“What’s all that?” Smith asked MacDermot, gesturing to what she held in her hands.
“Just some research. I’m not finished yet, but Gentry wanted me in her office. Figured I could drop these off at my desk.” MacDermot gave Cella a once-over. “You look very ... casual.”
“I’ve got a game tomorrow.”
“Okay, if you feel that’s really a good enough excuse.”
“Both of you are such bitches.”
MacDermot walked to her desk, dropping the papers and folders off there, before smiling and winking at the male now sitting at the desk across from hers.
Cella barely glanced at the man, noticing the surprise on his face when she passed, but he looked away so quickly that she didn’t think much about it. Until she stepped into Gentry’s office and stopped.
“What?” Smith asked her when Cella went stiff.
Lifting her head, Cella sniffed the air. “Hey ... hey! Isn’t that ... ?”
“Leave it alone, Malone,” MacDermot warned her.
“Come on, Desiree.” Smith shook her head. “You must know her by now.”
Jesus Christ, what was she doing here? Of course, if she’d been at MacDermot’s party, they must be friends, but there was no way that woman was a cop. In fact, Crush had just assumed she was some rich feline that MacDermot had met through her husband. The Llewellyn Pride were very wealthy lions and knew lots of other wealthy cats. But no self-respecting rich New York feline would be caught dead in those sweat clothes with those rips, holes, and bleach stains; or those battered sneakers, no makeup, and her hair in a sloppy ponytail at the top of her head. Yeah, okay, she’d come from the gym, but she didn’t have time for a quick shower either? Instead, she was offending everyone with her overwhelming scent. The scent that part of him wanted to roll around in until he was completely saturated with it.
Dammit! That was not what he meant!
See? This was the problem. The woman was completely throwing him off. Damn her.
And who the hell was she exactly and why was she here in what Crush now considered “his” house?
Calm down, he told himself. She hadn’t even recognized him. Mother of the Year had barely glanced at him, so it was nothing. Apparently, she woke up with a lot of naked men she didn’t know, so how could she remember just one? So he wouldn’t even think about it. Nope. He wouldn’t think about it ... or her. It was not a big deal that feline was here. He wasn’t sure why he was freaking out at all.
Calmer, Crush sat back and, wondering if they had a soda machine somewhere on this floor, heard feet running just before the feline leaped into his lap with her ratty sweats and delicious scent.
“Hi!” she chirped loudly, her arms loose around Crush’s neck, her tight butt wiggling on his cock. “So how’s my boyfriend? My cute, adorable boyfriend.”
Boyfriend? Crush stared at the woman. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you remember Sunday morning? You. Me.” Her voice dropped lower. “Alone?”
“Yes. I remember. I’m also trying to forget.”
“You are so cute. Just as cute as ... something.” She paused a moment, glancing off. “Hhmmh. What is worthy of your level of cuteness?”
“I am not cute.”
“You are cute.” She pinched his cheek. “Just adorable with that vicious scowl. Bet you scare all the bad guys.”
“Now you’re being condescending.”
“Can’t help it. It’s in my DNA. Like my stripes.”
A She-wolf with cold yellow eyes stepped up to the desk. “Ain’t ya gonna introduce us?” she asked the feline, and what backwoods did they dig this chick up from?
The feline wrapped her arms around his chest and snuggled close, making him want to toss her off and pull her closer. Should he be having two emotions at once? That didn’t seem normal or a good idea. At all.
“Can’t introduce ya,” the feline admitted.
“Why not?”
“Don’t know his name.”
“Snuggling up to a man y’all don’t know. My momma was right. Yankees are whores.”
“Well, I know him,” MacDermot volunteered.
The She-wolf stared at her. “So?”
“You said y’all.”
“I didn’t say ‘all y’all.’ So I wasn’t talking to you.”
“I don’t understand your country-speak,” MacDermot complained, dropping into the desk chair across from Crush.
“Can you get off me now?” Crush asked the feline, trying not to flip out completely. Not easy with his cock beginning to twitch. How dare it twitch! He controlled every organ on his body, but especially that one!
“But I’m comfortable.” The feline stuck her nose against his neck and he felt that touch all the way to his toes. “You smell nice,” she murmured.
The She-wolf snorted and MacDermot cringed.
“So”—the feline leaned back and gazed up into his face—“when are we going out?”
Now? “Never. Never’s a good time to go out.”
She rolled her eyes, annoyed. “Well, I can’t marry you until we go out. Duh.”
Duh? Did she just say “duh” during the course of an adult conversation?
“We are not going—”
“Because we both know you adore me.”
“I don’t adore anyone. And I blame you for this, MacDermot.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“You married that goddamn cat who gave me those goddamn Jello-O shots.”
“You didn’t have to take them.”
“But they were tasty,” the feline confirmed. “Especially the black cherry one.”
“Well, well,” the She-wolf said. “I can’t believe me and Ric missed those fancy Jell-O shots.”
“You don’t come to my party,” MacDermot snapped, “and then you make fun of it?”
“Yep.”
“Would someone,” Crush barked, when the feline began to rub her nose against his neck, “remove this feline?”
