Blood of the Pride by Sheryl Nantus Read Free Book Online Page A

you?”
    “Molson’s Dry.” I wasn’t even going to try to guess what they had on tap. The woman nodded and then disappeared into the small crowd standing around the bar.
    The customers were the usual afternoon fare. Businessmen trying to avoid going home to their wives and children, and businesswomen looking for businessmen. Or businesswomen. The meat market may have shifted and evolved, but the game never changed. I flipped the menu, drawing my finger down the coffee-stained type.
    The waitress returned with a bottle and a glass. “What can I get you to eat?” Her tight white blouse had a blotch of ketchup on one sleeve.
    “Asian steamed dumplings, please.” I handed her the glass. “I’m not that much of a lady.” We exchanged saucy winks and then she walked away.
    I spotted a few fellows giving me the once-over before continuing their search. A place like this threatened to overwhelm my senses—the rush of different scents, images and noises almost deafening me on all fronts. My nose couldn’t stop twitching, hardly making me look approachable and certainly not all that sexy. Which, again, was fine with me.
    Turning my attention back toward the window and the street, I took a swig of beer while watching the sun dance away between the office towers and small shops dotting the skyline.
    The dumplings showed up, little packets of pork happiness with a small dish of soy sauce on the side and, God bless them, a dash of wasabi paste. I dipped the tines of my fork into the green stickiness and mixed it into the soy sauce before spearing one of the dumplings and letting it swim in the sauce. I began alternating sips of beer and spicy bites, my mouth exploding with a delicious heat.
    Pub fare had changed from when I was growing up. Back then if you got a decent hamburger you were lucky. Not to mention luckier if you didn’t get E. coli.
    The waitress put a fresh bottle of beer on my table as I finished off another dumpling.
    “Thanks for the refill.” I reached into my pocket and pulled off a twenty from the small wad I put aside for expenses. “I’m waiting for Brandon Hanover. Can you let me know when he gets here?”
    She paused. “I can do that.”
    “Great.” I added a second twenty. “And if you can make sure we’re not bothered by anyone, that’d be great.”
    The waitress grinned as she pocketed the extra cash. “Sure. I’ll send him your way.” She paused after picking up the twenty. “I’ll bring your change back from your meal and drinks.”
    I waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t a generous tip—I didn’t want to get pegged as a rich woman—but it never hurt to help those who were in the know. She smiled and bounced away into the crowd.
    While I finished off another dumpling a man in a long black leather duster strode up, taking his place at my table without pause. He stood a few inches over my petite five foot four. His flaming red hair was short, almost too short. He wore a baby blue long-sleeved shirt tucked into his jeans and just a hint of aftershave. My nose twitched at the smell. He reminded me of a purebred cat running wild in the street.
    “Bran Hanover.” He extended a hand, shaking mine with a good firm grip. “Rebecca.” He lifted his other hand in the air, waving at the overworked waitress.
    “Reb. And how did you know my name?”
    “Caller ID.” He spread his hands with a friendly grin. “Don’t leave home without it.” As a Heineken appeared on the table, the reporter nodded his approval. “Thanks, Eddie.”
    When she vanished into the crowd he turned his attention back to me. “Actually, I’m not blind. As soon as I knew it was you I called up some contacts and got a description along with some references.”
    “Ah.” I sloshed the last of the first beer around in the dark bottle. “And you still came?”
    “Never on a first date.” He winked, trying to spark some sort of reaction. He was kidding and he knew I was kidding and we both