“You’re in KZS.”
“Yes. I just said that.”
“So you’re basically a well-trained assassin who can handle herself in any situation.”
“There’s no basically about it.” When his eyes narrowed, she explained, “Look, you’re either one of four things at KZS: management, administrative, clean-up, contractor. I’m a contractor.” A good one, too, known for her long-distance taps.
But Cella could tell by the look on the bear’s face that he was absolutely horrified about what she did, about who she was, and she felt really insulted by that!
“Oh, whatever.” She brushed past him and headed to Van Holtz’s office, the bear right behind her. She opened the door and stepped in, dropping into a seat on the far side of the room—away from all judgmental bears.
“Everything all right?” Van Holtz asked, his gaze moving back and forth between Cella and the bear.
When the pair did nothing more than nod, he went ahead and got started.
Crush was impressed with how things were run between the three organizations. They worked together, concentrated on each other’s strengths rather than what they couldn’t do, and helped to keep each group honest.
So Crush wasn’t really surprised that BPC wasn’t a part of this meeting. Peg Baissier, with her title of “Chief Technical Advisor” had been running BPC since 1762 ... at least that’s how it felt to Crush. And she was a sow who liked her control. She definitely didn’t believe in sharing it. And to share anything with any other species besides bear she considered treachery. She didn’t announce that last part to the tri-state bear populace she and her people were supposed to be protecting because lots of bears worked for lots of different people. But Crush knew for a fact that’s what she believed.
He also knew she was an evil bitch, which was why he stayed away from her.
Yet Crush wasn’t really thinking about Peg Baissier as he listened to, and approved of, what was being said around him. Instead, he found his gaze straying constantly over to Malone. She pretended to ignore him, but he knew he’d pissed her off. But he couldn’t help it. He’d thought she was just some dingbat hockey player, not part of KZS. If she was KZS that meant she was trained in nearly every form of hand-to-hand combat, most weapons, and foreign languages and cultures. She would be well traveled and highly intelligent. And Crush knew this because KZS was the one organization that Baissier kept her distance from. She’d take them on if necessary, but it was never her favorite plan.
And yet, this woman, this feline, who said she was a KZS “contractor”—read “killer”—also said she needed Crush to be her “pretend boyfriend” because she couldn’t seem to control her own elderly aunts that she might have to beat up?
Huh? What?
“Detective Crushek?”
Crush looked up, realizing that everyone was staring at him. “Yes?”
Van Holtz handed him a picture. “Do you know him?”
He took the picture, glanced at it, nodded. “Yep. I know him. You know him, too, MacDermot.”
“I do?” MacDermot took the picture, glanced at it, and handed it back to Van Holtz. “Oh, yeah. Wow. He looks kind of different. Real cleaned up.” She nodded. “Yeah. We know him.”
The room fell silent until Malone barked, “And?”
“And what?”
Malone began to say something else, but the She-wolf placed her hand against her shoulder and Van Holtz asked, “And who is he?”
“Oh. Frankie Whitlan. Frankie the Rat. Frankie the Snitch. Frankie the Talker.”
“Big Dick Frankie,” Crush tossed in.
“Oh, my God,” Malone said to Smith. “Now there are two of them.”
Van Holtz raised his hand to calm the two females and said to Crush, “Detective, perhaps you can tell us something about this man. I assume he was some kind of informant.”
“He was a scumbag.”
“And a lot of cops used him. Some got their gold shields because of Frankie.”
“So,” Malone asked, “he’s a scumbag because he ratted on his criminal friends?”
“No. He’s a scumbag because he played both sides of the fence.”
“Crushek’s right. There were rumors that he only ratted out the guys in his way. Don’t let his nicknames fool you. Frankie Whitlan was a murdering motherfucker. He ran a massive drug ring and I think gun running—”
“But he started in gambling. Was a leg breaker for bookies in the Bronx.”
“Then ten years ago ... gone.”
