Beast Behaving Badly (26 page)

“She back at her place?” She couldn't help but smirk. “Or should I be checkin' out Novikov's place?”

“She's still in Ursus County. She's refused to return home until her father, someone she trusts, comes to get her.”

Good Lord. Is that what all this fuss was about? Because the teacup poodle got her feelings hurt? Did Van Holtz really expect Dee to care? When there were hybrids out there with
real
problems?

“I'm sure he won't mind,” she said, unable to hide the boredom she was feeling.

“You microchipped her,” he said again.

And, fed up, she replied, “I really don't care.”

“Good. Then neither will I. You're fired.” He turned his back on her and reached for another sharp cutting tool. But Dee was too startled to merely walk away.

“Pardon?”

“I said you're fired.”

“Because of the poodle?”

“Because shoving something into someone's body against his or her will is often called assault. And for that you get fired.”

“Fine,” she snipped. She could get work anywhere. She didn't need him or the Group or anybody for that matter!

She again turned to the door, but it swung open and Niles Van Holtz walked through. “Oh, good. You're both here.”

“I'm leavin',” she said. “Been fired.”

“That's been canceled.”

The younger Van Holtz spun around. “Like hell it has! We agreed!”

“No. You ranted and I said ‘uh-huh' a lot to keep you calm. But we have a bigger issue right now that we need to deal with.”

“What now?”

“Spoke to Blayne's father. Ezra. Have either of you met him?”

Dee had seen the man, but she hadn't spoken to him. He seemed like every other Magnus Pack wolf she'd ever seen. Big, unfriendly, with a thing for two-wheelers.

“He's a unique man,” Niles Van Holtz went on. “And unless we want him to start doing some real damage, we need to take care of something before he helps us get Blayne out of Ursus County, and we need to take care of it fast.”

“Which is?”

“We need to find the ones who grabbed Blayne. Find them and take care of them.” The older Van Holtz looked over at Dee. “That seems right up your alley, wouldn't you say?”

“I guess.”

“We don't know where they are,” Ric said. “And all our tracking team found was Novikov's truck, and that was gone when we sent a full team out. The area was swept clean by the time our people got there.”

“Bears,” Dee said, and when both men stared at her, she said again, “Bears. It was bears who took Novikov and the poodle—”

“Stop calling her that!”

“—all the way to Ursus County. The bears cleaned up the place, and those bears aren't getting rid of anything from something like that.”

“That makes sense,” the older Van Holtz pointed out to his cousin. “Think Lock—”

“He is
not
going to help us anymore.” Ric glanced at her. “And he's not talking to
you
at all.”

“Did you turn him against me?”

“Would you two cut it. We need a contact.”

Ric shrugged helplessly. “I know Lock and his parents. And forget his uncles. They
adore
Blayne.”

Niles looked at her.

“The only bears I know besides Lock are in Tennessee.” She scratched her head. “There is one person who might be able to help.” She dug into her leather jacket and retrieved her cell phone. “My cousin Sissy. Her and Ronnie Lee have been fucking bears for years, so they should know somebody.”

Niles chuckled as Ric growled and went back to decimating that poor zebra.

 

 

Lou Crushek, also known as Crush to those brave enough to call him that to his face, pulled open his front door and gazed through one eye at the full-human female who simply reeked of cat.

“What?”

“And a good afternoon to you, too. Late night?”

“Pretty much.” They stared at each other as only fellow cops could. “I guess you want to come in?”

“Thanks for the invite!”

Knowing resistance was an absolute waste of time, Crush stepped back and Dez MacDermott, one of the few full-humans on the force he actually respected, walked into his apartment. He'd known Dez for a lot of years. They'd done some good work together, and more than once, he'd thought about trying to hook up with her, but something had always kept him from bothering. He used to think it was the “shittin' where you eat” aspect of hooking up with a coworker, but he realized later that it was simply because she was, in her heart, a cat lover. Literally.

Closing the door, Crush turned to face her. “So what is it? And make it snappy, twinkles.”

“And to think you're still alone.” She dropped onto his couch like she owned the place. She must have picked that up from her husband Mace Llewellyn. A more typical lion male a body wasn't likely to ever meet.

“Anyway, do you know a”—she pulled out her battered notepad from her backpocket and glanced at the name—“Bo Noveeko? Since I'm positive you don't know Blayne Thorpe.”

“No-vee-koff,” he pronounced for her. “And he's the best damn hockey player you'll never hear about, full-human. What's it to you?”

“He's missing along with Blayne Thorpe.”

“What do you mean he's missing?”
And who the hell was Blayne Thorpe?

Dez opened her mouth, he assumed to respond, but her cell phone went off. She tensed her hands tightening into fists. Softly, she said, “You know I'm a dog person, right?”

“I thought you were more a cat person?”

“Only when it comes to marrying them. Actually having them as friends, I'm all about the canines. But let me tell ya . . . like a goddamn dog with a bone this guy!” Dez's famous short temper snapped, and she yanked her still-ringing phone from her jacket pocket. “What? I'm talkin' to him . . . you know you're startin' to piss me . . .” She held the phone out to him. “Talk to him because I'm about to go Bronx on his ass.”

Chuckling, assuming it was that husband of hers, Crush took the phone. “Yeah?”

“Mr. Crushek?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Niles Van Holtz.”

Placing the phone against his thigh, Crush said to Dez, “You put me on the phone with a Van Holtz?”

“Well, you know what would happen if I kept talking to him.”

“Good point.” Crush put the phone back to his ear. “What do you want?”

“More bears . . . lovely.”

“Do you want something?”

“We need your assistance.”

“Who's ‘we'?”

“The Group.”

“Oh.
That
we.”

