Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) (9 page)

Bran blinked. His eyebrows came together as he frowned.

“I—” I touched the tip of my nose. “I could tell he wasn’t Brayton’s because I recognized the scent from another male. Liam’s real father.”

I could see him putting the pieces together in a horrible, heartbreaking sequence. Our first case, the event that had brought us together and revealed my secret to him involved my ability to sniff a sample of Felis hair and determine a relationship between father and son. Each person had their own scent but there was always a trace of their parents in there, a family trait.

The baby wasn’t Felis but the same rules applied.

If Brayton wasn’t Liam’s father someone else was, someone who I could identify by his scent and who would have reason to want the paternity kept secret.

Someone who would use blackmail to keep me quiet.

“My father.” He said the words like a curse.

I dropped my head down. I couldn’t say the words.

Bran pressed his hands against his knees, hard. The muscles on his arms went rigid as he stared at the floor. He drew short, rough breaths.

I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know what to do.

Everyone reacts differently to bad news. I’ve seen women break into the giggles when discovering their husbands are fooling around and grown men shrug off infidelity as if it were a bug bite.

I couldn’t even begin to guess at what Bran would do.

I reached out to touch him, to somehow apologize for fracturing his reality. “Bran.”

He stood up and swung at the lamp on the table beside us. It crashed against the wall. The black clay shattered, exposing the electrical wiring that lay limp on the floor. The black lamp shade bounced away behind the couch and out of sight.

“That bastard,” he shouted. “A baby. A fucking baby.”

Jazz disappeared in a white blur up the stairs to the relative safety of the bedroom. I wanted to join her but couldn’t.

I’d brought the storm. Now I had to deal with it.

Bran brought his fists down on the cherrywood table. It didn’t break but angry cracks spun out from the impact site through the varnish. The narrow legs wobbled in preparation of surrender.

I got up and stood there, hands at my side.

Another hammering and the side table gave way. It sank to the ground like a dead animal, the dark wooden legs splayed out in all directions. Chips of varnish flew around my feet and under the couch.

Bran drew a shuddering breath. He turned to me.

“Bastard.”

Blood trickled down his fingers.

I took a step back, fear curdling the pizza and soda in my stomach. He looked like a trapped animal, an angry wounded animal about to lash out at anyone in range.

I didn’t know what to do or say.

He stared at me and for a second I saw the little boy inside him, betrayed and hurt. Another blink and his expression flashed forward into the steely-eyed predator I’d encountered in the Pennsylvanian forest, unbroken and proud.

I couldn’t breathe. It was like I’d been punched in the chest so hard my heart couldn’t beat and I was dying.

“Reb?” Bran whispered. “Are you okay?” He looked down at his bleeding hands, then back at me. “Oh God. Are you afraid of me?”

I shook my head even as I stepped back a pace, my feet moving independently of my mind.

“You’re trembling.” He took a step closer. His scent washed over me, the thick musk filled with testosterone.

I froze like a deer caught in the headlights. My legs turned to rubber, threatening to drop me to the ground.

“Oh God.” His arms went around me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’d never hurt you, never.” He pulled me to the ground, both of us kneeling on bloody splinters.

“It’s okay.” I felt the fear dissipate, washed away by a surge of emotion. “I just, I’ve never seen you like that.”

“I’ve never been so mad. So fucking mad at my father.” He tilted my face up so I could see him clearly. “But not mad at you.”

“You were. A little bit.”

“A little bit,” he admitted. “But I can’t stay mad at you. You’re too damned good in bed.”

“You know it.” I took hold of his shoulders and stood up, a little shaky on my feet. “You’re bleeding. Let’s get you fixed up.”

He followed me into the kitchen and shoved his hands in the sink. I turned on the cold water and let it wash away the blood.

“Bastard,” Bran repeated. The anger in his voice was still there, tempered with sadness and acceptance.

I opened up the drawer and got the first aid kit. There was nothing to add.

“Tell me the whole story.” The warning tone in his voice demanded honesty. “All of it.”

It took the length of time for me to disinfect and clean his hands to go through the details, including calling Jess and asking for the Felis to help find Liam. The scratches weren’t deep—I was more worried about splinters sneaking under the skin. He’d be sore and a bit bruised but he’d survive.

“A half brother,” he whispered. “A half brother.” Bran drew a deep breath. “What does he look like?”

“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 stairs. “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.