Thank you for that much.” The icy stare returned. “But that means you’ve got Liam. Where is he?”
The pistol swept the room, her gaze following.
I anticipated her next move. “He’s not here. He’s with a friend. Safe and sound and out of danger.” Now it was my turn to sound menacing. “From both of you.”
“Shaw struck me as a pretty tough character. How did you get the jump on him, stab him like that?” Fear entered her voice for the first time since I’d met her.
My stomach jumped at the memory of Shaw’s dead body. But this wasn’t the time or place to get sensitive about death.
I curled up my fingers, squeezing them into a fist. “What do you think?” I sounded as nasty as I dared, given the circumstances. If she were afraid of Bran and myself so much the better.
I left out the part where it was Jess who delivered the killing blow, not myself. The devil might be in the details but right now the devil pointed a pistol.
“He was smothering Liam,” Bran offered by way of explanation. “We had to do something to save the baby.”
“What? Why would he do that?” The pistol wavered in her grip, enough to tempt me. I might make it across the floor to knock the gun free but I wasn’t willing to play those odds with Bran’s life.
“The asshole was freaking out because we found him,” Bran growled. I sensed the tension in his voice, in the way he held himself. He couldn’t take much more of this. “He was killing Liam. Drop the gun, Mom. Drop the gun and we’ll sit down and talk about this.”
“We’ll do no such thing. We’ll call the fucking cops,” Michael snapped.
Bernadette’s stare slashed the air around her husband. “You’d hand me over to the police?” The disbelief in her voice rose. “You bastard. You go around screwing anything with a vagina for decades and now I’m the bad guy?”
I felt sorry for her, despite the situation. In a society where men were considered studs and women whores if they took multiple lovers I couldn’t help but agree with Bernadette on one level.
That, however, wasn’t the level where killing and kidnapping were acceptable actions.
“Put the gun down and we’ll talk,” Bran repeated. He shot his father a warning glance—don’t piss off the woman with the weapon.
Michael Hanover might be a business genius but you could put every
thing he knew about women in a thimble and have room left for more.
Michael opened his mouth as if to respond to Bernadette’s accusations and then closed it.
It might have been his best decision in days.
“Put the gun down, Mom. Please.”
Bernadette looked at him as if he’d asked for a second serving of pie. “You don’t understand. I get it—you’ve been writing your little stories and doing your little trips around the country. I understand how you don’t get what I’m talking about.” She drew a ragged breath as if she was running a marathon. “When I married your father your grandfather was adamant about us keeping the family strong, keeping the business strong. We can’t let just anyone take over the family business. We need to guide them, nurture them.” She tilted her head toward Michael. “All of his hard work can’t be wasted on someone who won’t know what to do with it. We need a Hanover at the helm, someone to carry the business into the future.” She sneered at her husband. “If Bran decides not to take it, who will? Your cousin Eric? The idiot who keeps getting caught cheating on his income tax?”
“What, you’re going to take the kid and spend twenty years raising him to take over the business?” Michael snapped. “That’s insane.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. He wasn’t helping.
“If Bran doesn’t take it, then who?” Bernadette replied.
Bran shook his head. “There’s plenty of good friends, good relatives you can hand it over to.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to take a business steeped in blood.”
She shook her head. “I’m tired of this. I want the baby and I want him now.” Bernadette directed her comments to me, ignoring her husband and son. “You call whoever has him and tell him to bring the baby here.”
“No,” I replied.
The acidic sting tore at my senses as if I’d inhaled a full shot of lemon juice. I spun around, yanking my hand free from Bran’s grasp.
Bran stared at me.
Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) Page 19