“Just toss her off,” MacDermot suggested.
Appalled, he said, “I can’t just throw off a woman.”
“Awww,” all three females sighed, which made Crush snarl.
“Isn’t he cute when he snarls and scowls like that?” the She-tiger asked the others. “I think he is just so adorable!”
“Not really,” the She-wolf answered. “Looks kinda mean . . . and angry.”
“No,” the feline argued. “That’s grizzlies. Grizzlies are mean and angry. He’s a polar. They mostly look placid ... and adorable!” She nodded. “We’re dating!”
“We are not dating.”
“He’s just shy.”
“I am not shy.”
MacDermot shook her head. “He ain’t shy.”
“You three get back in here!” Gentry yelled from her office. “And leave the new polar alone!”
“But I’m comfortable,” the feline whined.
Thankfully the She-wolf took pity on him and grabbed the feline by the hair, yanking her off Crush’s lap. The feline roared and swung her fist, hitting the She-wolf in the chest. The She-wolf hit her back and Crush could tell by the sounds of contact that these two females were not, in any way, holding back with each other. And something about the mini-brawl looked familiar to him, but he didn’t know why and was too annoyed to even bother thinking about it.
The pair fought their way back to Gentry’s office and MacDermot stopped by his side. “Don’t mind Cella. That was the one on your lap. Dee-Ann was the one with the accent.”
“MacDermot, I don’t care.”
“Whatever. I’m out tomorrow, so we’ll start working together on Monday.” She started to walk off but stopped. “And are you really going to keep going with that biker look?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not working vice anymore, Crushek. You have to look a little less ... terrifying. You don’t have to wear a suit or anything but ...” She picked up a handful of his hair, running it through her finge
rs. “At least get this mess cut.”
When Crush growled, she held her hands up, palms out. “Not a buzz cut or anything. Just look a little less threatening.”
“I don’t want to cut my hair.”
“We’re not in a rock band, chico,” she snapped. “Cut your hair.”
Yeah, he’d completely forgotten what a ball-busting female MacDermot could be when you had to work with her.
She walked off and Crush stared at his desk. He was so miserable at the moment, his cock easily settled back down. “A haircut,” he muttered, making the detective sitting at the desk near him chuckle.
Crush locked his eyes on the leopard. “What’s so fucking funny?” he demanded.
The leopard pointed behind him. “That.”
Looking over his shoulder at Gentry’s office, he saw the feline standing by the big glass window—staring at him. She breathed on the glass and drew a heart in the condensation, then placed a kiss inside the heart. She winked at him, scrunched up her nose, and mouthed “later” before turning away.
Gritting his teeth, Crush faced forward again.
“Dude—” the leopard began.
“I won’t discuss it!”
Cella sat down on the other side of Gentry’s desk and laughed so hard she had to rest her head against it.
“Don’t pick on Crushek,” Gentry told her.
Lifting her head and wiping the tears, Cella explained, “I’m not picking on him. I’m trying to get him to loosen up. He’s so damn uptight.”
“He’s also—should it work out—MacDermot’s new partner, so give him respect.”
“Yet another partner, eh, MacDermot?” Cella teased.
“Don’t blame me. It’s you two. You guys get involved and my partners can’t run from me fast enough.” MacDermot pointed at Cella. “And you’re doing it again!”
“It was your Jell-O shots, lady!”
“No one told you or Crushek to suck down a vat of them! And who gets naked and crawls into bed with some guy she doesn’t even know?”
Smith raised her hand, only lowering it when they all gawked at her. “Well, I don’t do it anymore.”
“Wow, talk about a coyote ugly morning for some poor guy,” Cella laughed, but no one else joined in, so she stopped.
“Mighta been funny,” Smith muttered, “if I’d been an actual coyote.”
“Like there’s a difference.”
“Can we discuss why you’re all here?” Gentry snapped.
“Why are we all here?” Cella asked, pulling out a pack of gum from her sweatshirt pocket.
Smith took a piece of paper from her back pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Cella.
Cella looked at the one-page ad, MacDermot leaning over to see as well.
Finally, Cella had to know, “Wouldn’t cremation be a better idea? I mean would your mate want you stuffed and just standing around his house when you die?”
“It’s not for me,” the She-wolf snarled.
“The Group thinks,” Gentry cut in, “and I think I agree, that this taxidermist is stuffing our kind and turning us into trophies after we’ve been hunted down. Although the real problem is, of course, that he’s completely aware that he’s stuffing shifters.”
“Oh. Okay.” Cella took hold of MacDermot’s arm and turned it so she could see the giant Breitling man’s wristwatch the woman always wore. It was a real one, too. She could tell, because as a great-aunt once told Cella, “Gotta know the real ones if you’re going to sell the fake.”
She checked the hour and said, “I’ve got time tonight. I can take him out.”
“Or,” Gentry suggested, “rather than you killing anyone you just don’t like, you could let me finish.”
“See,” Cella shot back, “that’s a ridiculous thing to say because I don’t even know this guy or whether I like him or not. I was just going to kill him.”