“We figured either he’d been hit and dumped or—”
“Federal protection. The timing was interesting because we were trying to take him down for the murder of a stock market analyst and his entire family, including three kids. The rumor was he’d done it himself, which was rare because he usually had someone else do his killing for him.”
“But if he’s in federal protection, why is he back?” Smith asked. “Seems kind of stupid.”
“Hard to leave the life. Lot of those mob guys find their way back to their old neighborhoods just because they miss their favorite pizza place.”
“Yeah, but why is he hanging out with the taxidermist Smith found?” Malone asked. “He was missing his favorite taxidermist?”
Van Holtz nodded. “She has a point.”
“Let me see what I can find out,” Crush offered. “Some guys I know.”
“Some guys you know ... what?” Malone pushed.
“Some guys I know. Don’t harass me.”
“Harass—”
“All right then,” Van Holtz cut in. “I think that’s enough for tonight. I’m sure Desiree would like to go home and take some much needed migraine meds.”
“I appreciate that.” MacDermot stood. “Because the worst part? I feel like I have to blow my nose. I can’t express to you how that’s the last thing I ever want to do.”
“Come on, darlin’.” Smith put her arm around MacDermot. “Let me get you home.”
They all filed out into the hallway, Malone silently following Smith and MacDermot.
“I guess this is a little strange for you, isn’t it, Detective?” Van Holtz asked as they walked back to the front office.
“Just new. I don’t like change.”
“I understand that. It was strange for Dez in the beginning, too.”
He watched as MacDermot stopped in front of that big glass window Crush had looked through earlier, the one with all the kids behind it, and waved. After a few moments, a hybrid girl came out the door. She was a bear hybrid, probably mixed with canine. Nearly six-four, she had a very young face, but way more scars on her arms and neck than anyone that age should have.
Eyes wide, she gazed down at poor MacDermot’s face. “What happened?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” MacDermot teased. “Apparently, I’m tough like that.” Laughing, the pair hugged, then the girl hugged Smith and finally Malone.
“How’s it been going?” MacDermot asked the girl.
“Eh.” Not exactly a ringing endorsement.
Finally, Crush knew he had to find out more about what was going on here. It was driving him nuts. “Who are these kids?” he asked Van Holtz, his voice low.
Crush thought there might be some backpedaling or bullshit. There wasn’t.
“Hybrids,” Van Holtz immediately replied. “They didn’t have homes and it’s hard for them to mainstream into full-human society, so we take them in. That’s Hannah,” he said, glancing at the bear hybrid. “She’s been with us for a bit now.” He leaned in, lowered his voice even more. “Dee-Ann and Blayne rescued her from a dogfighting ring.”
Horrified the girl had been used that way, Crush still had to ask, “Did you recruit her?”
Van Holtz shook his head. “After what she and some of these other kids have been through? No. Although, they have the option to join us when they’re twenty-one. But not before then. We’re just giving them a place to crash, an education, and some options. Everyone deserves options.
”
“But shouldn’t you be helping them mainstream?”
“Well—”
A good-sized shaggy-haired dog ran out into the hallway, spun in circles for several seconds, and shot off.
“That was Abby.”
“Does she always run around as—”
“Yes. She also begs for food, scratches at the door to be let in or out, and snaps at flies, which is always entertaining. But we’re working on her.”
“Hey,” Smith reminded them. “We left them BPC bears sittin’ up front. Not sure we want little Abby around them.”
Hannah sighed. Deeply. “I better go get her.”
“If Abby gets on your nerves, Hannah, why do you watch out for her?” Van Holtz asked with a small smile.
“One word,” she replied. “Blayne.”
“Can’t handle the sobbing?”
“Can you?”
The girl had a point. Crush knew he couldn’t handle it.
Hannah started off, but Abby suddenly returned. Sliding into the middle of the hallway, she barked and barked, then ran back the way she’d come.
