Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) (10 page)

“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.

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.

Or redecorate and put a couch over it.

Bran called out. “Nothing in the bathroom. Looks like they swept everything including the sink and toilet. Garbage can is empty and dry.”

I opened the minifridge. Not even a bottle of water, much less formula. I hoped the killer had at least taken whatever Molly had stored in here for Liam’s sake.

“Techs did a good job.” Bran moved around the couch, deftly sidestepping the crimson stain on the carpet. “I want to say it’s a good thing but—” he shook his head, “—the one time you don’t want them to be efficient and they do.”

I fought against the rising feelings of depression, hopelessness. It wasn’t that I didn’t have faith in Attersley’s CSI buddies but I wasn’t sure Bran could deal with failure. He needed to do something before he exploded with anger and frustration.

I knew the way the police worked. They’d have fingerprinted every surface and compared it to the hotel employees to eliminate some of the prints. They’d have dropped mine out along with Molly’s.

Which would still leave them with an overwhelming stack of wild unidentified people who they’d run through the system. Unless, of course, the murderer wore gloves, which made finding a match an exercise in futility.

“Got something.” Bran held up a long strand of reddish hair. He frowned and stretched it out between two fingers. “Too long for the baby.”

I took it from him and sniffed it. I could smell the hair dye. “Molly’s.” I crawled around on my knees, squinting at the floor.

Ten minutes later I was cross-eyed and the back of my head was throbbing.

“There’s nothing here,” Bran said. “They did a good job of cleaning up.”

I was beginning to get worried. The longer we stayed here the more likely someone would find us here.

I wasn’t willing to put too much trust in the cleaning chippie.

“Let me try something.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity.

I gave each scent a color as they floated across my inner eye. Red, yellow, green. Various shades of blue for who I suspected were cops. Hank was here as well—cerulean blue for him.

“Damn.” The scents were too mixed and too many. I had a hard time picking out Liam and Molly amid the swarm of police, crime scene technicians and grumpy detectives. Flailing around in the cloud I took another route—elimination.

I got to my feet. My knees throbbed and I hoped it wasn’t the first signs of arthritis. It took a second to brush off my jeans and consider adding a permanent supply of painkillers to my pockets.

“I can tell you Brayton and your father weren’t here.”

“And?”

“That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Bran snapped. “It doesn’t mean they weren’t involved, it doesn’t mean anything.” His voice rose. “You can find a fucking clue in a piss-filled, shitty alleyway and you can’t find squat in a hotel room?”

A snarl bubbled up in my throat at the reference to Janey Winters. I was tired, terrified and my nerves were jangling like Santa’s sleigh bells.

“If you can do better, let’s see it.” I moved in close, our noses almost touching so I wouldn’t feel the need to yell and draw attention to our presence. “It’s your goddamn father who got us into this in the first place. He threatened my Pride, he threatened me, he threatened you and he threatened us. Get mad at him but don’t take it out on me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not from where I’m standing.”

Bran drew back. He drew a hand over his face, brushing away invisible cobwebs. “I’m just...” His fingers twitched. “So fucking annoyed at everyone and everything right now.”

“Including me?”

The edge of his mouth twisted up into a sad smile. “Maybe a little bit.”

I couldn’t help smirking. “Welcome to my world.”

His hand shot out and grabbed the back of my neck, a rough, possessive grip.

He pulled me into a heated, breathless kiss. Surprised and shocked, I fell against him without resistance, grabbing his waist for support.

I gasped as he pulled away. My legs were wobbly and not from crawling on the floor. “What’s that for?”

“For loving a fool.”

“That makes two of us.” I relaxed under his touch. “Let me make one last sweep and we’ll go. The longer we stay here the more likely someone’s going to find us.”

Bran moved to the door and leaned on it. He crossed his arms and waited.

I went to the center of the room and closed my eyes, trying to shut out the white noise. A couple making love below us. A car outside, backfiring and burning oil. Bran’s heartbeat, fast and increasing with every second.

I wiped out the personal scents in my mental kaleidoscope. Disregard the people, drop the living components. Look at the list of smells from nonhuman sources.

Baby powder. Deodorant. Sour milk.

A dense, acidic taste landed at the back of my throat. Not hair dye, not blood.

Tobacco. Thick, unfiltered cigarette—maybe a Camel.

Molly wasn’t a smoker and I knew the cops damned well wouldn’t have lit up while processing a crime scene.

I dropped to the ground and inspected the carpet near where the crib had sat. Sure enough there was a scattering of ashes so faint it might have been missed by the techs. The gray residue ground into the shag by multiple shoes, pushed so deep into the carpet it’d be invisible to the naked eye.

But not invisible to a Felis.

I spun the scenario, whispering it loud enough for Bran.

“He came in here via the front door, probably knocked right after I left. Either she opens it without looking, thinking it’s me, or he cons his way in saying he’s room service or housekeeping or whatever.”

I looked at the scarlet stain. “Liam’s sleeping in the crib. The killer doesn’t make small talk, doesn’t bargain with Molly.” I lifted my hand and curled my fingers in, index pointing at the stain. “He shoots her using a silencer. One bullet straight to the heart. She hits the ground and he does the follow-up to the back of her head. No one hears the noise.”