Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) by Sheryl Nantus Read Free Book Online

him while he was half-asleep and more open to certain suggestions. His bare back showed countless scratches, courtesy of yours truly.
    I grabbed my running shoes and cursed under my breath. I needed to get this job done and over as soon as possible. I hated keeping secrets from Bran but I hated morning fights even more, and if he figured out I was working for his father, there’d be hell to pay.
    * * *
    According to the address on the card David Brayton worked in the middle of Toronto’s financial district. Hanover Investments was ensconced on prime real estate at the intersections of King and Bay Street. I hopped the streetcar and rode in with the rest of the business commuters. I stuck out in my leather duster and jeans when everyone else had on power suits and power dresses.
    My uniform was a bit more useful.
    I sniffed the collar of the duster. It still held a trace of the Pennsylvanian forest, the rich earthy scent chasing away the gas fumes and cologne/perfume.
    It didn’t take much to push me back to the wilderness. If I closed my eyes I could see the lush forest near the farm where I’d gone on my first hunt. Another whiff of my duster and I envisioned the clearing where Bran faced down a wild Felis and declared his love for me.
    A foul-smelling diesel truck rolled by, smearing black smoke over the streetcar windows. I wrinkled my nose and pulled back to the present. I got off at the next stop and walked the last block trying to purge my lungs of the oily pollution.
    It didn’t escape my attention that the first twenty floors of the building belonged to Hanover Investments. I stood on the sidewalk and watched worker drones rush in and out of the various business hives.
    A long black limousine pulled up halfway down the block from me. Car after car came to a screeching stop with the one lane now clogged. A single horn bleated out its annoyance but fell silent as everyone noticed the reason for the delay.
    I craned my neck to see who warranted blocking traffic on a major street in the middle of rush hour.
    Michael and Bernadette Hanover exited the rear of the car, the driver tipping his cap as the couple strode toward the building in front of me. Michael was carrying a briefcase and wearing a black business suit while Bernadette trotted beside him with her own version of a briefcase, a large pink-and-purple purse that could have hidden a small child. Her light blue dress, tied at the waist with a flashy silver chain, clung to her as she tried to keep up with her husband. A few seconds later the limo drove off, followed by a long line of delayed and annoyed commuters.
    I spun away before they could see me, ending up behind a hot dog cart strategically set up on the sidewalk to take advantage of starving travelers looking for a fast nitrate fix. The smell of grilling onions had me drooling even as I watched the pair exchange cheek kisses and split up, Michael heading into the main tower through the front revolving doors and Bernadette off through another door to a smaller, less congested part of the triple-armed complex.
    The hot dog vendor waved a pair of tongs at me as I moved away from the cart and headed for the entrance. I made a mental note to grab a dog or two on the way out—there’s nothing better than street food if you know where and when to buy it.
    Security guards flanked me the second I got through the revolving doors, marking me as not one of the regulars. I nodded to the uniforms and headed for the marble front desk, where a thick-necked supervisor checked my investigator’s license and pawed through my messenger bag to make sure I wasn’t smuggling in a bomb.
    “I didn’t know we had PIs in Canada,” he muttered, passing the bag back.
    “You learn something new every day.” I slung the oversized purse over my shoulder and signed in at the open ledger. “I’m here to see David Brayton.”
    The woman passed me a visitor’s pass and gestured at the bank of elevators. “Twentieth floor.”