I automatically checked the canning jar atop the fridge. Another few pennies and I’d be ready to roll them up and drop them at the bank before the damned coin got retired.
I somehow doubted the Hanovers counted pocket change.
Or if they did it was in solid gold doubloons.
The doorbell rang.
“I’m not expecting anyone today.” I grabbed a dishtowel from the counter. “I haven’t had a case since that car insurance scam and I sent out the paperwork yesterday. Be sweet if they’re dropping off a check now.”
Brandon stepped back. “Probably the paperboy. I’ll take care of it.” He walked out of the kitchen. I watched him leave, appreciating the view. He’d been naturally blessed with a tight, sweet butt that begged for biting or grabbing.
Good thing he enjoyed both.
Jazz hopped on the counter and lay down, a white carpet of relaxed catness.
I wagged a finger at her. “No. Get down.”
She yawned, showing off one chipped fang, and curled up into a ball before falling asleep right next to the sugar bowl. One paw edged out to grip the corner of the counter, anchoring her in place.
“Hey, I tried,” I told the linoleum before heading for the living room. “Bran, tell whoever’s there to bugger off ’cause I don’t have time...”
Two people stood by the secondhand couch I’d gotten from a store on Queen Street, talking to Bran. His hand brushed over a ripped corner I’d slapped duct tape on—the damage not from Jazz’s claws but my own ineptness in getting it through the front door. I glanced around the room, assessing the rest of the furniture.
Nearby an oval dark wood stool held a stack of magazines, the concave shape of one leg showing Jazz’s enthusiastic work in using it as a scratching post. A short hop from there sat my business desk, cluttered with old and new files as I put off buying another filing cabinet for as long as possible.
I’d never thought of my interior decorating skills as being lacking. Everything was functional and affordable, from the mismatched chairs to the generic nature prints on the wall. It wasn’t fancy but it was home, comfortable and relaxed.
The two visitors looked like diamonds shining in a coal mine.
I winced and moved in closer.
The woman looked at me for a second before turning back to Bran. Her upper lip curled a fraction, so fast someone else would have missed it.
I didn’t. Disdain. Contempt. Superiority. All in one expensive package glaring at me.
Blond hair, right out of a bottle, bounced around her shoulders. She wore a bright orange dress and enough bling to blind someone. Her matching purse hung limply from the crook of her elbow.
I turned my attention to the older man.
He had to be in his early sixties with a full head of red hair touched with a delicate gray around the temple. His three piece dark blue suit cost more than what I made in a month. The silk gray and white striped power tie screamed affluence.
I sniffed the air, afraid of what I’d find. The scents bounced back to me with a frightful speed and clarity, confirming what I’d suspected. And feared.
Everyone in this room was related to each other.
Except for me.
I forced a cheerful smile, feeling the jagged edge of panic digging into my belly.
Mom and Dad were early.
Bran looked at me. I could smell the fear radiating out from him as I advanced on them. Not for me—he was afraid of his parents. His shoulders slumped down and if he could have he would have been curled up on the floor in a fetal position—or worse, on his back in full submission mode.
He was scared shitless.
I felt a growl spiral up my throat, seeing the effect they had on him. This wasn’t a healthy relationship. Not that I knew much about happy families, but this couldn’t be what they looked like.
This was not going to go well.
The elder Hanover male smiled at me. “You must be Rebecca Desjardin.” He stuck out his hand, the finely manicured nails stabbing at me. “Michael Hanover. And this is my wife, Bernadette.”
His grip was manlier than I’d expected, a quiet strength underlining the silk. A hunter and killer. This was not a man to be taken lightly.
I’d have expected no less from one of Canada’s premiere wheelers and dealers in the business world. What I knew about investing could fill Jazz’s food dish but I knew Michael Hanover made a lot of money for a lot of important people.
I couldn’t connect the stern businessman in front of me with Bran. The truth about his parents still rankled—but looking at these two made me more sympathetic to his reasoning.
I imagined many a woman wilting under their inspection.
Bran gave me a halfhearted grin. “They caught an early flight. Since I wasn’t at my condo they came here.” His voice trailed off as the obvious question came to mind.
“How did you know to come here?” I let Michael’s fingers slip free.
Bernadette took over. “We looked at the report we have on you. Address was right there on the front page. Took a few minutes to reroute the cab to this—” her nose wrinkled as she struggled to find a less insulting word than slum, “—distinct neighborhood.” She extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
It was like touching cold raw chicken. She pulled back as soon as manners allowed and gave me a big friendly smile.
“So,” she murmured, “this is your home.”
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck shoot straight up. I’d expected some resistance, sure—but this was like facing down a raging elephant with a potato gun. I resisted the urge to scurry around the room tidying up.
On the other hand I’d been busy lately hunting down murderers and renegades. They balanced each other out.
Bran cleared his throat. “Obviously we’re not ready to go out yet. Why don’t you two go home and have a bit of a rest? We’ll meet you at the restaurant?”
“Of course,” Michael replied. “We just wanted to stop on by and say hello.” He stared at me, looking for a weakness.
He didn’t find any.
His mother interrupted our mental duel. “We decided to change the restaurant. There’s a charity event we have to make an appearance at before dinner. Sergio’s instead. At eight o’clock.”
“Of course. Eight. We’ll be there,” Bran answered.
Michael headed for the open door. Bernadette trotted out behind her husband, her high heels clattering along my hardwood floors with machine-gun precision.
I resisted the urge to flip them the bird.
A cool breeze rushed in the front door, smashing into my senses with even more scents. Fresh garbage from the street, dripping oil from a nearby car and...
And one I definitely did not want to find right now.
“Whuf.” Bran shook his head. “That was...” He paused, seeing the expression on my face. “What the—”
I sprang past him and into the front yard, heart pounding with a combination of panic, fear and pride.
Jess dug the toe of her cowboy boot into one of the remaining green parts of my front lawn, having been confronted by the Hanovers. She shot me a deadly scowl as she faced the pair.
I had to give Bran’s parents points for standing their ground. I’d seen lesser men and women shuffle to one side to give the Felis leader the right-of-way.
Bernadette moved behind Michael in a natural submissive move, using her husband as a human shield.
I sucked in my cheeks, holding the grin at bay. Sometimes fate had a wild sense of humor.
Michael cleared his throat, taking control of the situation. Or so he thought. “Jess Hammersmythe. I recognize you from the file. You’re Rebecca’s...” Michael let the sentence trail off, waiting for a response.