Now it was my turn to circle Michael and Bran, taking soft silent steps around my living room. Michael stared straight ahead while Bran watched me with a mixture of fear and sadness. I was shredding his father in front of him and it had to be done.
I continued. “Now here’s how I would play it if I were your lawyer. You might have told the thug to take Liam from Molly and leave her behind but it goes all wrong. Molly puts up a fight and won’t give her baby up. She throws something at him, threatens to call the cops, maybe she starts to scream hoping to draw attention to herself. Guy panics and shoots her. Now he’s fucked—this isn’t what he wanted, what he was paid for. He takes the baby as agreed to but now there’s a problem—instead of a kidnapping you’ve got a dead woman, something you can’t make go away with your money. He runs and now things are a lot more complicated. He calls Brayton and now it’s spiraling out of control. Brayton didn’t sign on for this.”
A slight tic appeared on the elder Hanover’s left cheek.
I went in for the kill.
“If you go to the cops now and explain what’s going on you might save your ass. I know we don’t have the death penalty in Canada but a full confession would help Molly’s family to begin to move on and allow you to cut some sort of deal,” I offered. “A good lawyer can work out a plea deal, maybe a few years on lighter charges and probation. You didn’t pull the trigger.” I played the final card. “Liam’s got to start life without a mother. Let’s not make it worse by putting his father in prison.”
Michael looked at me intently for a long minute, studying me.
I didn’t move.
His eyes locked with mine as he tried to assess how serious I was.
I glared back.
His lips split apart into a wide smile.
He clapped, the hollow sound echoing through the living room.
“Bravo.” He glanced at Bran. “She’s got a great imagination. I can only wonder what you two get up to in bed.”
Bran scowled, his fists at his side.
“I’ve read some good detective stories. Sherlock Holmes, the usual. Loved the Spenser series. Can’t say the same for the television series—I think Ellery Queen was the best.” Michael sauntered back and forth in front of us, hands clasped behind his back. “If I recall correctly in all of these stories the bad guys have a motive, a raison d’être for committing the crime.” He paused for effect. “So what’s my motive in killing Molly Callendar?”
I winced inside.
“Ah.” He wagged a finger at me. “And there’s the rub. If I wanted Molly killed I’d have done it before she had the baby, perhaps when she announced she was pregnant.”
My stomach twisted into knots. “When Molly told you she was expecting what was the work situation? Did you let her go?”
Michael stopped and shot me a puzzled look. “What sort of man do you think I am?”
I swallowed back my response.
“She worked up until her ninth month, as long as the doctor said she could.” He lowered his chin and let out a chuckle. “Brayton told her she could leave whenever she wanted but she asked to finish out her contract. Have to appreciate that sort of work ethic.”
I resisted the urge to grin. I loved it when people forgot to compare notes.
Made it easier to catch him/her in a blatant lie.
“So Brayton knew about the pregnancy from the start?” I asked.
Michael nodded.
“Strange. He told me he didn’t know anything about Liam until she showed up with him in her arms asking for child support.”
Michael’s lips slipped into a tight thin line.
It wasn’t a smoking gun but it was a definite crack in the wall.
I didn’t spend any time enjoying my victory. “Who did you tell about Molly other than Brayton?”
Silence.
“I’m not asking you for your credit card number. I’m asking who else knew Molly was pregnant.”
Bran interjected. “Brayton’s assistant? His receptionist?”
Michael’s nostrils flared. “When she began showing she requested a transfer to another area so she could sit down more. It was the least we could do for her.”
I noted he hadn’t confessed yet to fathering Liam.
“Where did you send her?” I asked.
“Down to the charities and foundation floors.” He gave a little shrug. “Put her to work pushing papers until she left to give birth.” Michael smiled. “Even had a goodbye card and collection going around on the floor if I recall correctly. I tucked a twenty into the envelope.” His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. “Least I could do.”
Bran shook his head. “You bastard.”
Michael took three short steps, stopped in front of Bran and slapped him.
Hard. This wasn’t a love tap. It was the sort of slap men shot each other over.
I charged toward the two men, skidding to a stop on the hardwood floor inches from them as the reality hit me.
This wasn’t something I could fix. This wasn’t anything I should be trying to fix.
This was between them.
Father and son.
Betrayer and betrayed.
Bran glared at his father as his right cheek flared an angry scarlet. He didn’t move away, didn’t give an inch.
“You bastard,” he repeated. “You get her pregnant and then shove her out of your life with a few dollars. Like anyone else who didn’t want to play by your rules.”
Michael sighed. “Don’t be such a drama queen, Bran. If, for the sake of argument, I did have an affair with Molly Callendar and she got pregnant I would have offered to pay for an abortion if she wanted it. And if she didn’t I’d support her carrying the child to term and consider making arrangements for both of them to have a good life elsewhere.” He pulled out a white handkerchief and mopped his forehead.
Bran’s mouth fell open as if someone had stolen his speech.
I couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing that wouldn’t involve swear words.
There was a faintly sour taste at the back of my mouth, as if I’d drunk vinegar. I swallowed and licked my lips, trying to identify the source. I inhaled once, a sharp puff that laid down the scents around me.
The overlying sweet scent of male cologne drifted in.
I wrinkled my nose. Bran had given up putting anything other than deodorant on after our first few days together resulted in major migraines for yours truly. I liked my men au naturel—as much as possible.
This wasn’t the cheap stuff you gave your father and grandfather for Father’s Day either. This was pricey stuff, the liquid gold selling for hundreds of dollars per tiny bottle.
I located the source and smiled inwardly as I forced the scent out of my mind.
Michael’s expensive cologne had turned, the delicately balanced mixture warping and twisting under the sweat and pheromones coming off the businessman.
He was nervous. This situation was far beyond anything he’d dealt with before.
He was terrified.
Michael took a deep breath, the air stuttering out of his lungs as he steadied himself. His eyes closed.
I looked at Bran. He stared at his father intensely as if his gaze alone could pull the confession out.
“Dad,” Bran said, his voice starting strong but trailing down into a whisper as it went on. “Tell me the truth. For the love of God, tell me what your part is in all of this. He’s my half brother. I need to know.”
“Why?” Michael countered. “Why in God’s name do you care about any of this?” He swept his hand around, encompassing the two of us. “I asked her to help me out, that’s all there is to it. Whether or not this baby is my child is none of your business.”
“It is my business.” Bran thumped his chest with a closed fist. “Because I held him and I know he’s ours. You tell me the truth right now or I’m calling the cops and letting them deal with it.” He scowled. “And the press. Let’s see how you handle a roomful of hungry reporters. We’ll start with the Inquisitor and let it go from there.”