Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) (3 page)

“So what’s wrong with that?”

Bran grunted. “He never does anything without a reason. There’s someone there he wants to impress, some point he wants to make, someone he wants to see us there. He doesn’t go to Sergio’s other than to see and be seen.” He ran a hand through his red hair. “We should start getting ready. I have to go back to the condo and get a suit.” He gestured down at his bare chest and jeans. “Definitely not getting in like this.”

I moved in for a kiss, hoping to soothe his jangled nerves. “Good enough for me. And that’s all that matters.” I reached around and squeezed his ass. “I prefer you naked anyway.

“That’s a dress code I can get with.” He gave me a sheepish smile before pulling away. “I’ll come by at seven. Give us plenty of time to panic and for you to change outfits three times before heading out.”

I sighed. “You know me too well.”

He snatched a quick kiss before heading upstairs to find his shirt and shoes. “Don’t get stressed.”

“‘Don’t get stressed’ he says,” I groused to Jazz, who had managed to cover even more counter space, almost falling into the sink. “Because we nosh at Sergio’s every night.”

Jazz yawned and chewed on one of her toes, leaving me with half a pot of tea and a full stomach of butterflies. What had started out as a lazy, dazy day was quickly turning into a crisis of epic proportions.

The little black dress still fit, thank God—after a few tugs and pulls in various places. I dug up a pair of matching shoes with a respectable heel that wouldn’t cripple me. I wasn’t worried about running from the scene of the crime but I didn’t need to be wobbling like a newborn kitten.

The doorbell rang at seven exactly.

“I thought I gave you a key.” I smiled as Bran stepped in. The dark blue suit was tailored to fit in all the right places, the white shirt spotless and freshly starched. The matching tie was a fraction crooked, enough to urge me to grab it and either fix it or rip it off.

“Yeah but I didn’t want to spook you.” His stare started down at my feet and moved up, slowly and deliberately tearing the clothing off me with his gaze. “Haven’t seen you in that outfit before.”

“Ditto.” I exhaled, feeling the familiar tingle down my spine. “Damn, you look hot.”

“Not enough time.” He held up a hand, a lustful grin spreading across his face. “Not enough time.”

He was lying and I knew it. And he knew I knew it.

I glanced toward the couch and licked my lips. “Race ya.”

* * *

We arrived at Sergio’s at five minutes to eight, tumbling out of a cab. I’d heard of the restaurant before—they had faboo seafood and steak and I’d never been able to afford to eat there. It was one of those places that scanned your wallet at the door and if you didn’t have enough credit or cash on hand they’d toss your ass out on the street. You didn’t eat there unless you were someone or you knew someone.

“Your tie is crooked.” I reached over and fiddled with the silk strip, so recently draped over the back of the couch.

“Your panties are as well, if I recall correctly,” Bran shot back. “Want me to fix those?”

I giggled. The smell of good sex was intoxicating and a small voice at the back of my mind reminded me about the importance of making a good impression on his parents, blah blah blah. We stumbled up to the front door and past the long line waiting for a chance to get a table and eat sometime in the next six hours. The thick-necked security guard nodded at us as if we were weekly visitors.

Michael Hanover waited in the small lobby, his wife on his arm. He wore a black suit and light blue shirt, impeccably fitted with a salmon-colored tie. Bernadette matched him in another black dress, much like mine but without the wrinkles.

Not to mention a nasty dark spot near my knee from a forgotten chocolate candy.

I had to clean that couch more often.

“Brandon. Rebecca,” Michael said with a nod. “Glad you could join us.”

I noticed heads turning and the whispering starting from nearby groups of socialites, more than a few women checking out Bran. I resisted the urge to bare my teeth and turned back to the waiting parents.

“Rebecca, you look lovely,” Bernadette joined in, giving me a wide smile that screamed fake. The diamonds in her ears and around her throat were real, catching every bit of light in the room to shine like a dozen supernovas.

