I chewed on my bottom lip, running through our options.
They ranged from few to none.
Bran’s cell phone rang.
We both jumped.
Bran dug his phone out of a pocket. He looked at the caller ID and went pale.
“My father.”
I drew a deep breath. “Your call. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”
His fingers hovered over the small screen. “I don’t know what to say to him.”
“Don’t say anything,” I prompted. “Let him lead the conversation. Let him call the shots.”
He touched the clear surface and laid the phone down on his palm so we both could hear.
“Dad.” His tone was calm and steady. “What’s up?”
I moved in and touched Bran’s shoulder. There was no way I could imagine the emotions rushing through his system right now and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. It was one thing to be told you had a half brother and quite another to hold him in your arms and know there was another connection to your lifeline, another link in your family chain.
“Good morning.” Michael’s tone was low and calm. “How are you and Rebecca doing today?”
“Fine, thank you.” Bran glanced at me and shrugged.
“My assistant told me you called her regarding a charity front. What’s that all about?”
Bran hesitated, long enough for his father to pick up on it. Michael Hanover hadn’t made his money by being dim. “A story idea. You know how these things go.”
“I see. Did you meet Rebecca yesterday?” Smooth as silk and sweet as cotton candy. Now I knew where Bran got his charm.
Bran threw me a look. “Yes, I did. We’ve been chatting.”
“Really.” The calmness made my skin crawl. “What about?”
A streetcar rumbled by, the long extended body painted in red and white. It came to a shuddering stop not far from us and discharged a pair of shabbily dressed men who quickly walked away from us. One cast a glance over his shoulder, assessing our potential for future interaction.
I scowled at him.
Bran didn’t notice or didn’t care. “About you blackmailing her into doing some work for you.”
Michael snorted. “Blackmail is a very strong word, son. I wouldn’t toss it around unless you have something to back it up.” His voice deepened. “Or something to hide.”
“She’s not hiding anything from me.”
“Are you sure?” Michael purred like a lion playing with a mouse. “How well do you know Rebecca Desjardin?”
“Well enough,” Bran snapped back. “I want you to stay out of my personal business.”
“Your business is my business. As long as you take my money.”
I winced. I knew Bran wasn’t financially independent—his reputation as a serious journalist was growing but a freelance writer only got paid per story, nothing guaranteed from week to week, month to month. He’d managed to snag some good paychecks as of late but it didn’t cover the amount of money he’d been tossing around since we’d been together.
I wasn’t the only one being blackmailed here.
“Where are you right now?” Michael asked.
“We’re hanging at a diner on Queen Street. Got some great steak and eggs,” Bran lied without missing a beat. “Talking things over. She’s upset with the way things went yesterday.”
“I understand. And believe me, I didn’t mean for it to get so...complicated for her. I can’t imagine the shock of finding a dead body and then having to deal with the police.” I could imagine him wrinkling his nose in disgust. “I hope she’s coping.”
“She’s doing as well as can be expected.”
“Good. I hope she’s had a chance to consider and can see things from my point of view,” Michael said. “I understand it’s rough with her, coming from such a disadvantaged family, to understand how things work for us.”
“What do you mean?” Bran asked.
I could imagine Michael Hanover sitting behind the oak desk, studying the photographs on his wall. “I understand it’s her job to be suspicious but I hope she’s not going to be silly and take her wild theories to the authorities.”
“What wild theories?” Bran asked.
I heard the hitch in Michael’s voice. He didn’t want to bring Bran into this but if he wanted to secure my total silence he had to.
“That I’m somehow more involved with this than I already am. I told the police everything—about how Brayton needed a discreet courier and I connected the two. Nothing more.”
Michael wasn’t stupid. He was worried about his line being tapped. A bit paranoid, but he hadn’t gotten to where he was by trusting people to stay silent.
“So she’s told me,” Bran replied coolly.
“I assume you don’t agree with her.”
“Reb has a different way of seeing things.” He reached out and tapped the edge of my nose. I responded with a smile despite the situation.
“She’s got to understand how things work in our family, Bran.” Michael’s tone grew harder. “If you expect us to accept her fully you’re going to have to keep her under control. She’s got to learn to know what to say in public and what stays behind closed doors.”
“Like Mom does?” Bran barked. “Letting you screw around behind her back, doing any woman who’s stupid enough to spread her legs for you?”
The men on the bench shuffled away at hearing his raised voice.
“Bran—”
“No. No no no.” Bran punched an invisible speed bag. “We are not going to do this over the phone. Come over to Reb’s place and we can talk about this.”
My stomach lurched. I didn’t want to be standing between Bran and his father. Having lost my own at a young age I couldn’t bear to be the reason their relationship fractured.
“Rebecca’s place?” Michael asked. “Why there?”
“Because I said so. We need to talk and I’m sure you don’t want me tearing up your office in front of all your employees.”
I couldn’t fault his logic. His father wouldn’t be at ease in public and definitely not at work. At least if he came to the house he’d be on my turf and we’d be able to deal with him without outside intervention.
“Okay. I’ll be there within the hour.” He hesitated. “It goes without saying I expect no tomfoolery from you.”
Tomfoolery? I mouthed the word.
Bran snorted. “Like what? Having the cops hide in the closet like some cheap detective novel?”
I bit my tongue. It wasn’t all that bad an idea.
Except Hank would kill me for asking.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Michael replied. “All I’m asking is that you allow me to present my view of the situation.”
Bran shook his head. “See you then.” He cut the connection.
“What are you going to do?”
“I want to hear the truth. I’m not letting him threaten you. We’re no closer to getting any answers and I’m fucking tired of getting to the party a day late and a dollar short. He’ll tell me what we need to know about Liam and about Molly Callendar.”
“And what happens if you don’t like what you hear?” I said softly.
He gave a halfhearted shrug. “Won’t be the first time.” He looked around. “Where’s the streetcar stop?”
“Let’s walk out to Yonge Street.” I waited until we were well away from the soup kitchen before venturing into dangerous territory. “What are you going to say to your father?”
“I don’t know,” Bran admitted. His hands curled up into fists and uncurled, curled and uncurled. “I want to smack the shit out of him but it won’t change anything. Especially if he’s responsible for what happened to Molly.” He rubbed his palms on his jeans. “I don’t know what to do. I’d say for you to call Attersley but there’s nothing we can give him that won’t put you in jeopardy.” He shook his head, lips pressed together in a thin line. “I won’t let that happen.”