Knowing a panicked bark when he heard one, Crush didn’t think twice before going after the girl and everyone else. But the naked, blood-covered male lion in the middle of the reception area did take him by surprise, though.
Cella stopped when she saw the naked, blood-covered male stretched out on the floor. Her gaze went to Charlene. “What the hell?
“He’s been shot,” Charlene told them. “A couple of times.”
“Charlene,” Van Holtz ordered, “call Dr. Hayes. He’s probably on the medical floor.”
Crouching on one side of the lion’s body, with Smith on the other, Cella reached over and pushed his still-growing mane out of his face. “Oh, shit.”
“You know him?” Smith asked.
“Mikey Callahan. His ma’s gonna lose her mind.”
Gold eyes opened and looked into Cella’s face. “Cella.”
“Baby boy, what happened?”
“Bad day.”
“He’s with KZS?” Smith asked.
“No. I’ll explain later.”
“He’s been hunted,” one of the grizzlies said.
Cella glanced up. She’d forgotten all about the BPC grizzlies. “How do you know that?”
He crouched beside her, pointed at Mikey’s bicep. “Here you can see he was given a drug to keep him lion. Look at his neck. He was chained while human, then forced to shift.”
“Forced?”
“While KZS and the Group have been going after pissant hybrid dogfights, the bears have been focusing on the real hunters going after real shifters. Their methods have improved.”
“Not liking your tone, son,” Smith warned. She had a real warm spot for the hybrids, although she’d never admit having a warm spot for anyone.
“Don’t you?” He stood up, towering over Smith. “Well, that’s not really the problem right now. Is it?”
“And what is the problem?”
The grizzly pointed across the room into a far corner. “She is.”
As one, they all looked at the full-human girl standing in the corner. She was Italian American, Cella would guess. Pretty and young, wearing an old leather jacket with some bloodstains on one side and driving gloves. And, at the moment, just realizing she was in serious trouble.
Mikey’s grip tightened on Cella’s hand and she looked at him.
“She brought me here. She saved my life. You know what that means to us, Cella.”
Mikey Callahan, like Cella, was another Traveller, although the Callahan Pride had lasted a little longer before they’d been asked to go their own way and leave Ireland. Loyalty was all to the Callahans, like it was to the Malones. If the girl had saved his life—and why would he lie when he was bleeding out onto the Group office floor?—then she had to be protected.
But before Cella could move, MacDermot stepped in front of the girl, her face swollen, but the Bronx attitude firmly in place.
“If I were you,” MacDermot said to the tall grizzly, “I’d just walk away.”
“I know you feel like you have some power here, full-human. But you don’t. Just breeding one of us, doesn’t make you one of us.”
Charlene kneeled on the floor and placed Mikey’s head in her lap. The fox was small compared to the rest of them, but she had a .45 holstered to the back of her skirt and when the fox nodded at her, Cella knew she’d watch out for him.
Standing, Cella and Smith slowly made their way around the room, closing in on the two grizzlies.
“I think you better go,” MacDermot pushed.
“We’ll go, but we’re taking her with us. Since we can’t trust you to do what needs to be done with her.”
“You’re not taking her anywhere.”
He reached for MacDermot, his hand grabbing her jacket, but MacDermot already had her hand on her gun. Still, none of them actually expected little Abby to jump between the bear and MacDermot, barking and baring her teeth, biting at his wrist so he’d release MacDermot.
“Shit,” Smith snarled, her bowie knife out, she and Cella moving fast. But before either could reach him, the bear casually kicked Abby out of the way. He knocked her into the chairs. The girl gave a surprised yelp.
They were all so focused on Abby that they didn’t see Hannah until she rammed into the tall grizzly, knocking the bigger bear into the door. Smith went to help, but Cella caught her arm, holding her in place as Hannah battered the second bear with her forearm, hitting him across the chest and then up into his jaw.
