“And off the record.” I took the business card.
“I can pay you if you want.” Michael ground the cigarette remains into the sidewalk. “Would it make things easier?”
“No,” I replied. “It’d make it worse.” I turned and walked back into the restaurant.
Bran watched me as I sat down beside him, his forehead furrowed. His left hand snaked over to rest on my bare knee.
“You okay?” he whispered.
Michael slid in beside Bernadette, nattering about the crowded streets outside and how the government hated smokers.
“I’m fine.” I knew the pasted-on smile wouldn’t fool him. “Later.”
The rest of the evening went by in a blur of coffee, tea and small talk. We went over my school days, Bran’s school days, Bernadette and Michael’s school days—the simplicity of it all making me want to tear my hair out, one long blond strand at a time.
“Do you get a lot of murder cases?” Bernadette mused, her fork whittling away on a piece of cheesecake the size of a thimble. “Like the private investigators on television?”
“Not in Toronto.” I smiled. “I let the cops handle that. Too much paperwork.”
Bran squeezed my knee under the table. We’d met over one murder case and bonded through another.
“That woman we met at your house. Jess.” Michael drew a line in the white frosting on his untouched carrot cake. “Was she in some sort of accident? Looks like she got mauled by a lion and lost her eye. Nasty scar.” He clucked his tongue. “Not a whole lot of men like getting it from a crazed cyclops.”
Bran leaped in before I could speak. “Dad, enough. You’ve been grilling Rebecca all night. Let it go.” He folded his cloth napkin in a neat square and placed it next to the remains of his chocolate cream pie. “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t appreciate you having a background check done on her. I thought this was going to be a nice dinner to get to know each other, not a fucking interrogation.”
Michael moved to speak but was silenced by Bernadette’s hand on his forearm.
“Brandon,” she started, “we understand you find it a violation of privacy.” She gestured at me with one hand. “For both of you. But you have to see our point of view.” The blond wave of hair bobbled with each word. “Your father has worked hard over the years to secure a sound financial future for all of us. Even with the stock market bouncing around he’s kept his customers happy and kept us safe. We’re not out to criticize you or your choices.”
I held back a snarky response. This wasn’t the time or place to bring up our previous conversation.
“If we were, we’d have raised hell when you got stupid after that story.” Michael grunted.
Bran chewed on his lower lip. I knew she was referring to Bran’s article, the one he’d written after running with the street kids for months, the one that made his journalistic reputation.
And broke his heart. When the news became more about him and his adventures than about the needy kids scrambling for protection from their own demons he walked away from the journalism world and dived into writing filler for tabloids.
“That’s not the point.” Bran grated the words out between clenched teeth.
I put my hand atop his. “It’s okay.” I looked at Michael. “We’re good.” The smile was forced and hurt but I should have seen this coming. For all the differences between Felis and humans some things never changed—the demands of family.
I stood up. “We should be going. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.” The almost imperceptible nod from Michael made my skin crawl. “Thank you for dinner. I’m sure we’ll talk again.”
Bernadette chirped, Michael shook hands, awkward hugs were exchanged and we were out on the street a few minutes later.
The line of waiting diners had diminished by half but still stretched down the block. We pushed by them as quickly as possible, moving on to clear ground a few minutes later.
Bran let out a loud sigh and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His shoulders slumped as he shuffled forward. There were no taxis in sight—they were busy couriering the evening crowd home.
“Let’s walk for a bit. I could use the exercise.” I tugged at his sleeve and we walked along the near-empty street, the majority of theater-goers sequestered in pubs and cafes or struggling to get home via the subway.
“I’m sorry. I just get so...” His fingers curled up into fists. “They make me feel like such a little kid begging for permission to go play outside. It doesn’t matter how old I am—it all comes back round to what looks best for the family, what looks good to the public.” He looked up at the night sky. A few stars fought for control over the illuminated skyline. “I know my mother gave you the ‘get out of Dodge’ speech about how you weren’t suitable for me and the Hanover fortune.”
I blinked, holding back my shock. “How did you know?”
“She’s been doing that since I was old enough to date.” Bran sighed. “Let’s just say you aren’t the first to get the lecture.”
I shrugged. “I’ll survive. I think I scared her a bit, though.”
He chuckled. “That’s what she needs, a reality check. What did my father want to talk to you about?”
“Just more family stuff.” The taste of bitter chocolate rushed back in a nasty burp. “The usual speech about not taking advantage of you. Guess he wanted to make sure all the bases were covered in case your mother left anything out.”
I didn’t say anything about the devil’s deal I’d cut. Despite my previous brave speech to his dad I didn’t want Bran to know anything about this side job. I’d go see this fellow and take care of his dirty little secret and be done with it.
Telling Bran would only make him more pissed off at his family and I didn’t want to be the cause of even more friction. It’d be a few hours out of our lives and it’d be over and done with. Hanover would have his buddy taken care of and there’d be no further investigation into my life.
