Family Pride (Blood of the Pride)

by Nantus, Sheryl

  “Cute. Adorable.” I ruffled his hair, dropping a kiss on his forehead. “Red hair. Did I mention cute?”

  Bran chuckled. “Family trait.”

  I waited. I couldn’t even begin to figure out what to say and didn’t want to try. This was far and away from anything I’d ever dealt with.

  He chewed his lower lip before speaking. “Jess, your family—do you think they can find Liam?”

  I smiled. “When we call a hunt it’s a serious thing. The cops might have their street connections but we’ve got a lot more people in a lot more locations looking for Liam. Whoever took him won’t be able to stay underground for long.”

  “Thank you for asking. I know that must have been tough for you.”

  “Remember that when the bill comes due,” I said. “Jess doesn’t give away anything.”

  Bran nodded. “When it’s time I’ll be there for you, no matter what.” He sighed. “My family, they’re... They’re complicated. They’re all about appearances, on what looks best for them and the business. When I was ten years old we got a dog.” He flexed his fingers, inspecting the thin bandages. “It was a small dog, a corgi. I was told he would be my responsibility.”

  I wasn’t a big fan of dogs but this wasn’t the right time to bring it up.

  “I took care of him. Walks, grooming, feeding, the whole deal.” Bran studied his palm. “One day I came home and Billy was gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “My parents overheard someone in their social circle commenting on our having such a small dog. Seems at that time it wasn’t fashionable to have anything other than monster hounds.” He pulled his fingers into a fist, tightening the bandages. “The next day a Great Dane arrived and I was told this was my new dog. It was like Billy had never existed and now this new dog was supposed to slide into his place without me caring or changing a thing.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “That’s how my parents roll. It’s all about appearances and what people think of them. When I lost it and started working for the Inquisitor? They never called, never asked if I was okay. They told their friends I was doing some research for a new book. And the money kept flowing as long as I’d stay quiet and not embarrass them by coming to their parties.”

  I shifted my weight to one side, feeling the pull of the marred skin on my back.

  I’d forgotten some scars weren’t visible.

  “My father’s had affairs for years. I caught him once with my nanny.” He chuckled. “He told me he was helping her shelve some books in his library and gave me money to go get some ice cream. I was seven and stupid, I didn’t know any better. When I got older I knew. And I did nothing because I figured it was their business, between them.” He shook his head. “And now the chickens have come home to roost, I guess.”

  “Did your mother know?” I felt like I’d swallowed a pound of sand.

  “I never asked her but I’m sure she did. The way she looked at him at dinner when he showed up late or when he left for business trips. She knew what was expected of her when she married him because of the business, not because she loved him. But she loved the social status.” Bran sighed. “The perils of being a successful businessman. Everyone wants something and they’re willing to trade anything for it.”

  “Molly Callendar wanted nothing.” I stepped into the danger zone. “She denied knowing your father.”

  “In the biblical sense,” Bran joked. I heard the pain under the humor.

  “Brayton was willing to take the fall. He must owe your father big-time.” I wanted to shift the conversation away from the infidelity, the elephant in the room threatening to crush the life out of us.

  “Enough to claim a baby that wasn’t his? I guess.” Bran poked at the gauze. “Major favor.”

  “Whoever killed Molly Callendar and kidnapped Liam had a reason.” I took two cans of soda out of the fridge. “Right now the police are focusing on Brayton and the people who might have grudges against him.”

  “That’s logical.” He took one can from me and pressed it against the bandaged side of his hand. “My father might not even be involved with this.” Bran sounded optimistic. “It might be as it seems—a pissed-off business associate out to get him.”

  “Or not.” I hated to bring pain but it was my job. “But yes, that’s where the cops are going to be focusing their attention,” I opened my drink. “We can’t write off an attack on Molly Callendar directly either. I heard her parents talk about Ian Hamilton, an ex-boyfriend. Could be he got ticked off when Molly took up with David Brayton and went to her one last time to get her to stay in town or something along those lines. He loses his temper and kills her, takes Liam and runs.”

  Bran nodded. “Sounds plausible.”

  “The cops are going to be hunting him down and checking him out. It’s basic procedure,” I added.

  “So he’s covered. Where do you want to hunt?”

  I smiled at his phrasing despite the circumstances. “Our first priority is to find Liam. The police don’t know your father’s involved at all. Let them run down the Brayton and Callendar trail—we’ll take the one less traveled.”

  Bran took a deep gulp of soda. “Who knows the baby is my father’s?”

  “At last count Molly Callendar, David Brayton and myself. Now you and Jess. I don’t think Molly’s parents knew. They’d be the first to toss your father under the bus and rightfully so. I got the impression she never told them who the father was, likely because it was part of the deal. Take the cash and go away but never speak of who the father is again.”

  “Or let people assume it was David Brayton.” Bran drained his soda can in a pair of gulps. “The cops are missing a whole set of possible suspects.” He gave me an odd look. “You scented Liam was related to me. Could you pick up the smell of the guy who took him? I know the CSI people have gone all over the room and tore it to bits but you’re a Felis, you could pick up on something they’ve missed.”

