Dee-Ann knew that look. Kitty wanted a compliment so she gave her one.
“You drive like my daddy when he’s had some of Uncle Buddy Ray’s ’shine.”
Not appreciating that, Malone contacted the other teams. They had every way out of this private airport covered so they could follow their prey. The plan was that the Group, Katzenhaus, and the BPC would not let these boys out of their sights while they were in this country.
But as the minutes ticked away and no one drove by . . . Dee-Ann and Malone looked at each other, gazing directly into each other’s eyes.
“Hey, Arnie?” Malone called out on her radio.
“Yo?”
“Check the hangar they went into.”
“Yep,” the bear replied.
And then they waited again, and still no vehicles came by.
“Cella?” Arnie called back.
“Yeah?”
“Uhhh. They’re gone.”
Malone let out a nasty growl. “Who the fuck missed them?” she demanded of the multiple teams listening in. “Who the fuck let them by?”
“Uh, Cella?”
“What, Arnie?”
“No one let them by.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m looking at the hole.”
Frowning, her head jerking back a little, Malone asked, “What?”
“I’m looking at the hole.”
“What hole?”
“The hole they burrowed.” When Malone said nothing, Arnie added, “They burrowed out of here. Literally. They burrowed.”
Malone dropped back into the seat and said to Dee-Ann, “They burrowed out of the hangar and under the streets of New Jersey.”
“Yeah,” Dee-Ann replied. “I . . . I really don’t know what to do with that.”
“For once, my canine friend, we agree. Of course, this also means we have Scottish MacKilligans loose on the East Coast . . . and no idea where.”
“Well,” Dee-Ann said, lifting up her Tennessee Titans hat so she could scratch her scalp before pulling it back down, “If nothin’ else . . . we know they’ll be at that funeral. We just have to hope and pray they won’t be burying any extra bodies.”
* * *
She only napped for about twenty minutes but it was enough to make her energy explode like a three-year-old who had gotten into a bag of sugar.
But it got really weird when Shen, sitting on the floor with the couch at his back, looked away from the TV and realized that Stevie had perched herself on the tall bookshelf at the other side of the room.
When she realized she had his attention, she began to creep along the top on all fours until she reached the edge.
Shen shook his head. “Stevie, don’t—”
But it was too late. She made a crazy leap from the bookcase toward him, but she landed stomach down on the coffee table. About five feet short of her mark.
“Almost!” she cheered, her face still in the table.
“Yes,” Shen said, lifting her off the table. “Almost.”
He pulled her down into his lap, her legs on either side of him.
“Are you tired?” she asked.
“Nope.”
Stevie dug her hands into his hair, pushed it off his face, massaged his scalp. It felt amazing.
“Because I need to be fucked again,” she said. “But I don’t want to wear you out.”
Shen couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeahhhhhh, that’s not gonna happen.”
“It’s not? Because I can be pretty demanding.”
“And I’m a wild panda. All I need is a box of condoms and free time.”
Stevie moved her hands from his scalp to his shoulders and leaned in close. “Then what are you waiting for?”
He pointed toward the TV. “Storage Wars is on right now.”
Stevie’s eyes opened wide and her lips parted.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Shen said quickly, yanking her back onto his lap before she could get up and storm away.
“All right then.”
“Besides, I can just record it.”
She was halfway across the room before he caught up with her again, catching her in his arms and dumping her onto his shoulder. Her laughter entertained him just as much as having her naked body all to himself for the next few hours.
chapter SEVENTEEN
“Okay,” Stevie said, turning in the chair so she could look right at Shen. “I have a suggestion.”
Shen grinned but she rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about sex.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”
“I never knew you could be such a horny monkey.”
“Wild panda,” he reminded her. “So what’s your suggestion?”
“You might think it’s crazy. It goes against everything I believe.”
“Now I have to know.”
She glanced at the receptionist who managed her therapist’s office. Frowning a little, she leaned in and said, “I think we need to involve Max.”
Shen shook his head. “Sisters are not my scene.”
“That’s not what I mean, perv.”
“You started it,” he murmured. Then he winked and she didn’t know whether to punch him or put his cock in her mouth.
“Are you going to focus?” she asked.
“Well—”
“On the topic.”
He chuckled. “Sorry. Bring Max into what?”
She leaned even closer. “Dealing with Wells.”
“I thought you said if your sisters found out—”
“That’s mostly Charlie. If Charlie finds out, she’ll kill everybody. Probably even you. For not stopping me.”
“Good to know. And a little terrifying.”
“But Max—”
“Is an unhinged nut bag. Who I respect as your sister,” he added when she glared. “But she is an unhinged nut bag. How do you know she won’t flip out, too, because you’re involved?”
“We give her a task.”
She motioned him closer so she could whisper in his ear, “Breaking and entering.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“She says she hasn’t done it in a while but . . . I’m not sure I buy that. Anyway, it’s like riding a bicycle. It’s a skill you never truly lose. Only this time, instead of robbing people of their very expensive jewels, she’ll be helping her kind.”