Win-win. It wasn’t the best scenario but it sure beat the alternative.
“Nothing special,” he repeated, taking my hand. I felt the quiver in his fingers, the curiosity growing.
“He asked if you still had those pajamas with the little teddy bears on them.”
Bran grinned. “If I recall correctly Jazz pulled those out of the drawer and made a bed with them last time we left her in the condo. What did you tell him?”
“I told him I had no idea—you sleep naked. In fact you like walking around the house naked as much as possible. And we were considering taking a vacation at a BDSM resort because you like being tied up and spanked.”
“You did not.”
“You’ll never know.” I rolled my shoulders back and increased my stride, dragging him along. “They were quite nice. For parents.”
Bran let out a hum of agreement. “I’m sorry I won’t get to meet yours.” He squeezed my hand. “I’d like to hope they’d approve of me.”
I chuckled. “Probably not. You are a reporter, after all.”
“And not family,” he added drily.
I looked down where our fingers were entwined. “More so the reporter bit. You seem to have the biting and scratching bit down.”
He smirked, lifting my hand to his lips, then laying a fat, wet kiss in my palm.
Bran let out a low whistle as we crossed the street. We could walk all the way home if we wanted.
I suspect we wanted.
“You ever wonder how much our parents dictate what and who we become?” Bran kicked at a lonely stone on the sidewalk. It skittered into an alley and clanged against something metal. “They choose what toys we play with, what schools we go to, what people we date.” He cocked his head to one side and watched me. “Do you ever worry about what your parents would think of you, the woman you’ve become?”
“
I am the way I am because of who I am.” I felt the cold scars on my back begin to ache. “If they’d survived the crash I might still have my, ah, disability.”
I didn’t like this line of thinking. I’d gone through the what-ifs for years after being cast out at the tender age of fifteen. Too many nights spent trying to figure out why I couldn’t Change, what reason there could be for my deficiency.
Too many tears.
I took a deep breath before answering. “I think we are who we choose to be because of, or despite, our parents.”
“Good answer.” Another gentle kiss on the back of my hand. “Ever the peacemaker.”
A cool breeze came up from the lake, buffeting us. I stopped and slipped off my shoes. My toes cried with relief as I wriggled and flexed them on the cold sidewalk.
Bran lifted his hand to flag down a lone cab cruising down the street. We’d passed out of the chic section of Toronto and were edging into an industrial wasteland of warehouses and overpriced artist lofts.
“I’m good,” I protested.
“No, you’re not. Your feet are sore and I won’t have you cutting your foot on broken glass because you don’t want to put shoes back on.” He pointed at the waiting taxi. “Get in.”
I resisted the urge to growl at his commanding tone. Instead I slid in over the faux leather, holding my shoes in one hand.
“My place or yours?” He kneaded my bare leg, skimming his hand up to the hem of my black dress.
“Mine.”
The ride back was fast and silent. Bran paid the driver off and led the way up to my front door before unlocking it with his key.
“Am I staying the night?” He smiled the same disarming grin I’d first seen in a dive bar months ago.
I feigned a yawn. We played this game every few days, pretending to try to avoid the inevitable. “I guess you can sleep on the couch. If you’re too tired to go home. You’ll have to share it with Jazz though.”
He pursed his lips for a second, forehead furrowed with thought.
“Nah.” Bran grinned, a lustful smile raising goose bumps on my skin. He shrugged his jacket off and tossed it on the couch. “No room.”
Jazz looked up from her spot on the cushions and padded over to make a new nest atop the jacket.
Before I could react he swept me up into his arms and over his shoulder. One hand held my legs in place while the other pushed the door shut.
“Let’s see how fast I can get you out of this dress.”
“Again,” I squeaked, dizzy from the combination of wine and the sudden movement.
“Practice makes perfect.” He slapped my butt hard, enough to send my pulse racing. “I’m working on improving in some areas.” His hand crept up under the black fabric.
I tugged at a wayward lock of red hair. “Only if I get to play with that tie again. I haven’t practiced my knot tying for months.”
That earned me a cough and a chuckle as he headed for the stairs.
* * *
The clock read 6:30 a.m., an ungodly hour for the most part but even more when you’re in bed with a hot, sexy man.
I rolled away from Bran, who was snoring lightly and buried in three out of four pillows, and headed for the shower. The faster I got out and did this “favor” the faster I could forget it ever happened.
Not to mention getting back in bed.
“Whattadoing?” The sleepy mumble came as I turned off the hot water and stepped out onto the shaggy blue bath mat.
“Got a quick job I need to do—checking a company’s security system for flaws. Only be a few hours and a fast couple of bucks.” I dried off quickly and tossed the bath towel into the corner of the bathroom. “Go back to sleep and I’ll meet you for lunch.”
Bran mumbled into the sheets as I dressed, stretching and flexing his limbs. He smacked his lips, tempting me to jump back into bed and ravish him while he was half-asleep and more open to certain suggestions. His bare back showed countless scratches, courtesy of yours truly.
