Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) (4 page)

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.”

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.”

The sweaty financial advisor led me to a corner room—a spartan, emotionless square with a wonderful view of the office tower next to us. A generic wooden desk with two office chairs. It had all the personality of a blank greeting card.

He gestured at the chair as he moved around the desk and sat down.

I sat back in the plush leather and crossed my legs, balancing my elbows on my knees and touching my fingertips together.

Brayton cleared his throat. “It’s a mess.” He withdrew a snow-white handkerchief from an inside pocket and wiped his face. “I mean, thank you for agreeing to help out. Michael said he was going to find someone safe, someone outside of the office and, well—” he spread his hands with a weary smile, “—here you are.”

“Michael Hanover’s a good friend,” I deadpanned.

“There’s this woman...” Brayton paused, a sheepish smile on his face. “I guess you’ve heard that phrase plenty of times.” He played with the gold wedding band on his finger, twisting it over red, irritated skin.

“A few.” I allowed myself a grin. “And she’s not your wife.”

“No.” Brayton shook his head. “No, she’s not. Her name is Molly, Molly Callendar. She, ah, used to be a temp here. A few days a week doing odd tasks for anyone who needed her.”

I couldn’t resist. “And you ‘needed’ her.”

His cheeks turned scarlet. A little pink tongue flicked out to wet dry, chapped lips.

“I’m not here to judge you or your actions. That’s not my job.” I leaned in. “What do you need me to do for you?”

“There’s a baby,” he whispered. “A boy.”

I sat back. This was familiar ground and I felt more comfortable, despite the circumstances. “I assume there’s no question of paternity.”

He frowned. “Molly wouldn’t be unfaithful.”

Unlike you
. “Have you had a paternity test done?”

“No need to,” Brayton said. “I accept the child as my own. She put my name on the birth certificate with my permission.” He dabbed at his forehead again. “The, ah, affair was over before I found out she was pregnant. She showed up six months after quitting with the baby in her arms and told me it was mine.” He drew a staggered breath. “I won’t leave my wife and Molly knows that, accepts that. It’s over between us but now there’s a baby involved and I want to do what’s right for him.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I can’t have my reputation ruined over this. I won’t let it be ruined and Molly agrees this is what’s best for all of us. That’s why I want the paperwork done under the table, as quietly as possible. I don’t want anyone to find out.”

“Understood. And you want me to...” I pushed the conversation along. The faster I got the details the faster I could do this “favor” and the faster I could get out from under Hanover’s fat thumb.

“I want to get a signed agreement from her regarding child support.”

I sat back. “That’s all?” The hairs on the back of my neck shot to attention.

Brayton wiped his face again. “It may not seem like much to you but it’s something of major concern to both of us. She, ah, she’s demanding a legal document. She says she trusts me right now in regards to our financial arrangements but is worried about the future—if I pass away before the child reaches maturity and the estate cuts off the payment plan we’d set up.” The damp cloth sat on the desk in a muddled mess.

I shifted in my chair. I’d heard this tune before. Same dance, different partners. “What do you need from me?”

“I’ve drawn up this agreement with my lawyer. I need you to take it to her at her hotel and see if she’ll accept it. Obviously she can’t come to the office and we want to be as discreet as possible.” His left hand slipped into a desk drawer. “I think the terms are agreeable. That’s where you come in.” The thick wad of paper slid toward me.

“I’m not a lawyer.” I didn’t touch the stack. “I’m not a paralegal. I can’t advise her on any legal documents.”

“True. But that’s not what I need you for. I need a smart, quiet courier to go over there and wait, get it signed and come back.” He grabbed the handkerchief again and folded it into a neat square. “She’s a good woman, a sensible woman.” Brayton tucked the wet handkerchief back in his pocket. “We both made a mistake but don’t want our child to pay for it. I just need to get this signed and tucked away and it’ll be over and done with.”

I didn’t say anything. He’d already distanced himself from the entire affair by refusing to use her name past the initial identification. In his mind the entire affair was already over and done with, papers filed and checks pre-signed and sent out.

“Why me?”

He blinked rapidly, sending out SOS messages. “What?”

I pointed at the wall and the unseen front desk. “You can get a bike courier there and back in the length of time we’ve been talking. Fast, quick and no questions. Why me?”

Brayton rubbed the back of his neck with the damp handkerchief. “Couriers need to be paid. Receipts are signed, tracked, recorded. I don’t want any trace of this operation.” He glanced at the shut door and lowered his voice. “There are people who might use this against me.”

“And Molly.”

He drew back as if touched with a live wire. “And her, as well. Michael told me you could keep it quiet, keep it under your hat.”

“I’m good at keeping secrets.” I tried not to choke on the words.

“Here’s the address she’s staying at.” He scribbled a note on a piece of paper and shoved it across the desk. “It’s a hotel. She gave up her apartment when she had the boy. I’m paying for it—when the agreement is finalized she’ll be moving west. It’s all for the best.” He reached for a plain brown envelope and stuffed the folder inside.

I stood up and took the note and the envelope. “Does your wife suspect anything?”

“I hope not.” His lower lip trembled. “I hope to God not.”

I didn’t tell him the odds were not in his favor. It’d been my experience that most women knew when their men were stepping out on them. My money was on a nasty divorce within the next year or so for David Brayton.

He swallowed loudly. “I need this done quickly and quietly.”

I stuffed the envelope into my messenger bag, trying not to feel dirty. “Let me get going. The faster I get there and back the faster we’re done.”

With Michael Hanover
, my inner voice snapped.

I gestured at the phone on his desk. “Give me your business card. I’ll call if there’s any problems.” I tapped my pocket and the cell phone inside.

He handed over the gold-embossed card along with a couple of twenty-dollar bills. “For the cabs. Don’t worry about giving me any change back; keep what’s left.”

I looked at him with my best professional face on, the one I reserved for troublesome clients. “Let me point out that if I find you’ve coerced her into this, any part of this, in any way, I will not only advise her not to sign but I’ll help her find a good lawyer and rip you to pieces. Hanover might be purchasing my services but neither of you can afford my soul.”

It had to be said. I wasn’t going to be part of any deal forcing this woman to do anything against her will.

I could deal with Hanover’s blackmail.