We were the center of attention.

I hate attention. When people notice you they tend to notice too much. They study you and make judgments, try to figure out what they can get from you and what they can use you for.

I liked staying in the shadows.

Bran squeezed my hand, bringing me out of my daze. He gave me a reassuring smile and a wink, reminding me this would last a few hours and then we’d be free of this stifling alternative universe where I was pretty sure no one collected pennies.

The maître d’ scrambled to put us at a private table at the far end of the room, cut off from the rest of the diners with a three-paneled divider painted with images of Italian villas. I settled down behind a menu the size of my Jeep and tried not to look intimidated at the variety of food assaulting my senses.

There was no way to avoid the onrush of scents coming from the kitchen. Lobster, steak, scallops, shrimp, al dente pasta, grilled asparagus, fresh basil and thyme, red wine and whiskey. My head was swimming from trying to catalogue the delicious smells trampling over my tongue.

“Rebecca,” Bernadette purred, “I recommend the steak. Kobe beef, flown in daily.”

The comment came to me in a haze as I blinked, trying to put together the words and the sounds rushing in from around us. Kitchen natterings from the staff, mutterings from the nearest tables, the waiters rushing around and mumbling under their breath about cheap bastards and expensive whores.

As a Felis I’d been trained to be always be aware of my surroundings, sometimes painfully so. Over the years I’d learned how to dial down the signal, tamp the white noise around me to allow me to survive the overwhelming smells and sounds crashing through my mind’s eye.

I was dangerously close to losing it. There was so much going on, so much to pay attention to and so many different scents vying for attention.

It didn’t help that I was on edge, my nerves jingle-jangling at every strange sound and smell.

“Rebecca?” Bernadette repeated.

“Yes. That would be nice,” I answered, fighting my way out of the mental cloud.

The waiter hovered nearby, pen waiting.

I fumbled my way through ordering the steak, baked potato and mixed vegetables. The waiter didn’t flinch when I asked for the meat to be rare.

Bran gave me a curious look as he and his parents placed their orders. I rubbed the tip of my nose, hoping he’d catch on to the reason for my temporary confusion.

“Mom, tell me about this newest charity you’re involved with. Something about prisons?” He took over the conversation as I sorted through the mental chaos and balanced myself again, taking short, sharp breaths to anchor myself.

Bran patted my hand as his mother leaped into a cheerful litany about her new love, another rehab program for ex-convicts. I couldn’t complain about their efforts; I’d seen some good work come out of those organizations. Sure it was a way for the rich to dump money and get tax write-offs but a lot of men and women got a foot up into a new, clean life.

The food arrived. I tried not to drool over the fat slab of near-raw meat on my plate. A handful of vegetables scattered around the edges of the steak completed the picture.

“Do you deal with a lot of criminals, Rebecca?” Bernadette sliced an asparagus spear into tiny bite-sized pieces.

“Not as many as you’d think.” I followed suit, making mine even smaller. “Most of my clients have marital problems.” The green stalk held a bit of char from the grill. “You’d be surprised how many normal people have problems in their marriage.”

Her cool eyes caught mine with the efficiency of a laser sight. “How sad. Are they mostly based on money or love?”

I popped the tip into my mouth and chewed slowly, buying time for my answer. Bran, caught up in a discussion with his father over the future of ebooks and investing in same, kept watching me for signs of distress.

“Usually one leads to the other.” I speared a thin slice of steak. The piece of meat sat at the end of my fork, dripping blood. “If you marry for money you’re likely to leave when the money runs out. If you marry for love you’ll stay together through thick and thin.”

“I see,” she replied. “And which do you prefer?”

I looked over at Bran, still mired in the conversation with his father. “Love. Because in the end everything else can be taken from you but love lasts forever.”

Bernadette drew her fork over the china. “Well played.”

“Excuse me?”

Her eyes met mine, sharp and piercing. “I’ve seen gold diggers before. You think you’re the first to try and seduce my son, take control of the Hanover fortune?”

