Beast Behaving Badly (30 page)

“But—”

“I get tense when people get pissy. Unless you want me chasing my tail or hiding under that chair over there . . . be nice!”

Marci agreed and walked away, and Blayne leaned over the counter as Lorna placed a tray filled with honey buns and decaffeinated tea—again, just for Blayne—in front of her. “What's going on?” Blayne whispered.

“Knowing that Kerry-Ann, she's about to ask you for a favor. Kind of the same way they do it in
The Godfather,
I imagine.”

“Will it involve me killing anyone?”

“Doubtful.” Lorna laughed. “But it will probably involve that Bold Novikov.” Lorna leaned in closer, Blayne following suit, and she whispered, “She's been bragging around town how she can get your Bold to play with the team against the Canadian bears. Just a friendly game, mind, but that boy never did anything to help anyone but himself.”

Blayne wanted to argue with Lorna, but she couldn't. Although after spending a little time in Ursus County she understood why Bo was that way.

“You do know,” Blayne felt the need to explain, “he's not
my
Bo?”

“That's not what Marci Luntz told us earlier.”

Small towns. Blayne loved visiting them, but she wasn't sure she could live in them full-time. Everyone was in everyone else's business. Something she would never do . . . unless her help was needed. Then, of course, she'd get involved.

Picking up the tray, Blayne walked over to the table.

“Now, dear—” Kerry-Ann began, but Blayne cut her off.

“I'll help you on one condition.”

The shrewd She-bear glanced over at Marci as if to say, “Told ya so.”

“And what would that one condition be, dear?”

“You stop calling Bo ‘Speck.'”

That didn't seem to be the response the sow had been expecting, immediately trying to defend herself and the entire town. “Well, it's just a nickname. We all have them and—”

“He doesn't like it. And it seems kind of mean to me. I hate mean and I don't help mean people. Because mean people upset me.” She placed the tray on the table. “You wouldn't want me upset would you, Superintendent?”

The sow slumped back in her chair. “You're a sobber, aren't ya, Blayne Thorpe?”

“I prefer the term sensitive.”

“Took you long enough in the bathroom,” Grigori complained as they walked into town. “You're like a woman.”

“According to my girlfriend, Blayne”—his uncle growled—“I'm supposed to let the conditioner sit for fifteen minutes.”

“Conditioner?”

“Yes. According to my girlfriend, Blayne—”

“What are you? Twelve?”

“—I need better conditioner than that combo stuff you use. I need all-natural with no silicones so that I can have a beautiful shiny mane.”

“You cannot be my brother's son. You can't be.”

“She also says—this is my girlfriend Blayne again—that by putting in a little more effort on my hair, I won't have to worry about that receding hairline that you're currently dealing with.”

Bo easily ducked the swipe of that big arm and grinned. “Gettin' a little slow in your dotage.”

“And you're becoming a smart ass.”

They hit town, heading toward the police chief 's office on Main Street. As they walked, the locals passed and each one greeted them with, “Mornin' Grigori . . . Bold.”

After the fifth time, Bo stopped, his uncle turning to face him.

“What?”

“Why are they all calling me Bold?”

“That's your name, idiot. Or are you starting to forget after too many pucks to the head?”

“I don't forget anything, which is why I know something is up. No one in this town calls me Bold but you and Dr. Luntz.”

“Can't you try calling her Marci? She takes it so personally when you don't.”

Bo's eye twitched. “When did you start caring about how Dr. Luntz takes anything?”

“That's none of your goddamn business, boy.”

“Since when?”

“Why are we arguing about this?”
Grigori bellowed.

“I don't know!”
Bo bellowed back.

Muttering, his uncle stormed off and Bo followed him. The entire way to the police chief's office everyone went out of their way to greet Bo, some asking after Blayne. It was weird and made him nervous. By the time they arrived at Adam's office, Bo was tense and anxious. Before he knew it, he'd begun to organize the chief's incredibly disorganized desk, ignoring the deputies and his uncle who watched him.

“Sorry,” Adams said as he walked in from a back room. “Just got off the phone with our people in New . . . what's that boy doin'?”

“Ignore him,” Grigori said.

“Yeah, but—”

“Ignore him or we'll be here all goddamn day!”

Bo held up a near empty Pepsi can that was warm and had probably been sitting there for three days. “Are you saving this for a reason?”

“No, but—”

He dropped the can in the trash and kept organizing while Adams began talking. Obviously the chief had faced the fact he had two choices here: Let Bo clean—or deal with an anxious, big-fanged hybrid.

“Heard from our people in New York. Those Van Holtz fellas are gettin' pretty anxious about your girl. They were pushing for more info on the ones who caught her.”

“Why?”

“They weren't real sure, but they heard it had something to do with her father.”

Grigori sniffed. “Probably wants them dead for touching her. Not that I blame the man.”

“The bears in New York weren't real helpful to the Van Holtzes or us. They kept saying they had more research to do.”

“Research about what?”

“Got me. The one I talked to was acting real sketchy. Don't much like sketchy.”

“Me, neither,” Grigori agreed. “Think we need to worry?”

“Doubt it. Because we've got the one thing no one—bears or anybody else—wants to risk. We've got the boy. They want him to play for this year's Cup with the Carnivores.”

“See, kid?” Grigori asked him while Bo diligently organized the chief's paperwork. “The whole hockey thing is actually paying off.”