“Yes. One of your Brooklyn associations handled something last night, and we need access to what was located. As soon as possible.”

“Hold.” He put the phone against his thigh again and focused on Dez. “What does he want?” Because he couldn't handle the Van Holtz vague speak right now. It was too early for him.

“Last night some scumbags tried to kidnap Blayne Thorpe. She's a wolfdog. Novikov was with her, and a beacon was set off that called in some kind of bear clan out of the Brooklyn woods to finish that tea party that these scumbags started.”

See? That was clear . . . at least to him. “You friends with Novikov?”

“I couldn't even pronounce his name.”

“But the girl . . .”

“She's a friend. She's a friend of a lot of people. If it was just these rich canines, you know I wouldn't be here. But for Blayne . . .”

“Got it.” He lifted the phone. “I'll see what I can do.”

“Yes, but—”

Crush disconnected the call, not even wanting to hear the canine's voice for another second. “Wanna go for a ride, MacDermott?”

“You just want me to drive, don't you?”

“I haven't had my coffee. Don't mess with me, woman, when I haven't had my coffee.”

Dez stood. “We'll get some on the way.”

 

 

Grigori walked into his house and immediately wanted to walk out again. The boy! The goddamn boy! He hadn't changed! After ten years he hadn't changed!

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

The boy looked up from wrestling the couch out of the living room. His giant, L-shaped couch.

“Can't clean under the couch properly if it's in my way.”

Okay. So he'd have to kill the boy. He could. Grigori had killed before. Never family, but that didn't mean much when the boy was messing with his house.

“I thought you said you were on vacation.”

“I am.” He started pulling the couch again. It wasn't that Grigori worried the boy would damage the couch or his walls because he knew Bold was too uptight and persnickety to do that. No, for Grigori it was about the principle!

Maybe if he choked the boy out? At least then he'd sleep.

Before he could put his plan into action, he heard a grunt behind him. He turned and saw Norm Blackmon standing there. Even stranger, Irina Zubachev stood behind Norm. A meaner grizzly sow he didn't know. Of course, she was one of the Kamchatka bears. Descended from tough, brutal Russian bears that were known to not only eat humans when they were starving, but even when they merely had the munchies. And although they'd grown up in Ursus County together, Grigori could not think of one time the woman had ever been to his house. Ever.

“What?” he asked both of them.

“This is for Speck,” Norm said, walking in with a big box.

“Don't call me that,” the boy muttered, finally putting down the couch.

“And this is for Blayne,” Irina said, making both Grigori and Bold gape at her. If there was one thing everyone in town knew, it was that the Zubachevs hated, loathed, despised canines and, at their mildest, had merely torn the legs off a few rather than their heads. Grigori wouldn't think about what Zubachevs had done to canines at their worst. “Tell her I'll have that deep conditioner for her tomorrow.”

Bold stood next to Grigori now. “Is that all for her hair?”

“And yours. She's right,” Irina told the boy flatly. “You got frizz issues. A little conditioner will do you good.”

With that Irina walked out and Norm dropped the box at their feet. “Take this. It's from Blayne.”

Bold pulled the envelope off the top of the box, opened it, and read out loud, “For my sanity and everyone else's, please use these.”

Norm was already grinning, and Grigori joined him when Bold opened the box and pulled out a primo set of skates.

“I'm on vacation,” the boy complained, and Grigori looked desperately at the sloth bear standing next to him.

 

 

Bo flew head first out of his uncle's house, over the porch, and into the snow. The hockey equipment followed, painfully colliding into his back and skull.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” he yelled at the two older bears before the door slammed shut in his face. “That's just rude!” he quoted Blayne.

Bo sat up. “Fine. They don't want me here. I won't stay here.” He stripped to his boxer briefs, put on all the gear except the skates and socks, and walked to the pond on his uncle's property, which was his favorite pond anywhere in the entire world.

And for the eight years he'd lived in Ursus County, this was the pond he'd come to every day in the winter, like clockwork, by six a.m. Summers were tougher, of course, and he was forced to use the indoor rink to practice, but he'd made friends with the maintenance guys, and they'd let him in to practice. Day after day, summer after summer, until Bo had earned a set of his own keys.

He dropped his equipment and sat on the ground to get on his socks and skates. He felt real excitement as he did, already looking forward to some time with just himself, his stick, and the ice.

Bo stepped onto the ice and took in a deep breath. Blayne had been right. He did need this, whether he was on vacation or not.

Grinning, he put his helmet on and started off with a few drills.

 

 

Blayne ran up the hill and stopped at the very top. She panted hard, hands on her hips as she looked over the beautiful countryside. This hill was the highest and she could see the ocean on her right. If she looked straight down, she could see one of the huge man-made saltwater lakes, three polars sitting by it, stretched out and quietly contemplating . . . what? The true meaning of life? Mathematical theorems? Some great science experiment?

Bears were so smart, they could be thinking up the next great thing. She bet it was great to have a brain like that, to be able to think like that. Blayne always wanted to be a genius. To be able to spout theorems and equations the same way she could quote bad horror films and every episode of
Seinfeld
. Unfortunately, her brain didn't hold on to things for very long. At least not important things.

Not like bears anyway. Smart, thoughtful, caring bears.

And that's when she saw a seal pop up through a hole in the ice, and one of the bears grabbed it by the head and dragged it out. The seal squealed, but the polar bit into its head, holding it and running because the other two polars came after him. Even more horrifying, she had the feeling they were playing, as opposed to a more typical life-and-death struggle that she might catch on the National Geographic Channel. When they started to play tug with the still breathing but soon-to-be-dead seal, Blayne turned away and started back down the hill. When she got to the bottom, she froze, surprised and concerned.