I resisted the urge to stab her with my fork.

It’d ruin the taste of the Kobe beef.

I leaned in and dropped my voice to a whisper. “If you’ve done your homework you’ll know I’m no dumb blonde looking to score a rich man. I had no idea who your son was when I first met him and I didn’t know you two existed until this morning.”

Her eyes narrowed.

I continued. “You married into the Hanover fortune—why can’t I accuse you of the same thing?”

I knew it wasn’t the right thing to say if I wanted to suck up to his parents but I’d had it with the Hanovers at this point.

One edge of her mouth twisted upward. “Our marriage was arranged. Does that surprise you?”

I didn’t reply.

She drew the fork tines across the plate again, creating a high-pitched squeal that ripped at my eardrums. “My parents owned one of the first companies Hanover Investments bought out. Instead of hating the Hanovers, my parents became fast friends with them and worked for Michael’s father for the rest of their lives. Both families saw the importance of making sure Michael married a good woman, a strong woman who could take the social reins and keep the company running on that front. Go to the charity meetings, smile for the cameras and organize the dinner parties.”

“What a wonderful life,” I said.

The smile vanished. “It’s not a perfect marriage but it works for us. And I’ll not have Brandon jeopardizing the fortune his family’s made on some woman he picked up in a bar. He deserves a woman who can handle this side of the business, not someone used to slinking around in the shadows and who doesn’t know which fork to use at a formal dinner.”

I smiled.

She gave me a confused look. This was a woman used to threatening and getting what she wanted.

Too bad.

“I guess we’ll have to leave that up to Bran.” I sliced off another piece of beef. “Last time I checked he was of legal age and able to do what he wanted. Besides—” I lifted the bloody chunk up to eye level, “—if you check your file again you’ll see I’m very capable of handling myself.”

It was a threat and I intended it to be seen as such.

Bernadette’s eyes widened before she regained control. “Enjoy the steak.” She turned away and joined the conversation between the other two Hanovers, letting me dwell on the oddities of parents.

The small talk went from Bran’s newest published article on the death of Mike Hancock, a fellow journalist, to general chat about the stock market trends to the number of charities the Hanovers nursed in one form or another. The entire time I watched the two elder Hanovers watch Bran watching me for any sign I was about to snap.

The chocolate mousse chosen for dessert was light and fluffy, melting in my mouth with only the memory of sweetness left behind. It took all I had to not lick the plate.

The delicious finish had me purring right up until Bran’s father spoke with a low, powerful tone that reminded me he wasn’t just a nice old man.

“I’m going outside for a smoke. Rebecca, would you like to join me?” He extended his hand.

“I don’t smoke,” I replied.

Bran cleared his throat to my left, just out of sight.

Michael ignored his son’s discomfort and reached out, his hand hanging in the air over the remains of the mousse. “Humor an old man. Let’s go have a chat—let Bran have a few minutes alone with his mother.”

I let him lead me away from the table. This had less to do with giving Bran some private time and more about getting me away from Bran.

If Michael Hanover figured he’d be able to scare me out of a relationship with his son he was about to be very surprised. I’d been threatened with much worse for lesser crimes.

The scars on my back itched.

We stepped past the doorman and back outside onto King Street. The line of people waiting for a table hadn’t gotten any shorter and more than a few eyes followed our stroll with a mixture of envy and curiosity.

Hanover led me to the doorway of a nearby building, putting one foot up on the stone steps as he surveyed the traffic around us.

King Street was one of the happening places in Toronto, expensive restaurants rubbing shoulders with high-priced stage productions and a slew of bars offering fancy drinks at high prices for the elite.

The theater crowd was getting out from the evening performance and people swarmed toward the pubs and the cafes to discuss the latest stage offering. A set of rickshaw drivers waited for business, the backs of their chariots advertising the next big musical.