I grabbed my running shoes and cursed under my breath. I needed to get this job done and over as soon as possible. I hated keeping secrets from Bran but I hated morning fights even more, and if he figured out I was working for his father, there’d be hell to pay.
* * *
According to the address on the card David Brayton worked in the middle of Toronto’s financial district. Hanover Investments was ensconced on prime real estate at the intersections of King and Bay Street. I hopped the streetcar and rode in with the rest of the business commuters. I stuck out in my leather duster and jeans when everyone else had on power suits and power dresses.
My uniform was a bit more useful.
I sniffed the collar of the duster. It still held a trace of the Pennsylvanian forest, the rich earthy scent chasing away the gas fumes and cologne/perfume.
It didn’t take much to push me back to the wilderness. If I closed my eyes I could see the lush forest near the farm where I’d gone on my first hunt. Another whiff of my duster and I envisioned the clearing where Bran faced down a wild Felis and declared his love for me.
A foul-smelling diesel truck rolled by, smearing black smoke over the streetcar windows. I wrinkled my nose and pulled back to the present. I got off at the next stop and walked the last block trying to purge my lungs of the oily pollution.
It didn’t escape my attention that the first twenty floors of the building belonged to Hanover Investments. I stood on the sidewalk and watched worker drones rush in and out of the various business hives.
A long black limousine pulled up halfway down the block from me. Car after car came to a screeching stop with the one lane now clogged. A single horn bleated out its annoyance but fell silent as everyone noticed the reason for the delay.
I craned my neck to see who warranted blocking traffic on a major street in the middle of rush hour.
Michael and Bernadette Hanover exited the rear of the car, the driver tipping his cap as the couple strode toward the building in front of me. Michael was carrying a briefcase and wearing a black business suit while Bernadette trotted beside him with her own version of a briefcase, a large pink-and-purple purse that could have hidden a small child. Her light blue dress, tied at the waist with a flashy silver chain, clung to her as she tried to keep up with her husband. A few seconds later the limo drove off, followed by a long line of delayed and annoyed commuters.
I spun away before they could see me, ending up behind a hot dog cart strategically set up on the sidewalk to take advantage of starving travelers looking for a fast nitrate fix. The smell of grilling onions had me drooling even as I watched the pair exchange cheek kisses and split up, Michael heading into the main tower through the front revolving doors and Bernadette off through another door to a smaller, less congested part of the triple-armed complex.
The hot dog vendor waved a pair of tongs at me as I moved away from the cart and headed for the entrance. I made a mental note to grab a dog or two on the way out—there’s nothing better than street food if you know where and when to buy it.
Security guards flanked me the second I got through the revolving doors, marking me as not one of the regulars. I nodded to the uniforms and headed for the marble front desk, where a thick-necked supervisor checked my investigator’s license and pawed through my messenger bag to make sure I wasn’t smuggling in a bomb.
“I didn’t know we had PIs in Canada,” he muttered, passing the bag back.
“You learn something new every day.” I slung the oversized purse over my shoulder and signed in at the open ledger. “I’m here to see David Brayton.”
The woman passed me a visitor’s pass and gestured at the bank of elevators. “Twentieth floor.” She fixed me with a death stare. “Report to the receptionist when you get off the elevator. Please do not deviate from your destination.”
<
br /> I resisted asking how they’d know. One of my side jobs involved testing company security and I knew how far a system like this would go. So far Hanover Investments rated a B grade—but that wasn’t what I was here for.
A wink and a nod to the supervisor, and I headed for the masses waiting to be shot into the sky.
I rode the elevator up, exiting along with a half dozen other people who scattered into the maze of corridors, leaving me to face down a receptionist perched at a glass desk like a vulture looking for fresh prey.
The middle-aged woman glared at me over her glasses. “Couriers go to the third floor.”
“Good thing I’m not a courier.” I shot her my friendliest smile. “I’m here to see Mr. David Brayton.”
Her nostrils flared. “Mr. Brayton.”
“Yes.” I dropped my business card on her desk, half hoping it’d drop through to the floor. “I’m expected.”
After a few minutes of stare-down she picked up the phone and called Brayton. I sauntered around the lobby, staring at warped sculptures of bulls and bears.
David Brayton shot out of a hallway and charged at me like I was holding the heart transplant he desperately needed. I almost stepped to the side to see if he’d keep going through the glass window in the lobby and plummet to his death.
The bad black dye job didn’t hide all of his white short hair and his belt needed life support to hold the ample belly at bay, the white starched shirt stretched to its limit with buttons bulging. The nervous twitch in his right eye told me he was about to bust something if we stood out in public any longer.
I took the initiative and stuck out my hand. “I’m so glad you can help me out with my inheritance. Danged if I know what to do with it and investing it looks like the best way to go.”
The receptionist eyed me with newfound respect.
“Of course, of course.” His head bounced up and down like a bobblehead traveling on a gravel road. “Please come into my office.”
Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) Page 4