Big Bad Beast (19 page)

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Authors: Shelly Laurenston

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Ric sat up in the middle of his hallway floor and gazed at Dee-Ann.

“Missy Llewellyn? Mace Llewellyn’s sister?”

“That’s where the money leads.”

“Are you sure? We have to be sure.”

“I’m sure that the information I have is right.”

He scratched his head, unable to wrap his mind around this. “It can’t be Missy, Dee-Ann. It can’t be coming from her.”

“Why not? Because she’s too rich?”

“No,” he argued. “Because she’s too damn lazy.” He laughed, resting his arms on his knees. “I’ve known Missy for a lot of years. We run in the same society circles and although she’s not a fan of hybrids, Missy isn’t a fan of
anyone.
She hates equally across the board. But to invest this kind of money and risk, you’d have to really hate hybrids with a passion. Missy doesn’t do anything with passion except complain. My God, can she complain.”

Dee-Ann sat up and Ric forced himself to focus on her face. If he looked any lower, he’d be all over her again rather than focusing on the bigger issue.

“Then what do you think’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Unless she’s being set up. By hyenas, maybe?”

“Hyenas ain’t puttin’ money out for hybrid fights. They hoard their cash.”

“Very true.” Ric grimaced. “There’s a Llewellyn on the Board, you know.” The Board had come into existence in the late 1800s to handle territory disputes that had turned ugly. Representatives from the bigger Prides, Packs, and Clans now met twice a year to discuss any issues or concerns, but would meet more often if there were problems that couldn’t be resolved easily and quickly through phone calls or e-mails. “Matilda Llewellyn. So we’ll have to be careful how we handle this.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to insult the rich felines who’re maybe killing their own kind.”

“That’s not what I meant. So feel free not to put words in my mouth. And why are we arguing when we’re both naked?”

“Let’s face it, Ric, to put together an organization like this, to run it right—there has to be some serious money involved.”

“The Van Holtzes have money like that. The Magnus Pack. The Löwes. And that’s what Missy is going to say, and she’d have a valid argument. What about her brother, Mace?”

“Forget it.” Dee shook her head. “I can go on and on about Mace Llewellyn and why he’d never in a million years be involved in something like this, but most important is that he’s never had direct access to pride money. Not ever.”

“Can he be trusted if we go to him?”

“Absolutely.”

“Let me talk to Uncle Van. He deals with Matilda, so maybe he has some ideas.”

“Malone’s people may deal with it.”

“If they do, I might end up feeling a little sorry for Missy.”

“Oh?”

“Felines are
mean
, Dee-Ann,” he said, standing up. “Just . . . mean. At least you’d be in and out quick.”

“True enough.”

Ric started to walk away to get his phone, but he came back, crouching in front of her.

“You said you need to call your Uncle Van.”

“I know. I just wanted another kiss.”

“We start kissin’, you’re not going to call your uncle.”

“Cousin.”

“Whatever.”

Ric leaned in. “Kiss me anyway. So we can make up for arguing while naked. We should never argue while naked.”

“Lord, once you set your mind to something—”

“—like a wolf with a bone,” he finished on a whisper.

C
HAPTER
21

D
ee had been right. He never made it to the phone, but it didn’t matter because KZS got in touch with Van themselves. And, at four a.m., a conference call came in for Ric involving Van, the head of the KZS Victoria Löwe, and the sow who ran the NYPD shifter unit, Lynsey Gentry. It was a two-hour conversation that basically ended with his cousin telling them all to, “Take the weekend. We’ll discuss on Tuesday.”

At first, Ric didn’t know why Tuesday, then he remembered that it was July Fourth weekend in another day. And that his father was throwing that big Pack get-together at the Macon River Falls house. An event Ric had already told his mother he wouldn’t be attending. These days she didn’t even bother to argue—she knew his not attending was for the best. Now, though, he was doubly grateful he wasn’t going after he finally called Van earlier in the day and not only confirmed what Van and the other cousins already knew, but he also revealed how much deeper Alder’s thieving actually went. It would, eventually, get back to Alder about Ric’s involvement in his exposure as a thief and betrayer of his Pack, and Ric knew that would be a dark day indeed.

And because of all that, Ric did make sure to call his Uncle Van back after the conference call ended and give him the heads-up that Dee-Ann had found Wendell trying to break into his safe, probably trying to find out how much Ric knew. Van’s response to that information had been . . . surprising.

“Dee-Ann Smith was in your apartment?”

“She’s always in my apartment. She comes and goes as she likes.”

“And she just happened to be there in the early morning?”

“Well, she’s been staying here until she gets a new place to live.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ric mentally shrugged. “Okay. Fine. I’m sleeping with her.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No.” And then, just to irritate, “But I have lost my heart.”