  I drew in a deep breath over clenched teeth. “I might be able to pull him out but I can’t track him outside of the room. I’m not that good.”

  “It’s something. I have to do something, I can’t sit here and watch everyone look for him.” Bran slurred his words a fraction. Most people wouldn’t have caught it but I did. His temper was rising again and he was eager for a fight.

  “Let’s go back to the hotel.” His fists waved in the air. “I don’t care if there’s cops there or not. Fuck my father; it’s time he stopped trying to run people’s lives. And I sure as hell want to have a talk with him about this damned file. I will not have him threaten you or your family.” The fire dimmed into smoking embers. “We need to find the baby first.”

  I covered his hands with my own, hoping my touch would help calm him down. “We’re going to find Liam. Every Felis in the city is going to be looking out for a newborn with red hair. The cops have their system, we have ours.” A note of pride crept into my voice. “And ours is better.”

  “I need to talk to my father.” The strength in his voice startled me. “I need to find out what he has to do with this, if anything.” His eyes met mine, soft and teary. “I need to know if he had her killed.”

  “I know—but not yet. Liam’s the priority here. After that, your father.”

  He gave a weary sigh and nodded. “We need to find the baby and fast.” Bran rubbed his nose. “Be honest—what do you think his odds are?”

  I squeezed the bandaged hands. “If someone wanted him dead he’d be dead already. Whoever kidnapped him knows he’s only valuable if kept alive.” I paused for a second before going to the dark side. “It all depends on how much knowledge the kidnapper has about babies. If Liam gets sick this could turn from a kidnapping into a homicide real quick.”

  “Let’s go.” Bran moved toward the door, first stopping at the foot of the st
airs. “Hey.”

  I watched Jazz slink down the steps, eying him cautiously.

  He chuckled and put out one hand, palm-up. She nuzzled against the gauze and licked his fingers with a mother’s urgency.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” he murmured. “Sometimes I’ve got a worse temper than your big sister.”

  “Sometimes?” I pointed at the kindling near the couch. “I’m not cleaning that mess up.”

  * * *

  The hotel lobby was filled with lines of people checking out, nattering among themselves to see what they could pick up on the gossip train about the dead woman. Bad news spread fast and despite the hotel’s best efforts I knew the AMBER Alert had spread fast and furiously through every medium, spreading the social media butter as thick as possible.

  Unfortunately that meant more than a handful of present visitors wanted to get as far as possible from the murder scene even if it’d been on a different floor. The hotel’s reputation paled next to a missing child alert.

  The desk clerk shuffled pages back and forth as the computer printer coughed out page after page. Harried and overwhelmed he barked into a phone for help while simultaneously handing back a credit card, accepting a handful of hotel keycards and wearing a forced smile.

  Molly Callendar had cost them a pretty penny.

  “The damned door’s going to be locked this time.” I studied the red-faced hotel clerk. “We’ll need a cardkey to get in.”

  Bran held up a finger, halting my speech. He pointed at a housekeeping cart down one of the hallways.

  “I know they keep their keys on them, hooked to the uniform,” I replied, a bit of annoyance in my voice. “We can’t strip them down and take the keys.”

  “Of course not.” Bran gave me a broad smile, his public smile. “What do you usually do in a case like this?”

  I stifled a growl. He’d gone from delectably hot to annoying in point-two seconds. “I’m not used to breaking into crime scenes. Before you came along I worked divorce cases, runaway kids, that sort of stuff.” I gestured at the cart. “I don’t do this sort of thing.”

  “Of course not.” Bran kept smiling. “What room was it again?”

  “Two hundred twenty-two.”

  “Go wait up by the room. I’ll be along shortly.” He rubbed his hands together like a child about to steal candy out of his mother’s purse. “Stay out of sight, please.”

  I scowled and headed for the elevator.

  The doors opened to disgorge another group of fleeing guests. They brushed by me, then rushed into the already crowded lobby to do battle with the harried clerk.

  I stepped into the empty elevator. As usual I was going against the tide.

  The doors slid open on the second floor with a soft hiss. It was like walking into a mausoleum.

  I couldn’t hear anything other than the low hum of electricity. The other residents had either been relocated to a different floor or left the hotel with the exodus. I couldn’t blame them—if I’d been in one of the adjoining rooms, once I’d given my statement to the police about what I had or hadn’t heard I’d have headed for the checkout desk.

  I spotted the yellow crime tape marking Callendar’s room at the end of the hall near the stairwell. As I waited for Bran and his excellent plan I mused on the ironic location of her room.

  Word was, this location in any hotel was called the “murder” room, a prime location for murders and suicides. Unfortunately people died in hotels all the time from health issues, suicides and marital conflicts. It’d make life so much easier if we could pull out the “murder” room from circulation and drop the death rate by a fat percentage.

  Life, unfortunately, rarely followed the odds.

  The elevator let out a soft ding to announce its arrival.

  I moved into the stairway, keeping the door open a notch to watch the hall. It didn’t take long for Bran to come into view with a giggling hotel maid, a young thing barely old enough to give consent. She wore a generic beige-colored dress with a name tag reading Cindy clipped above her left breast.

