Page 61 of Paternal Instincts
“I want you with me.”
“Maybe you should run that by your partner to be sure that’s okay.”
“It will be fine. No waffles. I’m not that hungry.”
Aslan shooed me from the kitchen with a swat to my ass. I brought my coffee upstairs with me to get ready for work.
When I returned, shower-fresh and ready for the day, I discovered a bowl of my favorite cereal waiting to be doused in almond milk with a small plate of sliced strawberries on the side.
Aslan despised my choice of cereal—he and Dad claimed it tasted like cardboard—and was frying himself eggs instead. I moved behind him and rested my chin on his shoulder. “Thank you for breakfast.”
“There’s more coffee.”
“Mm. Magic rejuvenation juice.”
I kissed his neck and helped myself to a fresh cup, topping off Aslan’s mug in the process before sitting to eat. He joined me with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. The instant he sat, his bare foot connected with my sock-covered one under the table. His big toe traced a path along my ankle, sneaking up under the cuff of my trousers. This was our thing. A silent connection. He’d been doing it for years.
We ate in comfortable silence. The domesticity was peaceful and familiar. Every once in a while, I caught Aslan watching me eat. WhenI made eye contact, he simply smiled. He didn’t need to say anything. His love radiated through the room.
I fed him a piece of strawberry, and he shared a bite of scrambled eggs. When I offered him a spoonful of cereal, he laughed and swatted at my hand. “Not on your life.”
“I’ve decided to start the day by chatting with Nixon,” I said when my food was nearly gone. “I think Jordyn and I should put pressure on him. I know he’s upset, but I’d like him to explain why his wife singled him out. Twice.”
“And Jude?”
I considered. “I need Costa’s report first. I want to know what, if anything, he finds so I can determine the right angle to take. Something tells me this revolves around Jude, Nixon, and this money issue.”
“It might also be wise to get a warrant for the Davises’ accounts.”
I set my spoon down, frowning as I picked up my coffee. “Why?”
“It could be Nixon is guilty and passing blame to Jude as a cover-up to save face. Jude could be fighting to prove Nixon’s the one responsible. Think of the notes. What isthe truththey refer to? Who are two people who canruin each other? You probably can’t get a warrant for the company, at least not at this stage. The reasoning is too loose. But you can check Nixon’s finances and be sure there isn’t anything unusual going on.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. I made a mental note to run it by Jordyn and see what she thought.
Before I could excavate more plans for the day, my phone rang. It was six thirty. I expected it to be my partner checking in, but it wasn’t. The call was registered as unknown.
Frowning, I connected. “Valor.”
“Yes, hello. Is this, um, Detective Valor with the Toronto Police?”
“It is. Who’s calling?”
“This is Dontrel Aston, security at the Bay-Adelaide Center. You gave me your card yesterday. I’m sorry. I expected a voicemail at this time of day. Didn’t know you’d be answering. I was going to leave you a message.”
“My days start early. What can I do for you, Dontrel?”
“Well, here’s the thing. You asked me to call if I remembered something about Mr. Davis and his business meeting in the courtyard. Now, I can’t swear I remember what day it was. It could have been on the Tuesday, or it could have been on the Friday of the week before. The old brain gets muddled.”
“You saw Mr. Davis meet with someone?”
“I often see him meet with people. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Like I said, lots of folks in the building step out of the stuffy offices and take their work downstairs if they can.”
I put the phone on speaker, wanting Aslan to hear whatever the man had called to say.
“Go on.”
“Well, you see. I only mention this because I believe it was on the night you asked about. I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble.”
