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

ass in and I couldn’t tell them anything more than I’ve told you.” He snorted and shook his head. “They’ve got the crime scene. They’ve got way more information than this scrap could give them with no prints and no way to track it back to the owner.”
    I couldn’t dispute his logic. If the police were running cold it was unlikely a photograph would blow the case wide open.
    Unless they could scent it like I had just done.
    “So how does an old hack working for a tabloid rag afford this?” I raised one eyebrow. “Working under the table, maybe? Criminal attachments, maybe?”
    “Inherited old money, maybe?” Bran walked away from me and sat down on the couch, spreading his arms across the long, leather back. “My parents were pretty well off.”
    “Did they approve of your work?” I picked up both photograph and envelope and returned to my seat, placing the two items on the glass table between us. It was better to keep my distance and my senses clear.
    “They died quite a few years ago so it’s a moot point.” He avoided my eyes, focusing instead on the accusing photograph forming a wall between us. “So, what next?”
    “Tell me what sort of people bring you their garbage and think that it’s fit to print.”
    He grinned. “Well, aren’t you the snob?” He shrugged, the blue shirt riding up and down across his broad shoulders. “I get the same sort of ‘deliveries’ as everyone else in the business—some very honest, hardworking people seeking to have their story told—and more than my fair share of wackos looking for their moment in the sun. They’ve got the 9/11 tapes, the Bigfoot photographs, the reason why the oil prices are so high and the air car conspiracy. All wrapped up, usually, in a brown paper bag smelling of booze and old vomit tied with twine and a handwritten letter declaring that I’ll be saving the world if I just print this.” His head rolled back and he stared at the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling. “Those are just the ones I can stand to remember.”
    “Delivered to your front door?” I jerked a thumb behind us at the entrance. “How did they get past your doorman, who seems to be ex-military?”
    He frowned while he kept looking at the ceiling. “Good point there. Dan only allows private couriers to my door and that’s with an escort. Everything else stays down at the front desk until I check in.”
    “And this guy slunk in, trotted up to your front door and slipped this under without getting caught.” I leaned forward, cupping the now warm coffee mug in both hands. “He really wanted you to get it. Didn’t trust Dan to hold it for you or send it to your office. Wanted you to focus on it, make it a priority.”
    “Why?” Now it was his turn to lean forward. “What’s so special about this woman?” His fingers, long and slender, pulled the photograph closer to his side of the table. “Who was she?” His eyes went to the handwritten note. “What was she?”
    “Janey Winters was a teacher, nothing else.” The cup of coffee grew colder in my hands, along with my tone. I’d pointed him at the rabbit hole and the bastard was curious enough to fall in, damn it. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and someone wanted to make a spectacle out of her death, which you provided when you sent this to your editor and it got published in that piece of crap you call a newspaper.” A growl began to grow in the back of my throat, threatening to break free. “You shouldn’t have published that photo.”
    “Hey, back off.” Bran pointed his index finger at me. “First, all I knew was that there was a funky picture of a cat woman slipped under my door and that’s a story. I didn’t print her name or anything and we blurred the important points, so don’t get your knickers in a knot more than you’ve already done.” His stare returned to the ceiling, inspecting every knothole. “Now all you need to do is tell me about her skin condition. It