  His hand was on her shoulder but by the way she was reacting it might as well been on her waist—or lower. You didn’t need to be Felis to know she was turned on by the attention Bran was giving her.

  He didn’t help. He purred something to her in a low tone, easy enough for me to hear. It was nothing more than a compliment on how she made the bland cleaning uniform look lovely but it was enough to have my fingers flex instinctively. I knew he was acting but my blood pressure was skyrocketing.

  “So you’ve heard of me?” Bran murmured as they approached the door.

  “I think I’ve read some of your articles in Rolling Stone,” she chirped. “You’ve got my name and number, right?”

  Bran beamed, turning on the charm full blast. “Of course. I’ll have to say you’re an ‘inside source’ but you’ll know who you are and so will your friends.”

  “‘Inside’,” Cindy said with a giggle. She pulled out the master cardkey from the fat ring on her belt, the long slender cord keeping it attached.

  The green light went off when she slipped the key into the slot. Bran pushed the door open just enough to put his foot through and hold it. The police seal tore easily—they were meant for show. The large X of crime tape would be easy enough to climb under. If we left it intact it’d take a close inspection to see the seal had been broken.

  Now all we had to do was get rid of the twitlette.

  I considered evisceration.

  “A reporter. That’s so cool.” She giggled, tearing my eardrums with the high-pitched squeal. “You get to hang out with the stars and all that. Maybe you can invite me to your next party?” She batted long fake eyelashes and for a second I thought she was going to grab his crotch.

  I changed my mind. Evisceration was too fast.

  Bran took a step back, just out of range. He wagged his finger at her. “Got to work before you play.” He held up his cell phone. “I’ll snap a few pictures and be out of here.” His other hand flashed a pair of fifty-dollar bills, the red ink catching my eye. “Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Call me.” She put her hand up to her cheek, making the international symbol for idiot talking on a phone. A second later she took the bills and slipped them into her cleavage, tittered and trotted off.

  I waited until the elevator doors had closed before sliding out from the stairwell. “Bimbo.”

  “Don’t be jealous.” Bran reached out and ran his thumb over my lower lip. “You’re cute when you sulk.”

  “I hate seeing women play stupid for cash,” I replied. “Besides, you paid her too much. I wouldn’t have gone over twenty.”

  “Probably,” he mused. “But she’ll stay quiet if the cops come back and ask about us. It’s one thing to give up twenty bucks, another to give up a hundred.”

  I let out a snort. “All about the money.” I glanced at his belt buckle. “And bonuses.”

  “Don’t be hating.” Bran winked. “Can’t help it if I’m irresistible.”

  “If you pay enough.”

  He chuckled, his foot holding the door open. “By the hour or by the day, I’m your man.” A mischievous look appeared. “Nice place. I liked the last hotel we stayed in.” Bran gave a sly wink. “Especially the last night.”

  My cheeks went hot at the memory. We were lucky we hadn’t received a repair bill for the damage we’d done the last night in Penscotta, the night he’d demanded my total commitment to this relationship and allowing my full Felis to come through in all parts of our lives, including lovemaking.

  I touched the back of my neck, shivering as I felt the fresh bruise, the skin sensitive to the touch. He’d marked me like a Felis mate and claimed me as his own.

  For better or for worse we were together.

&
nbsp; This day definitely fell into the “worse” category.

  If there wasn’t a “deep dog shit horrid hell” one.

  Bran looked down the hallway. “I’m sort of disappointed. No guards, nothing. You’d think the cops would leave someone here.”

  “And make it near-impossible for us to get in. Besides, there’s nothing left to guard.” I slipped under the tape and held the door. “Nothing left for them, anyway. Once the CSI unit finishes up there’s not much left other than telling the hotel when to unleash the cleaning crew.”

  Bran followed. The door slid shut behind him. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been able to convince her to let us in?” He shot me a teasing smile.

  “Busted it down.” I tapped his shoulder. “What, you think I keep you around just ’cause you’re cute?”

  “I thought it was because you liked the way I licked—”

  “Business before pleasure,” I interrupted, feeling my cheeks start to burn. “You start in the bathroom. Look for a brush, tissue, anything that may have some sort of scent. Molly and Liam were here and I can pick them out easily enough—I need to find something the killer used or left behind.”

  “Your ear.” He strode by me with a wide grin.

  I bit back my response. “Just search.” I dug in the pocket of my duster and came up with three latex gloves. The fourth had fallen out somewhere.

  I threw two at Bran. “Glove up.”

  He snapped the latex on his bandaged hand with a grin. “Now this brings back memories.”

  I ignored him and tugged the last glove on my right hand. It was unlikely the cops would make another sweep for prints and I’d already been tagged as being in the room but it never hurt to be careful.

  The suite looked more or less like I’d seen it last minus the dead body. It was pretty obvious the investigators had done a good job—they’d cleaned the place out. The portable crib was gone, the stuffed lion visiting elsewhere.

  They hadn’t done anything with the bloodstained carpet. I could smell the blood soaked into the deep shag. I wondered if the hotel would try to clean it or tear the carpet up.