Abby shifted to human and grabbed the bigger bear by his hair. She dragged him away from the door, ignoring his surprised roar of pain, and MacDermot leaped forward to help the pup, ramming her foot into the bear’s knee.
The full-human girl, seeing her chance, charged out, barreling through the doors and into the freezing cold outside.
Smith looked down at Cella’s hand and then at her. “Reason you did that?”
“Figured the girls could handle themselves.”
The two bears got back to their feet and Abby shifted back to canine, running and hiding behind Cella. Poor thing, she never knew whether she should be escaping or fighting. Hannah, though, now blocked the door, giving the full-human girl more time to get away.
MacDermot placed her hand on the kid’s forearm and tugged until Hannah moved to her side.
“I think you need to go,” MacDermot said again to the grizzlies.
“Or what?”
She shrugged. “I’ll let a naked girl beat you up again. Because that was funny.”
One of the bears snarled, aggressively stepping into MacDermot, but then Crushek was there. He got between his partner and those bears, his hands slapping against the bigger grizzly’s head and digging his claws into his face, the pair roaring at each other. Windows and furniture rattled; Group members poured into the room, guns raised. But they weren’t needed because Crush yanked the big grizzly close, nearly tearing the other bear’s face off in the process. “My partner said it was time for you to go.” He pushed the bear into the second grizzly, sending both of them careening out the door, and roared, “So go! Go run home to Mommy!”
The grizzlies fled and Crushek stood between the two sets of doors, his back to them, chest heaving, hands now covered in grizzly blood.
The front office was completely silent, everyone staring. Which was when Smith leaned in and whispered to Cella, “You may want to take it down a notch, darlin’—your nipples are hard.”
Cella brought her fist up, her knuckles colliding with Smith’s nose, then she returned to Mikey Callahan’s side.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Crush sat at his kitchen table, chin resting on his raised fist, and stared across the room. He’d crossed a line. Not with his boss or even his own moral code. No, he knew he’d crossed a line with Peg Baissier. She’d always hated him, which seemed only fair since she was the one woman Crush openly admitted detesting. But Baissier was very p
rotective of the BPC “brand.” And what had happened to her “boys” tonight was not something she’d let go. Crush knew Baissier well enough to know that she’d never let this insult slide. Not her.
Yet she would never come at him directly. That was too easy. No, she’d find another way to get to him. Or, as she’d put it more than twenty years ago, she’d find a way to “make you hurt.” Since he knew she wasn’t one for idle threats, he felt pretty sure she’d make good on that promise. Especially now.
Still, Crush wasn’t worried about himself too much. Not that he wanted to suffer or anything, but it was what it was. Yet there were others who had now crossed her, too. MacDermot. Van Holtz, Smith, Malone. Even those two hybrid girls. They’d all unknowingly crossed a line with Baissier. Crush had warned Van Holtz and Gentry, who’d shown up at the Group offices an hour after everything went down. They understood, and when he and MacDermot had left, they’d been meeting with Smith and Malone, and Van Holtz had promised to ensure the girls would be protected.
But Crush couldn’t shake the feeling that ...
He heard the knock at the front of his house, and Lola raised her head from the kitchen floor. She snarled and Crush stood, removing his .45 from its holster and heading to the door. But one sniff had him lowering his weapon and pulling the door open.
“It’s you.”
“Is that any way to talk to your pretend girlfriend?”
Rolling his eyes, the adrenaline practically pouring out of his body, Crush said, “You are such a strange feline.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She lifted her hands. “You going to let me in or what?”
“It’s late, Malone. And I’m just not in the mood to—”
“Great. Thanks.” She pushed past him and walked into his house. Gritting his teeth, he followed her into his kitchen.
As soon as Malone stepped in, Lola barked at her, running around Malone and sitting down at Crush’s feet. Still barking.
Crush reached down and picked up the fifty-pound dog. “I know, girl. I know. No one wants these nasty cats in their home. Worse than rats.”
“I can’t believe you buy into that canine-media propaganda.”
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