“Which kitchen?” Bran drawled. His tone was so seductive I wanted to answer.
“Second Chance, Second Life. Off of Yonge Street and Charles.”
I brought up a mental map of downtown. It was a pretty rough area, prime spot to help the street people.
“Did Keith work there as well?” Bran prompted. He glanced at me, intercepting my question.
“Keith? Sure. He worked out on the loading bay—when he wasn’t posing for the cameras. Pretty boy there got picked to be a model for some photo ops. Happened a few weeks ago and he got all excited over it.” Yupp let out something between a cough and a snort. “He musta cut a deal with someone for some work on the side ’cause suddenly he’s got extra cash and pays me up his half of the rent on time.”
Bran didn’t falter. “He say where he got this extra cash from? Maybe some sugar mama from the inside calling him for a booty call?”
Yupp frowned. “Don’t think so. He never said. I figured he was getting a job, you know—” he waggled his fingers, “—under the table.”
“As in going back to jail if he got caught?” I asked.
Yupp looked at me as if I’d somehow materialized from another dimension. “Didn’t say yes, didn’t say no. And I ain’t gonna badmouth my roomie.”
“What was Keith in for?”
The ex-con shrugged. “Something hard-core. He didn’t say what exactly but I wasn’t gonna ask.” He frowned. “What you want to know that for?”
Bran peeled off three bills from the wad. “Background details. Thanks for the chat.”
Yupp escorted us to the door, fondling the money. “Come on back if you want more stuff. Don’t know where Keith is but we’re paid up for another month so it’s cool.”
The door shut behind us.
“Better?” Bran asked.
“Best.” I led the way back to the stairs. “So Keith Shaw suddenly comes into a lot of cash while working a loading dock at the soup kitchen.”
Bran hopped over a hypodermic needle. “After a photo shoot. Good place to find someone to do your dirty work.”
We headed out into the lobby and back onto the street. I pointed to the left.
“Queen’s that way. Not a chance of finding a cab along this street.”
I didn’t mention I needed the time to clear my mind and senses. It was getting close to midnight and I’d burned through all of my energy reserves.
Bran pulled out his cell.
“Who are you calling?” I asked.
“I want to see if this soup kitchen is one of our charities.” He tapped on the tiny numbers. “I’ve still got some pull at the office. Let me see if—”
I put my hand atop his, killing the connection. “It’s close to midnight. You’re going to get the same recording Shaw’s phone got. We’ll have to wait until morning.”
As we walked I kept glancing around us. The odds were good no one saw Bran and his obscene amount of money but it never hurt to be cautious.
“Brayton could have met Shaw at one of the charity functions,” Bran said.
“So could your father. Or mother, or one of your father’s friends/enemies,” I countered, hating to play the bad guy. “No one’s in the clear, not yet.” I steered us under the streetlights. “Tomorrow we head for the soup kitchen, start stirring up some trouble. Someone knows something. Shaw didn’t trip into this job—he was recruited to kill Molly Callendar.”
He cut me off. “And then what? We can’t take this to the cops. We can’t tell them any of this.” He rubbed his eyes. “We can’t even tell them we’ve got Liam.”
“What do you want?” I asked, keeping my voice low. We’d come up on the side of a 7-Eleven, the convenience store doing brisk business with people rushing in and out for munchies and cigarettes. “What do you want to do?”
Bran leaned against a bright placard advertising lottery numbers. “I’m not sure.” He let out a painful sigh. “I don’t know. I really, honestly, don’t know.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say. This was far beyond anything I’d dealt with.
There was only one more option I could offer.
I exhaled, closed my eyes and drew on what little calm I had left before speaking.
“Say the word and I’ll forget it all.”
“What?”
“The only thing connecting Liam to your father is this.” I tapped my nose. “Say the word and I’ll forget I ever picked up the scent. We’ll have Jess drop Liam off at a hospital anonymously. They won’t be able to trace him back to any of us. They’ll take care of him, probably put him with Brayton or the grandparents.”
Bran stared at me.
“Your father already thinks I’m bonkers. I’ll apologize to him and that’ll be that.” I had to force the words out. “As long as he doesn’t do any more investigation we’ll be fine. You talk to him, you tell him I’m a wee bit nuts and tell him to back off or I’ll have a breakdown. Or something like that. He’ll probably stop anyway if Liam shows up again. He’ll be busy covering his tracks.”
Bran stared at me.
“Say something.” I stamped my foot. “Say something, damn you.”
He pulled me into a hug, a hug so tight I felt the air escaping my lungs.
“I love you,” he whispered.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything.
Bran pulled back just enough to kiss me, a deep searching kiss that left me dizzy and glad he was holding on to me with both hands.
“Eep.”
“Eep?”
“Eep. Don’t let go.” I wobbled in his grip. “So was that a yes or no?”
Bran shook his head. “I can’t let my family get away with this, whether it’s my mother or my father. God knows what else they’ve done over the years. And I can’t let them get away with threatening you and your family. If my father does this once he’ll do it again and again. I know how he thinks—if he knows it’s your weak spot he’ll dig at it until it bleeds.”
“There’ll be more blood than he’s prepared for.”
“I know. Which is why we have to stop him.”
Chapter Eight
We walked back to the house in silence, holding hands. I was caught between wanting to sleep for a day and a half and wanting to tear Michael Hanover’s throat out.
Bran sighed as I unlocked the front door. He didn’t say anything as Jazz trilled and maneuvered between our legs.
“Shower. Bed.” I wasn’t sure what else to offer.
He tossed his coat on the sofa as I locked the door, double-checking the locks. The last thing we needed right now was unwelcome visitors.
Jazz hummed as I dumped another cupful of food in her bowl. I patted her on the head before heading for the stairs.
A trail of clothing led up to the bathroom. I held my tongue and picked up them up before depositing them in a heap in the far corner of the bedroom.
I stripped down, taking my time. My eyelids were already drooping and I needed to stay awake long enough to not drown.
Bran had his back to me when I entered.
I tugged the shower curtain across to make sure we didn’t flood the bathroom. We’d already had a few near misses due to some sexual escapades.
Bran didn’t say anything. His right hand was flattened against the white tiles, his left hanging at his side as the hot water splashed down over us. He didn’t move as I touched his back and ran my fingers down the small scars and scratches dotting his skin.
He began to shake, keeping his head down.
I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face against his slick skin, and tried not to listen to his sobs.
I woke in bed, alone.
My heart went into double beats as I scrambled to find something to wear, slowing when I smelled fresh tea from downstairs and heard Bran muttering to Jazz, who was begging for more food even though her bowl was already full.