“You’re a private investigator, according to your file.” The elder Hanover withdrew a silver cigarette case from the inside of his jacket. He flipped it open and chose a single death stick.

He didn’t offer me one.

“Your men do good work. Of course they could have looked in the phone book.” A stiff breeze smacked my bare arms, raising goose bumps.

The slim silver lighter shot out a pencil-thin beam of flame. “I’d like to hire you.”

I had no smart-ass answer to that.

Chapter Two

He took a deep draw on the cigarette, encouraging the orange-and-black char to continue up the death stick. “I know what you’re thinking. I’ve got plenty of financial resources at my disposal—why would I want to hire some second-rate hack who’s dating my son?”

I had an answer but bit it back for Bran’s sake.

Michael puffed out a smoke ring. “I need someone outside of my professional circle. It’s a delicate matter that requires discretion. I’ve studied your file. You know how to keep secrets.” He looked at me, his eyes the same dark brown as Bran’s. “Consider it a favor.”

“I don’t do illegal.” I kept my voice intentionally low. “I won’t break the law.”

His eyebrows rose. “I wasn’t asking you to.” He flicked an inch of ash onto the sidewalk before taking another deep long drag. Smoke trickled out of his nose. “I have an associate, David Brayton. He has a somewhat...delicate situation on his hands.”

“Girlfriend or boyfriend?”

“You’re fast.”

“When I have to be.” I glanced at the evening crowd walking past us. “I don’t like to work for family or friends. Too complicated.”

It was the truth.

The tip of the cigarette burned bright, almost lost in the middle of the neon circus around us.

“There’s a few gaps in your life. Holes in your file my man couldn’t find anything on. Darkness when it came to your family life, your relatives.” He took another deep drag. “Secrets.”

I put on my best poker face despite the ice slashing through my veins. “Don’t we all have secrets?”

Michael shook his head. “Not like this. The investigator did a fast and dirty first pass on you but I can tell him to start digging and start digging deep.” His eyes bored into mine. “Digging up whatever it is you’re hiding.”

I almost giggled.

I opened my mouth to tell him he couldn’t blackmail me, that it’d be useless to even try, and the reality slapped me across the face.

If I refused to do this favor for Michael Hanover I’d be signing his death sentence.

The Pride and Jess wouldn’t care who he was or who he fathered; they’d take out the investigator and everyone connected without hesitation if he got close to revealing our existence to the public. First rule of the Felis—keep our secret at all costs.

I knew how far they’d go to cover our tracks.

It’d be bad enough if I didn’t know the man, but I loved his son. I couldn’t be responsible for his death and possibly his wife’s as well. It’d destroy Bran and I couldn’t bear that cross and hope to keep building a life with him.

All I had to do was one little favor.

“I don’t keep secrets from Bran. Whatever I do, he knows. He knows everything about me so you can’t shock him with your dirty little guesses about me or my past.”

“Whatever. I’ve been around a bit longer than you and I can tell you husbands keep secrets from their wives all the time and vice versa. It’s the natural state of things.” Michael studied the smoldering tobacco. “I’m not worried about my son. He can take care of himself.” He dropped the half-smoked cigarette on the ground. “But my wife, well... She can be quite vocal if the situation arises. And she protects her family like a lioness. I wouldn’t advise you take her on. The pen might be mightier than the sword but my wife’s voice carries a lot of weight on the society pages. She can make or break reputations with a single word.”

I stayed silent.

“Bran might not mind if your secrets came to life but your future employers might. If there were any of them left. A few words placed in the wrong ear and I can guarantee your current drought when it comes to customers will turn into a parched desert, putting the Sinai to shame.” Michael grinned, a self-satisfied smirk. “But it’s your call, of course.” His hand went inside the jacket again and retrieved a business card and pen. “Please visit him tomorrow at my offices. It’s nothing much, just a negotiation we’d like to keep under wraps.” He scribbled a name on the back in flowing, perfect script.

“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.