I stole a glance at Bran, who was staring at the floor.
“No,” Michael finally confessed. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had my share of dealings bordering on illegal.” His halfhearted smirk pissed me off. “On the razor’s edge and barely this side of the law. But not enough to warrant this sort of response. Besides, an illegitimate child isn’t big news these days. Maybe ten, twenty years ago it’d break your reputation. Now it’s a footnote at the bottom of the newspaper, a commentary in the financial section.” He spread his hands. “No offense but they’d have to try harder to wipe me out. Bigger fish to fry and so forth. It’d be a blip on the business radar if it’d show up at all. After all, it’s only a baby.”
I couldn’t figure Michael Hanover out. His tone fluctuated back and forth between his love for Molly and his disdain for Liam and vice versa. Whatever else the man might be, he rode the emotional hurricane on a minute-to-minute basis.
“It’s my brother,” Bran repeated.
“Your half brother. Remember that.”
I winced inside. Words were power and whatever happened here wouldn’t be easily forgotten by either side.
Bran crossed his arms in front of him. “You don’t tell me what to remember. Okay let’s take this from the top. If we believe you—” Bran held up a finger, forestalling any reply from his father. “If we believe you didn’t have her killed, who did?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t particularly care if you believe me or not. The fact is I didn’t kill Molly or have her killed. And if you had any proof to the contrary I’m sure your fine friend on the police force would have already arrested me or, at the least, taken me in for further questioning.”
I must have made some sort of sound, because Michael stared at me.
“Oh yes,” he purred. “Don’t forget I’ve already been to the station and spoken to your friend Detective Attersley. I told him about how I asked you to do this favor for me—a little thing considering you’re sleeping with my son and trying to move up in the world.”
Michael pointed at me. “I was part of your damned alibi, Rebecca. I told them about sending you to Brayton and took you off the suspect list. I didn’t like it and my lawyers told me not to do it but I figured it was the right thing to do. Keep your name clean.” He glanced over at his son. “But I could call them back. I could weave a different tale if I wanted to. Tell them about the baby being your half brother and lay the foundation for them to suspect you and Rebecca here.” A sneer touched his lips. “Wouldn’t it be a story for the Inquisitor—eh, son? About how you found out Liam was your half brother and you arranged for him to be kidnapped and killed to keep him from his part of the Hanover fortune?”
I resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
The balls would be a much better target.
I drew back, ready to deliver the mother of all kicks to the family jewels, when a breeze brought me more than Michael’s nervous sweat and Bran’s natural musk.
Another scent—one I’d recognize anywhere.
Chapter Ten
A soft sound came from behind us, accompanied by a sickening-sweet whiff of perfume. I closed my eyes and berated myself for not locking the front door.
“What about the Hanover fortune?”
Bernadette Hanover stood in the doorway.
At the back of my mind came the quiet fact I’d been taught on the farm—always have an exit strategy. I’d instinctively left the front door open for a quick exit in case things got ugly.
Except now things were about to get very, very messy. Exploding cans of spaghetti in a pure-white room messy.
She wore a long black coat over her overpriced jeans, a wisp of white ruffle sticking out at her neck. A small black handbag swung from her left elbow.
“What about the fortune?” she repeated.
Michael crossed the room with a handful of long, quick strides to stand in front of her. He took hold of her arms as if she were a porcelain doll teetering on the edge of a cliff.
“You shouldn’t be here. How did you get here?”
“I asked Andrea where you were. She said you were meeting with Bran.” She smiled, artificially whitened teeth almost blinding me. “I called your driver and he told me the address.”
“Ah. Yes.” Michael turned toward Bran and me. “We were just talking about...ah...” His face went blank.
He might have been a practiced liar but not a good one when it came to improvising excuses for discussing murder.
I stepped in, seeing his confusion—not to rescue him but to try to minimize the damage from friendly fire.
“We were talking about making a donation to help find the missing child. You remember when we met at the police station?” I tried to make my tone light, fluffy like cotton candy. “The AMBER Alert and all.”
Bernadette frowned for a second and looked up to one side, accessing her memory file. “Yes, I remember. Horrible thing.” She pushed by Michael and approached me, ignoring her husband. “A reward would be a great idea.” Her voice slipped from soft putty to hardened steel. “But that’s not what you were talking about.”
I looked at Bran, not sure how to handle this.
“Don’t worry about it.” Michael stepped up beside her. “I thought you’d be at the board meeting and I didn’t want to bother you.” He touched her arm. “Now that you’re here, let’s go out to a nice café and relax; let these two crazy kids have some time together. I can call Armando’s and get us a table for dinner.”
Bernadette looked at him. “I’m fine, dear.” The coolness in her words screamed frostbite. “Do you know how boring those meetings are?”
Michael grinned. “I know. But you enjoy helping out people.” He looked at Bran. “We all do.” The hardness in his words warned his son to not reveal anything, to leave it to him.
I wasn’t sure if it was the best option. From where I stood Michael had made nothing but bad decisions from the start where Molly Callendar was involved.
The sweat poured off the elder Hanover’s forehead, dripping from the edge of his nose. The sour smell increased to the point of threatening to choke me out.
“I don’t. Not anymore.” Bernadette took a few steps away from her husband. “Do you know what goes on at those meetings? They’re nothing but gossip central. Women nattering about this and that, about what’s happening with their husbands, their boyfriends.” She stared at Michael. “Their husbands’ lovers.”
Both men moved toward her at once. I hung back, unsure what to do. I’d seen husband/wife confrontations before in this very place, in my office usually due to something I’d discovered on the urging of one or the other. Usually I was able to push one party out the door with the threat of calling the police or, if all else failed, showing off my Taser.
But this was family and I didn’t know what to say or do.
Being neutral didn’t seem to be enough.
“What are you talking about?” Michael tried to bluff, the pasted-on smile beginning to weaken around the edges.
Bernadette’s face hardened into a scowl, the words grinding through clenched teeth. “I know about you and Molly. And all the others.” She looked at Bran, her deep blue eyes wide and sad. “If I had a dime for every woman your father’s screwed I’d be independently wealthy.”
Despite the situation I choked back a laugh.
“She was just a diversion, a flavor of the month.” Michael walked toward her, his arms outstretched. “It wasn’t anything serious.”
“They never are.” She glanced over Michael’s shoulder. “You deal with this sort of stuff all the time, Rebecca. Do men ever just have one affair?”
I swallowed hard. This was not the conversation I wanted to have with my possible in-laws.