“You idiot.”

“I love you, too, Uncle Van.”

“She’s a Smith.”

“She’s amazing. And cute.”

“There is nothing cute about Dee-Ann Smith. What is wrong with you?”

“What can I say? There’s just something about her. I think she’s—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—the one.”

“Christ, you said it. What is wrong with my people? You’re all running around, looking for ‘the one.’ ”

“I wasn’t looking for her. She just sort of appeared. In Lock’s hallway. I knew then. And you said Aunt Irene is ‘the one.’ ”

“That was luck on her part. That she found me.”

“Then I guess I’m lucky.”

“Okay.” He could imagine his cousin trying to find a different way to approach this. “And what does she say?”

“She mentioned something about her father and a shallow grave with me in it but . . . I think I can win him over, too.”

“You cannot win over Eggie Smith. There is no winning over Eggie Smith.”

“But you told me yourself that I’m charming.”

“You’re also an idiot.”

Ric grinned. “But a charming idiot.”

His cousin hung up on him then, never having patience for his in-love brethren, and Ric finally returned to his bed.

He smiled, seeing Dee-Ann in it. She—and the gun and knife she had under her pillow—fit in perfectly. Ric just didn’t know why no one else seemed to see it. Except Blayne. Blayne saw it, but she seemed to be the only one. Not that it mattered, though. The only one who mattered was Dee-Ann and he was more than willing to work with her on this.

Ric eased into the bed and across it—it was a really big bed—until he was able to snuggle up close to Dee-Ann. He put his arms around her and held her tight.

His eyes were closing, moments from falling asleep when the bear-sized queen bed with its titanium frame—possibly one of the heaviest beds in the world—briefly went up, then crashed back to the floor. Both Ric and Dee pulled their guns, Ric’s from a holster he’d had built directly into the mattress for easy access; and Dee’s from under her pillow. They aimed directly at the foot of the bed, their fingers on the triggers, rounds already in the chambers.

Yet the bear-lion hybrid at the end of the bed showed no fear. He gazed at them as only “The Marauder” Novikov could and said, “I need to borrow a house.”

Did the mutt have any idea how close he’d been to getting shot? Dee had armor-piercing rounds in her gun that were strong enough to go through bear hide.

“You want what?” Ric asked. Poor thing. He’d been up for hours and had just gotten back into bed a few minutes ago. And her exhaustion must have been bone deep for her not to have scented Novikov before he even got into the house. That was definitely not like her at all.

“I need to borrow a house. I know you have several locally.”

“What do you want a house for?”

“Why do you care?”

Dee’s finger tightened on the trigger, her lips pulling back over her fangs. But Ric made her lower the gun, his hand firm against hers, pressing it down onto the bed.

“You have your own houses,” Ric argued. “One with a seal farm.”

“Not around here. And Blayne wants a party.”

“What’s wrong with your apartment? It’s massive.”

“And?”

“Do it there,” Ric reasoned.

“I don’t want people around my stuff.”

“But you want them around mine?”

“I don’t care about yours.”

Dee was reaching for her bowie knife then when Ric pinned her to the bed with his body.

“Why don’t I make this easy for both of us? Instead of turning my home over to you, I’ll just pull something together for all of us.”

“Here?” Novikov looked around the bedroom. “It’s kind of boring here.”

Dee had nearly gotten free of Ric’s grasp by that point, but he caught her in his arms and held her tight. The fact that they were both naked, Dee’s fangs bared and her claws out, while these two strange idiots were still talking like they were having tea and cakes did fascinate the part of her brain not busy trying to kill Bo Novikov.

“It wouldn’t be here. I have my own place out on the Island. Near the beach.”

“Shifter friendly or do I have to keep my fangs in?”

“Shifter friendly, but very exclusive. Lots of room in the house, too, so we’ll all be quite comfortable. There’s even a park and beach nearby. I also have an Olympic-sized pool right in my back—”

“That’ll work.” And Dee had a feeling the hybrid would never leave the pool once he got there.

“Excellent. I’ll get everything organized from my end and e-mail you later in the day.” Ric motioned to the door with his chin. “Now go away. And if you took the door off the hinges to get in here—put it back.”

“You’re not training this morning?” Novikov asked.

Ric yanked Dee back to his lap before she could bury her knife in the hybrid’s throat and snapped, “Novikov!”

“It was just a question.”

Novikov lumbered out as silently as he’d appeared and Dee relaxed back into Ric’s chest. “You should have let me kill him.”

“I need him for the team. It’s the price I’m forced to pay.” Ric brushed the hair off her neck and kissed her throat. “It would make this weekend tolerable if you came with me.”

“I’ll probably have work.”

“Doubtful. And I’ll make sure you don’t get anything thrown at you at the eleventh hour.”