When the women all stared at her, Cella pointed an accusing finger at Smith. “I was just going to kill him because of her. It’s the dog’s fault!”
Gentry leaned back in her chair, fingers to her temples.
“Am I causing one of your headaches again?” Cella asked.
“Yes.”
“Why are we having this meeting?” MacDermot asked. “As much as I love to see you guys, I have to kind of agree with Cella here. Other than just taking this guy out, I don’t know what we need to discuss. And I’m off tomorrow, so that better not be changing,” she also felt the need to add.
“When I found out about this place,” Smith said, “I was just going to go on in there, cut the guy’s throat, and leave—”
“What is wrong with you three?” Gentry sighed.
“—but I noticed something when I was hanging around in the woods across the street. There was already a team watching the place.”
“What team?”
The She-wolf smirked. “BPC.”
BPC, or the Bear Preservation Council, was a Brooklyn-based organization that raised money for the care, research, and protection of full-blood bears worldwide. They were also the cover for the agency that protected shifter bears in the tri-state area. And unlike KZS, the Group, and the NYPD’s shifter division, BPC refused to work with the rest of them on anything. They made it very clear that what happened to other species was not their problem and the bears that had jobs with NYPD and the Group were simply foolish.
Gentry’s hands dropped to her desk. “BPC was watching the place? Are you sure?”
“Recognized one of the team.”
“Recognized him how?” Cella had to know.
“Broke his spine during a fight once.”
And that was why Cella “had to know,” because she knew she’d be entertained!
“Y’all can stop staring at me like that. He’s clearly walkin’ ... now.”
“You gotta wonder why BPC wouldn’t just move on a place like that, too,” MacDermot said, her gaze out the window. “From what I hear, they handle shit the way Cella and Dee do.”
“They do,” Gentry confirmed. “Which makes me very curious about what they’re doing.”
MacDermot looked at her boss. “You want me to put surveillance on it?”
“I do.”
“Okay, but if BPC is already on it, why do we need to get involved?”
“BPC is run by Peg Baissier. And has been for the last twenty years. It’s believed that she’s become a bit of a problem. There are some of us in the bear community that have been looking for a way to ...”
“Force her into retirement?”
“Something like that.”
“Just because you don’t like her?”
“No. Because she’s dangerous to her own.”
“How do you figure that?” Smith asked.
Gentry moved around in her chair, her hands tugging the jacket of her suit down.
MacDermot glanced at Cella and Smith before saying, “Chief?”
The sow cleared her throat. “Besides his stellar record, there’s another reason I had Crushek—the polar bear”—she clarified for Cella and Smith—“pulled into this division as quickly as I could manage without setting off major alarms and a massive investigation by the full-humans of NYPD.”
“What reason?”
“There’s a rumor his cover was blown.”
“By Baissier?”
“Most likely.”
“Did you tell his C.O.? Chief of D’s?” MacDermot asked.
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is shifter business and the last thing we need is the NYPD looking into the BPC.” She sighed. “And ...”
“And?” MacDermot pushed. “And what?”
“And ...” Gentry looked at them all before finally admitting, “Peg Baissier was Crushek’s foster mother.”
Sick of hearing Conway laugh at him about having to get his hair cut, Crush slammed his phone down.
He hated change. Change was bad. Change sucked. Change ...
/> Crush looked around the room, realizing that everyone was staring in his direction, but they weren’t really looking at him.
Slowly, he swiveled his office chair around and looked at Gentry’s office. MacDermot, the She-wolf, and that damn feline were all standing on the other side of that big window. . . watching him. Even worse—they all looked sad. Devastated. What the fuck was going on?
“That’s it.” Crush stood, officially unable to take any more of this. “I’m out of here.”
CHAPTER FOUR
With MacDermot out on Friday, Lynsey had Lou Crushek spend most of the day going through files and acquainting himself with some of the current open cases. When he said he was leaving early because he had something to do in Manhattan, Lynsey called him in. She knew she couldn’t keep hiding the truth about Baissier and what the sow had done or, at the very least, was rumored to have done.
But the polar’s reaction to the news ... not exactly what Lynsey had been expecting.
Crush stared at her, nodded, and replied, “Uh-huh.”
Lynsey blinked and looked around her office, concerned she hadn’t actually said the words out loud. She finally settled her gaze back on him and asked, “I did just tell you that—”
“My cover was blown? Yeah. You just told me.”
“And that it was—”
“My former foster mother? Yeah. Yeah. You told me.”
“Uhhhhh, okay. I ... I guess I just expected more of a panicked, ‘Oh, my God! The guys I was trying to put away are going to come kill me’ kind of thing.”
“Well, they can try.”
“Okay. Uh ... perhaps some devastation at the betrayal of the woman who raised you?”
“Have you met Peg Baissier?” he asked flatly. “I wouldn’t exactly call what she did ‘raising me’ in the traditional sense. Her leaving me alone this long is really surprising. Which kind of makes me wonder why blow my cover now? What’s the benefit? Because she always has a benefit. But other than thinking that, I’m not really shocked.”
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