It’d be a lovely evening if there wasn’t a missing baby out there.
I resisted the urge to start checking every stroller going by. Whoever the killer was, he was long gone.
Didn’t mean I wasn’t glancing at everyone passing us with a child in their arms.
I tugged at Bran’s arm as he went to wave over a cab from the taxi stand. He frowned and lowered his hand.
“Let’s walk for a bit.” I wanted him to work off some of the stress and if we talked I wouldn’t be worrying about a snooping cab driver.
Bran pulled off the bandages and examined his hands as we walked, the leather duster billowing out behind him as he took long, purposeful strides. I knew it was more from anger than any intent to get away from the hotel.
“I need to talk to my father,” he whispered. “I need to get his side in this, find out what he knows or doesn’t know.” The unspoken question hung between us—whether his father hired Molly’s killer or not.
“Do you think he’ll tell you the truth?”
His pace increased. “I’ll make him tell me. I can’t go on not knowing his involvement in this.”
I sped up my steps, taking two to his one to try to keep even. “We will.” I took his hand, slowing him a fraction. “As soon as Liam’s safe.”
Bran paused and I saw the inner conflict, the urge to beat the truth out of his father versus the need to find his half brother.
“I’ve never been a mother but I do know enough about babies to know they’re high-maintenance. Whoever wanted Molly dead will be moving to get Liam out of this thug’s hands soon enough. I doubt this guy’s working as a babysitter on the side and knows much more than how to change a diaper, if that.”
Bran licked his lips. “If that,” he repeated. “And if Liam doesn’t get out of this punk’s hands soon enough who knows what could happen.”
I didn’t pursue that line of thinking.
It would only be a few steps from a hotel or flophouse to a Dumpster to get rid of a baby’s body and vanish into the underground if the kidnapping went wrong. The police files were filled with missing children who’d never been found.
My stomach lurched at the idea of Liam joining their ranks. I’d held the wee one for only a few minutes but he’d taken a stranglehold on my heart.
Bran shifted to one side to avoid a gaggle of schoolgirls giggling over something on their cell phones. “I wish you could tell the cops about my father.” His right hand waved in the air impotently. “It’d make a big difference.”
“It would. But without anything more than my word they won’t give your father a second look. He’s too powerful and he’ll throw up a blockade of lawyers that’ll keep everyone out.” I shook my head. “It’d take a court order to get a paternity test done and I don’t see your father voluntarily agreeing.”
“Could we use my DNA?” Bran interrupted. “Check Liam’s genes against mine?”
I blinked, a small beam of sunlight chasing away the heavy cloud in my mind. “We could. I think the results would show that. But going from that to your father is a hell of a leap and there’d be a lot of denial flying around.” I gestured at the busy street. “Meanwhile Liam’s still out there.”
Bran stopped and spun around, away from the human migration. He put his back against a stone pillar of some ancient building, masquerading now as an office building. The deep sigh tore at my heart.
“I don’t know if I’m screwed up or not.” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “I’m pissed off about the affair, I’m pissed off about the baby—but I’m most pissed off because he tried to blackmail you.” He held up his fists. “I’ve never been so angry in my life.”
I put my hands over his fists. “I know. And I appreciate it.”
“If it were just you and me,” he huffed, “I’d be able to deal better. But this is so much more, so many other lives getting messed up because he has to be in control of everything and everyone.” Bran looked upward. “If only I’d faced him down before, told him I wasn’t taking his shit anymore. Not letting him run my life and my mother’s, bribing me to stay silent while he screwed around on her.”
“You were a kid when it started. How could you know what was going on? Don’t overanalyze it.” The cold stone against my back cooled the growing anger against Michael Hanover. “Don’t get caught up in the cycle of wondering what if—it’ll keep you from seeing straight. I’ve played the game and once you get started you get twisted up and turned around.”
Bran looked at me. “Your parents?”
I studied an empty cardboard box. “I could have been in the car with them. I should have been.”
“Why weren’t you?”
I rubbed my nose. “I threw a hissy fit about staying back with Ruth and helping her cook pies. It was a holiday. It wasn’t supposed to be a permanent visit.”
“Except it turned into one.”
I swallowed hard. “We rushed to the hospital and the pies burned. Never helped her cook after that. Playing ‘what if’ can screw you up. Took me a few years to figure it out.” I touched Bran’s shoulder. “Although I’m happy I’m pretty high up the list of things that mean a lot to you.”
He looked at me, deep brown eyes filled with anger and angst. “You’re my world, Rebecca. There’s no one before I want to remember and there’ll be no one after you.”
The emotions wrapped around me like a second skin, warm and soothing.
I ran a finger over his lips, choking on my words. There was nothing I could say, nothing would even come close.
His fist uncurled and linked with my hand, fingers intertwining. We stood there for a few minutes, watching the herds of tourists surge back and forth.
I jumped as my cell phone vibrated. It took me a few seconds of fumbling accompanied by swearing before I got it out of my pocket.
Bran tensed up beside me. His jaw tightened to the point of obvious pain.
I stared at the caller identification. “It’s Jess,” I whispered before opening the connection. Bran ducked in close as I tilted the phone to the side so he could hear.
“Where are you two? I called the house and you weren’t there.” The disciplinary tone had me wincing.
“We went back to the hotel room to look for clues. Our suspect smokes Camels, no filters.” I could taste the grimy slime on my tongue. “It’s not much, but—”
“Good,” Jess said. “We’ve got a few suspicious hits and that’ll help weed them out. Let me call you back in a few minutes after we dump the chaff.” The line went dead.
Chapter Six
“What does that mean?” Bran asked.
“It means members of the family are reporting seeing a redheaded baby with someone who’s obviously not his father or mother.”
“How many of you are there?” Bran asked. “I mean, out there.” He waved at the street.
“Hundreds. Maybe thousands. I’ve never worried about getting an actual count.” I rubbed a particularly itchy spot on my back against the rough brick. “You saw how many lived in Penscotta. They work and live normal lives like everyone else.”
“Except they’re Felis.”
“Except for that.”
“Now you’ve got me wondering how many people I pass by every day who are family,” Bran said, eyes searching the crowd. “Don’t you think about it?”
“No.” I couldn’t help the bitterness creeping into my speech. “I’m outcast, remember?”
He looked at me. “Not so much now, according to Jess.”
I shrugged. “Talk is cheap. All I know is when I was growing up in the foster care system any Felis I met ignored me, turned their backs on me.” I scanned the human migration around us. “After a while I stopped looking for them.”