“If you think it’s a good idea . . .” He shrugged. “But you’d better protect me if Charlie finds out.”
“I can try but . . . ya know. I may have to let you go.”
“Thank you very much for that.”
Stevie laughed but the sound got caught in her throat when her doctor’s partner walked out to the front desk . . . with Charlie behind her.
“If you have any questions or experience any side effects,” the woman told her sister, “just call. But there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said, taking an actual prescription from Dr. Lewis.
“Great. See you next week.”
“Yeah.” Charlie turned and that’s when she saw Stevie. Their gazes locked and Stevie opened her mouth to tell her sister how proud she was of her, how excited she was that Charlie was taking her own mental health in her hands and managing it, how amazing her sister was, how she’d never loved her more. But before she could say any of that, Shen pressed his hand over her mouth. She tried to drag it off as Charlie looked down at the floor and began to quickly walk toward the elevator, but he wouldn’t let go.
He dragged Stevie onto his lap and wrestled with her until the elevator doors closed.
“Are you two having fun?” Dr. Morgan asked, standing over them.
Stevie finally got Shen’s hand off her mouth. “My sister was here!”
“Stevie, you of all people know that I can’t discuss that with you or anyone.”
“I know. I know.” She jumped off Shen’s lap and spun away from her doctor. “But isn’t it amazing!”
* * *
>
Watching the ballet troupe on the big stage was interesting, but not as interesting as the woman sitting beside him in the theater.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy that someone was going to therapy.”
“My sister’s not nuts,” Stevie replied, her eyes focused on the stage.
“Never said she was.”
“You can’t do what Charlie does and talk to the voices in your head or wear foil beanies to protect you from the alien rays.”
“That is very specific.”
“So I don’t worry about my sister having an emotional breakdown. I worry she’ll have a physical one. Stress can be very damaging to the body as well as the mind. Even to those of us with superior DNA. I don’t want to wake up in twenty years with a sister who has heart problems and back problems and ulcers and any other number of things that can kill you. So, yeah. If someone needs therapy and medication, I’m all for it.”
“Maybe she just went for medication.”
“That’s not okay. Medication should never be given without therapy.” She suddenly looked at him. “And if you ever go to a doctor who tries to tell you otherwise . . . get another doctor.”
“I’m a panda,” he said and, when she frowned, “We’re just happy.”
“Well, lucky you.”
A break was called on the stage and Stevie got up and started down the aisle. Shen grabbed her backpack and followed.
Oriana was standing next to the director. She was talking to him when the prima ballerina, Svetlana Romanov, cut in front of her as if she wasn’t even there.
Shen, who had a high tolerance for other people’s bullshit, thought even he would be annoyed if someone did that to him. That’s when he noticed that Stevie had picked up her step.
She stopped when she reached the outside of the orchestra pit.
“Oriana!” she called out. “Hey!”
Oriana paused, taking her glare from the back of Svetlana’s head long enough to spot Stevie. She blinked in surprise and came to the edge of the stage.
“What are you doing here?”
“Came to visit,” Stevie replied. “Can I come up?”
Oriana appeared as confused as Shen felt, but she motioned to a set of stairs that Stevie could take.
When Stevie was on the stage, she threw her arms wide and loudly called out, “Oriana! Sweetness! It’s so good to see you!”
It was so loud and annoying that the remaining dancers and the director all focused on her.
Stevie hugged Oriana for a little longer than was necessary. Poor Oriana widened her eyes at Shen over Stevie’s shoulder, silently asking him what was going on. Like he knew!
When Stevie finally let Oriana go, she still held her hands. “I have such exciting news for you! I just have to . . . David?”
An older man, standing on the other side of the director looked up.
“David Connelly?” Stevie asked.
“Yes?”
Stevie released Oriana and placed her hands on her upper chest. “It’s me. Stevie Stasiuk.”
The man frowned, and then his eyes popped wide open. “Dear God! Stevie?”
She went across the stage and into the man’s open arms. “I can’t believe it! It’s been ages!”
“Stevie, look at you. My God!” He stepped away, looking her over. “Last time I saw you, you were just a child. Now look at you.” He dramatically kissed the backs of her hands, and Shen had to use his best “professional bodyguard face” to keep from rolling his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Stevie asked.
“I’m the music director of the ballet.” Still holding her hands, he tugged her a little closer. “And you? Why are you here?”
She motioned to Oriana with an elegant tip of her head. “We’re very old friends.”
They were?
“And I’ve been having a little bit of a rough time with my family.”
Yeah. You could say that. If parts of your family trying to kill you is considered “a little bit of a rough time.” Sure.
“So, Oriana insisted I come to New York to spend some time with her and . . . she’s been such an inspiration.”
The music director’s head jerked a little. “Inspiration . . . in . . . in . . . music?”
Stevie glanced around a little and, leaning in, she loudly whispered, “I’ve been working on a little ballet for—Oh!”
The exclamation came when the director yanked Stevie so close that Shen was worried the man was going to kiss her, but no. That wasn’t it.
“You’ve written a ballet?”
“Just the music part.”
