I couldn’t keep this a secret from Bran, not with what we’d gone through in the past. We’d agreed to keep no secrets and this was about as bad as it could possibly get. From what I’d observed his relationship with his father was complicated, to say the least, and I didn’t know what Bran’s reaction would be. All I could do was be there and support him.
I didn’t even want to start guessing about Bernadette and how she’d react. Maybe this was the latest in a long line of illegitimate children. Maybe Liam was the most recent half brother Bran did or didn’t know about.
I just didn’t know.
Brayton came back into the room. There was a lightness to his step, a definite change from the rapid stomp he’d left with. He smiled and handed me the folder.
“All cleaned up and ready to go. All you need is to get her signature on the last page, initials on the changes and we’re done. There’s a second copy in there for her to keep—I’ve already signed off on both copies.”
I tucked the papers into my bag. “Is this the first time you’ve covered for Michael? Do you owe him something or is he blackmailing you?”
He drew back as if I’d slapped him.
“I know it’s his baby, not yours.” I kept talking, trying to get it all out before he could stop me. “You’re taking the hit for him and so is Molly—she’s going along with the arrangement to make it easier for everyone. But the baby is Hanover’s and sometime in the future Liam’s going to figure out the truth and want to know where he came from, who’s his real father. Did Hanover and you plan for that?”
A feral look came over him, replacing the weak and mellow man I’d been dealing with a few minutes ago.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You are here to do a job, to do a simple courier job, and that’s all you need to know or do. I don’t want to tell Michael you’ve been more trouble than it’s worth. Deliver the damned papers and get the fuck out of my business.”
A growl started in my throat, threatening to break free if I let go for a fraction of a second. I envisioned leaping over the desk and grabbing that scrawny tie. I wanted to snarl into this jackhole’s face I wasn’t one of his slaves, not one of the indentured souls who groveled for crumbs falling from his financial table.
Jess’s voice snapped at the back of my mind, reminding me to keep control. Protect the Pride, protect our secret.
Protect my mate.
I took a step back and bowed my head a fraction of an inch, glaring at the carpet.
Some Felis traits worked just as well in the human world. Submission being one of them.
“I’m glad we understand each other. I appreciate your good intentions about the baby but there are some areas you shouldn’t venture into.” He cocked his head to one side, the sweaty skin slick and gleaming in the artificial lighting. “Thank you for your help.”
I resisted the urge to slap the satisfied smile off his face. “I’ll be back with the signed documents as soon as possible.”
My cell phone hummed again on the elevator ride down.
FREE YET 4 LUNCH?
My fingers were shaking as I tapped on the minute keyboard. One of the businesswomen standing next to me moved closer to the sliding doors for a faster escape.
NO I B HOME SOON. YOU BUY STEAK DINNER
I’d need to tear into some raw meat after all this.
OK. LUV U
The cab ride wasn’t long enough for me to list the various ways I wanted to kill Brayton.
Disembowelment was high on the list.
I flexed my fingers and studied the space between my knuckles. The wounds had healed over since the last time I’d been able to manifest my claws, albeit without control.
I really wished I had full control now.
I’d have loved to scratch up Brayton’s expensive desk, scar the lovely varnished dark wood with the wonderful screech of destruction.
When we pulled up in front of the hotel, the doorman waited patiently as I hopped out, recognizing me from before.
“Wait here,” I instructed the cab driver. “I’ll be a few minutes.”
The elderly man shrugged and tapped the meter. “Take as long as you want. She keep running.” He grinned, showing off a pristine set of blinding white teeth. “I got no place to be.” He waved at the doorman before parking off to one side of the long driveway.
The lobby was jammed with tourists, this latest swarming consisting of chattering teenagers out to take pictures of anything and everything Canadian. Cell phones bobbed above the crowd as the desk clerk attempted to translate from French to German and back again for the lone chaperone. I slipped by the commotion and headed for the stairs.
Different smells and sounds assaulted my senses as I walked down the hallway, more than on my previous trip. Wound up from my confrontation with Brayton, I felt more and more of my Felis senses coming out.
Especially the urge to kill.
A moan from behind a door, matched with a gasp. The sharp, almost acidic smell of sex.
Crying behind another. Sobbing, muffled with a pillow or clothing.
A childish giggle at the third. Boyish, high-pitched. Low whispering, another male.
By the time I got to the end of the corridor my senses were saturated, the virtual pool overflowing with what I could smell and hear. It took a concentrated effort to clamp down, get control and restrict my intake to what I wanted. I’d learned hard and fast the first day I’d landed in Toronto how to pick and choose what I wanted to experience. It’d proven to be an asset to my livelihood but still a sore point at times when I lost control.
I paused in front of the hotel door. There was no use in taking my anger out on Molly—whether I agreed or not with what she was doing she was Liam’s mother.
A slow, deep exhalation brought me down to earth. All I needed was a set of signatures and this would all be over.
I rapped at Molly Callendar’s door with short, sharp bursts.
The door shifted under my touch. I touched the white painted wood with my fingertips and pushed it open.
At first I didn’t panic. The thick carpet in many hotel rooms made it hard to shut the door enough to have the lock catch. It looked closed but it only took a fraction of an inch to keep the lock from grabbing. It’d happened before when I’d left.
The coppery scent smashed into my mouth as I stepped inside. I knew the smell, knew it intimately.
Blood.
Another sharper, more pungent smell rose up. I didn’t need to be Felis to recognize that one.
Feces and urine.
And not just what a baby would create.
I moved toward the couch, picking each step with care. If I was right the police would want to know exactly where I placed my feet.
Molly Callendar lay between the couch and the coffee table, dead. She lay facedown on the cheap industrial-issue carpet, her arms stretched out in front of her toward the crib. Blood seeped out from under her left side. She’d been shot in the chest.
The other bullet hole was at the back of her head. It’d taken part of her face off but I recognized her. Her short red hair was now dotted with bits of bone and brain.
I instinctively knelt down and pressed my fingers to her throat, hoping against hope to find a pulse. The odds were against it but miracles had happened before.
Not even a flutter under the skin. She was cold and clammy to my touch; she’d been dead for a while—not long after I’d left her.