“That don’t seem fair.”

“I don’t care about fair. I care about you relaxing with me on Long Island.”

“With Teacup and Mr. Fussy Pants?”

Ric laughed. “Can I call Novikov that forever?”

“Be my guest.”

“Plus Lock and Gwen will be there.”

“Gwen hates me,” she reminded him.

“Don’t be narcissistic. She hates everyone.”

“You have a point.”

“Besides, when was the last time you had a little vacation from killing stuff?”

“When I left the Marines and before I got this job.”

“But you were staying with your parents—so is that really a vacation?”

Dee shrugged. “I enjoyed it.”

Ric held her tighter. “Come with me.”

Feeling real regret, Dee admitted, “You know I can’t. I gotta be with the Pack.”

“You’re going to Tennessee?”

“Nah. Just to the Shaw house, with the Shaw brothers, my cousins, the New York Smith Pack, and the Kuznetsov Pack. It’ll be hell on earth but . . . it’s family.”

Still holding Dee, Ric moved them both closer to the side of the bed until he could reach his cell phone. He speed dialed someone and smiled at her while he waited for the other end to pick up.

“Morning, Jessica.” He’d called Bobby Ray’s mate and Alpha of the Kuznetsov wild dog Pack? Good Lord, but the man played dirty. “It’s Ric. How are you? Great. Great. Listen, I know this is last minute, but how would you like to come out to my house on the Island for the July Fourth weekend? Uh-huh. Well, you can bring anyone you’d like. I understand, though, if you’d rather spend the weekend with the Shaw brothers. Watching them eat . . . and sleep. That is when they’re not ordering everyone around because it’s their property or they’re snoring while you try to get the baby to sl—oh? Really. Are you sure? That will be wonderful. Blayne, Lock, and Gwen will be there, too. Yes. And the lunkhead, but I’m sure he’ll practically live in the pool, so it’s not like you’ll have to communicate with him in any way. I’m not being mean. I thought everyone called him lunkhead. It’s so fitting,” he finished on a murmur. “All right. Yes. Bring anyone who wants to come. There’s more than enough room. Just send me a list later today so I can get enough food. Great. See you then.”

Ric disconnected the call and grinned at her. “See? Now no excuses.”

She pressed her hand against his forearm and looked into his eyes. “Exactly how big is this house you bought?”

He kissed her shoulder before replying, “Pretty big.”

Holding his son in his arms, Mace Llewellyn tried to stop scowling when Ulrich Van Holtz opened his front door. Of course, anytime Missy was involved, scowling always seemed to be involved.

The wolf waved him in with his hand before covering the mouthpiece of the phone he had to his ear with his fingers. “Give me a moment, Mace. I’m ordering meat.”

Okay. “No problem.”

“No,” Van Holtz said into his phone. “I’ll need more sea lion than that. Do you have the steaks?” He pointed down the hallway. “Go on into the living room. I won’t be long.”

Mace walked down the hallway and into the living room, stopping short right at the entrance when he spotted Dee-Ann Smith sitting on the floor in cutoff shorts and a tank top, cleaning her guns. He knew Dee-Ann worked for Van Holtz and the Group but . . . she seemed awfully comfortable.

“Dee-Ann?”

“Hey, Mace,” she said, not looking up from methodically using a chamber brush to clean the barrel of a .45.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning my guns.”

Mace had forgotten that he was dealing with Dee-Ann. One of the more literal females he’d known over the years. “I mean, what are you doing in Ulrich Van Holtz’s apartment?”

“Cleaning my guns.”

At that point he decided to let it go. It took too much energy to care.

“Watcha got there, Llewellyn?” Dee-Ann asked, squinting up at Marcus and smiling.

“A spoiled brat who clearly needs more time around males. Or you know . . . you.”

Dee chuckled and got to her feet, wiping her hands off on a cloth. “How would this spoiled brat like some ice cream?”

Marcus hissed at Mace and swatted at him, trying to get him to let go. “Stop doing that!”

“You male cats. Ornery ain’t even the word for it.” She took Marcus from Mace. “Come on, handsome. Let’s get you some fancy, overpriced ice cream.” She walked out of the room as Van Holtz walked in.

“I’ll have you know, Miss Smith, that
gelato
is superb.”

“Overpriced!” she shot back.

Van Holtz motioned for Mace to sit on one of the couches, but he stopped when he walked around them, seeing the pile of guns spread out on a rather thin cloth laid over his rug.

“Isn’t that the rug you picked up at the charity auction a couple of years ago?” Mace asked.

“Yes.”

“The one for six figures?”

“It’s a one-of-kind original from the eighteenth century.”

“Then you definitely want gun oil on it.”

“I’d yell and throw my hands up dramatically, but she’ll just tell me I paid too much.”