“Just . . .” He gave a harsh laugh. “Just the music part?”
“Uh-huh. You see, I’ve known Oriana for years.”
Except she said you never remembered her name.
“And we’ve been playing around with some ideas. The things she can do as a dancer are just astounding and challenge me to come up with music that meets her talent head-on. Because, as you know, music should never take over the dance or outweigh it in any way. Just complement the beauty of what she and the other dancers can do.”
“Oh, uh . . .” The music director’s eyes snapped over to an older woman and man standing nearby. They both nodded toward Stevie, signaling the man to do something. Shen just wasn’t sure what. “Do you happen to have any of that music. . . uh . . . on you at the moment?”
“Ummmm . . .”
Uh-oh.
Stevie stretched out her arm toward Shen and wiggled her fingers. He assumed she wanted her backpack. He brought it to her, holding it in his arms as she opened the zipper.
“Let’s see. Let’s see.” She glanced at Shen. “Oh. Sorry. Maestro David Connelly, this is Shen. My bodyguard. Say ‘hello,’ Shen.”
“Hello, Shen,” he repeated back, letting them all believe he was as dumb as they thought he was.
“Ahhh,” Stevie said. “Here it is.” She pulled out one of her many notebooks; quickly flipped the pages. “Yes. This is it.”
She turned, handed it to Connelly.
He grabbed it like a dying man offered a bottle of water. He put on the glasses he had hanging around his neck and quickly scanned the pages. From what Shen could tell, it was a music notebook. He remembered those from his childhood days of attempting to learn piano before his mother finally came in during a practice session and closed the cover on the keyboard, looked down at her only son, and said with as much kindness as she could muster, “Let’s just find something else for you to do. Anything else for you to do.”
“Do you . . . um . . . still have an agent for your music?”
“I haven’t in years. Science has been my love for quite a while now. Why do you ask?”
“Well, we might be interested in using this music and creating a ballet around it.”
“Very interested,” the older woman said. She stepped closer, held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Ida. The ballet master.”
“Ida Swan?” Stevie said, shaking the woman’s hand. “The Ida Swan? It’s such an honor.”
“And an honor to meet you. I remember seeing you conduct once in Madrid.”
“Oh, yes. I remember that. God, I was so young.”
“But talented. Your music is wonderful. I was sorry to hear you’d walked away from composing.”
“It was for my mental health.” She suddenly reached out, her arm wrapping around Oriana’s neck and yanking her close. “But Oriana and her beauty as a dancer just . . . brought me back. It’s been revolutionary.”
Ida smirked, her wise gaze sizing up these two women instantly. But she didn’t call them out. Not when she had a chance to get a ballet written by the great Stevie Stasiuk-MacKilligan. At least that’s what Shen was guessing. He watched players work all the time. Especially when he protected financial guys. This was a negotiation if he’d ever seen one. Even if the word was never actually used.
“Dear, Oriana,” Ida said. “You’ve been keeping secrets.”
Ori
ana nodded. “Stevie wanted to keep her time here quiet.”
“About that agent . . .” the music director pushed with a gentle—but desperate—smile.
“You can use mine,” Oriana suggested. “Dominique Gagnon.”
“The cellist from Marseille?” Stevie guessed.
“No. The agent from Uniondale. Out on the Island. She has an office in Manhattan, though. She handles dancers and musicians.”
Stevie grinned. “Perfect.” She glanced at her phone. “Oh, I have to go.”
“We’ll get in touch with you,” Ida promised.
“I look forward to it. Maybe dipping my toe back into this world through dance will change everything.”
Stevie started to walk off, but stopped, turned, and gently attempted to remove the music notebook from Connelly’s desperate grip.
“Can I just . . . can I . . . if I can just . . .”
She ignored his begging and yanked the notebook from him. She tucked it into her bag and zipped it closed.
“Ready?” she asked Shen.
“Yep.”
Stevie took a few steps, and that’s when Oriana’s great enemy stepped in front of her. She was the stereotypical ballet dancer. Long and lean, her hair in a perfect bun, not a strand out of place, her eyes big and easy to see from the back row of any theater. She was stunning, but obviously calculating. Hanging around his sister Kiki over the years, Shen had been introduced to lots of people like this woman. They had different livelihoods, were of different races, religions, but all had the same calculating gaze.
“Hello, Stevie. We met . . . very long time ago. I am Svetlana. Principal dancer here.”
Stevie blankly gazed back at Svetlana and, with a calm, dead voice, replied, “I’m sorry. I don’t know you.”
Then she walked around the dancer who was used to people bowing at her feet and left the stage.
* * *
“‘I’m sorry, I don’t know you’?” Shen repeated to her as they sat in his SUV.
Stevie cringed. “Too much?”
He leaned forward a bit so he could see out her window. “I don’t think so.”
Stevie looked out the passenger window and saw Oriana running down the stairs. She’d taken off her toe shoes and put on an orange pair of Converse high-tops.
Rolling down the window, Stevie began, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
Oriana’s hug cut off the rest of Stevie’s sentence.
In a Badger Way Page 22