 

 

Blayne had been running for about an hour, avoiding the Kamchatka bear territory like Bo told her to, although she didn't see why. Irina Zubachev had been ever so nice since Blayne had dropped nearly three hundred dollars of Bo's money on hair products from Irina's store.

Turning, Blayne headed toward the ocean.

She couldn't believe the beauty of this place. She wondered what it looked like in the summertime, but right now, in the midst of winter, it was truly a wonderland. Snow was everywhere, and icicles hung from the many trees and buildings she passed. Bears of every type roamed around, often in their shifted form, none of them showing her much interest. And while they had lakes and rivers filled with salmon, they also had a lot of seals. Where they got the seals from, she didn't want to know. How many met an untimely end as a polar meal, she also didn't want to know.

Instead, Blayne kept running, her small pack of dogs behind her.

She saw a small walking bridge and headed for it. As she ran across, she saw her first sign of locals in human form this far away from town. Two males, polars, fishing. She ran up to them and stopped.

“Morning!”

They both jerked a little before turning only their heads to look at her. Their scowls faded and they smiled.

“Blayne Thorpe. What you doing out here?”

“Running!” She patted the dog that pressed up against her side. He was trying to warn her off, but she knew there was nothing to worry about. She'd met Earl and Frank the day before, and they were so nice!

“I only run when chased,” Frank muttered.

“Did that trick work?” she asked.

“Like a charm,” Earl said, rewarding her with a smile. “Where'd you learn to fish anyway, city girl?”

“Daddy. He took me fishing all the time. He said it was the only way to get me to give him some peace and quiet, otherwise I scared off the fish—and the one who got the biggest fish, didn't have to clean it. I haven't cleaned a fish in eight years.”

“Where you off to now?” Frank asked.

“Loop around town. See if I can spot Bo.”

The two bears chuckled and nudged each other.

“Would you two grow up?”

“Just be careful. Lot of ladies after that one,” said Earl.

“You'll have some competition,” Frank added.

“We're friends,” she argued.

“Yeah. Friends.”

“Is that what they call it these days?” asked Frank.

Shaking her head and laughing, she said, “I give up!”

“You might as well,” Earl yelled after her as she took off running. “Once a bear sets his sights on you, it's real hard to get away!”

“Also known as stalking in other parts of the country!” she yelled back.

And she laughed again despite herself when they yelled back, “Only if you're caught!”

 

Dee didn't realize the greatness of the fox connections until she stood outside the Brooklyn bear's headquarters. Unlike the Group's faux office building, the bears had a five-story brownstone that, from the outside, appeared like a nice family home on a decent piece of land in a quiet Brooklyn suburb. But as she'd gotten closer, Dee spotted the multi-camera security system that ringed the property. And, when her eyes strayed to the trees—the black bears sitting in them, keeping watch.

Getting past the bear's external security was not much of a challenge for Dee. She'd been sneaking around the bears of Collinstown for years, just like her daddy taught her to. Especially helpful when she was dating the Collinstown sheriff's son. Her daddy would have been doing a whole lot of different kind of sneaking if he'd found out about that.

So, yeah, getting past those cameras and tree-sittin' bears—not a problem for Dee. Getting inside the first floor? Also not a problem. But getting to the floor where they had those bodies that the foxes had told Dee still hadn't been destroyed. . . ? That was the challenge.

The first thing Dee did was strip naked, placing her clothes someplace she could get to them easy if she had to make a run for it. Then she pried off the metal grate covering the vent. She placed the grate on the floor, stepped back, shifted to wolf, and leaped inside. She low-crawled her way through and down, desperately trying to keep her claws from scraping against the interior metal. Bears had amazing hearing. Of course, they also had a shit-hot sense of smell, so she had to get in, get out, and get home before they realized they had a wolf in their midst.

Dee reached the lowest level—about fourteen floors underneath the house—and, after pressing her snout against the grate and sniffing carefully, she eased out into the room. She landed and shifted back to human.

The room was pretty damn cold, but that was probably to keep the bodies from decaying. She unzipped the first body bag. A full-human male, in his forties. In fact . . . Dee's head tilted to the side. She knew the guy. Ex-SEAL and a real scumbag. Dee leaned in. Although there was burned skin and broken bones, she could see what killed him. The cut across his throat, opening up the arteries on both sides of his neck. Dee moved to the next table, unzipped the bag. Again the throat was cut but not like the ex-SEAL's. Instead, there were individual cuts at the location of each artery in the throat. Dee moved down and saw the same cuts on the inside of the upper arms and the inside thighs. Very precise and measured cuts. Done by a professional.

Dee thought about the hockey player, Novikov. She'd done a little research. After the death of his parents, he'd been raised by his uncle, a Marine and former Unit member. Although she'd never met him personally, Grigori Novikov had done training with other team members she knew. He was supposed to be really good and could easily have taught his nephew a few things.

Leave it to Blayne Thorpe to land face up, as usual. She gets kidnapped with the one nonmilitary trained male who could protect her. Dee wondered what it was like to be that lucky.

Not bothering to look at the rest of the bodies, Dee moved over to the desktop computer set up in the corner. She tapped the keyboard and the screensaver vanished, revealing a log-in screen. She turned her arm over, the information that male fox had written there in black ink clear and bright against her skin. Leave it to bears to use a twenty-two code password. She had a great memory but for random numbers and letters? Uh, no.