Bite Me

  By the time Livy had dried off and dressed and reached the first floor—from what she could tell, the place was four stories with marble staircases and lots of rooms and bathrooms—the arguing had already started. She could hear her Uncle Balt hissing at someone in Russian, “Out! We don’t want your kind here!”

  Livy walked down the marble-floored hallway, stopping briefly when she spotted Melly leaning against the wall and furiously texting on her battered phone.

  “What are you doing here?” Livy asked.

  “I keep asking myself the same damn question.” Melly glanced up, smirked. “Heard you got your ass shot up pretty good. Hope it hurt.”

  “Suck my—”

  “I said out!” Uncle Bart barked from farther down the hall.

  Deciding not to get into a fight with her idiot cousin, Livy continued on until she found everyone in what she guessed was the library, based on all the books.

  Vic—poor, poor Vic—was trying to be the peacemaker, trying to soothe her uncle. But she could tell Bart wasn’t about to soothed.

  “I cannot believe you brought bear here! After what happened to my poor little Olivia!”

  Vic, trying so hard to be reasonable, argued, “But this is my father.”

  And that was the problem. Vic’s father and mother weren’t exactly friends of the Kowalskis and Yangs. There were several of Livy’s relatives doing hard prison time all over the world because of the Barinovs. A smart couple that could sniff out illegal activity by just knowing the right people and spreading money around when necessary. They weren’t even law enforcement. They did what they did on the side and made very good money at it. Sometimes working for the wealthy who wanted their stolen items back, and sometimes working for worldwide law enforcement. And the Barinovs were often worse than law enforcement because they had fewer rules to worry about, but much more brawn.

  Vic and his father were the same height and the same build, and if Vic aged as well as his father . . . that would be very, very nice.

  “I don’t care he is your father. He is also bear.”

  “You didn’t mind me bringing Shen,” Vic reasoned.

  “The panda? He is like giant stuffed toy. Adorable and nonthreatening. But this one . . .” Balt sneered at Vic’s smiling grizzly father. “You put us all at risk.”

  “Uncle Balt,” Livy said. “Let it go.”

  “But, my sweet Olivia—”

  “Let it go.”

  “Fine!” her uncle snapped, walking over to one of the heavy leather king chairs and dropping into it. “Make same mistake as your father . . . see how well it does for you.”

  “Well, I’ve already outlived him.”

  “Awwww, Livy!” her family admonished.

  “I was joking. Joking!”

  “Not funny,” her mother muttered from behind her.

  “You people just have no sense of humor.”

  “Yes. That must be it.”

  Livy jerked a bit when she felt her mother’s hand on her back. “How are you feeling?” Joan asked.

  Confused, Livy asked, “In what sense?”

  Her mother let out an exasperated sigh and marched around until she stood right in front of Livy. “Is it too much to ask for you to give me a straight answer? Just once?”

  “Well, I don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “You were shot, you little idiot! And now I’m asking how you feel? Better? Worse? Stupider?”

  “Don’t yell at me, old woman!”

  “Livy.” Vic put his arm around Livy’s shoulder and steered her away from her glowering mother. “I want you to meet my father. Vladik Barinov. Papa, this is Olivia Kowalski.”

  “This? This is little Livy? So beautiful!”

  Livy held out her hand for a hearty shake, but then she was suddenly swallowed whole, completely smothered in bear as Vic’s father picked her off the ground and hugged her in his giant arms.

  “Papa,” Vic said, trying to pry Livy from Vladik’s arms. “Papa. Give her to me.”

  “I’m just saying hello.”

  “Mama! Papa won’t let Livy go!”

  “Such a big baby,” Vladik complained, finally allowing his son to remove Livy from his arms.

  Once she was again standing on her own feet, Vic smiled at her and said, “Would you like to meet my mother?”

  God, not again.

  “She’s in the kitchen, making coffee.”

  “I met her. She says I can call her Nova.”

  “Oh good.”

  “Yes. Very good.” Vladik took Livy’s hand. “Come. We must talk.” He led Livy to one of the many heavy leather chairs and waited while Livy sat down.

  “So,” Livy said, looking around at everyone, “who tried to have me killed yesterday?”

  Vladik gazed down at her. “It was Rostislav Chumakov.”

  Livy thought on that a moment before asking, “The art patron?” She glanced away. “I can’t imagine anyone hating my work that much.”

  Vladik looked at his son, and Vic explained, “Livy’s an art photographer, Papa. She’s not part of the . . . uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “She’s not part of the Kowalski or Yang family businesses.”

  “Oh good!” Vladik cheered. “Then I will not have to have you arrested like your cousin in the Balkans.”

  Balt was nearly out of his chair, an angry snarl on his lips, when Livy snarled first. “Sit down, Uncle Balt.”

  Balt dropped back into his chair, but his glare was locked on Vladik.

  “There is something else you need to know about Rostislav Chumakov, sweet Olivia.”

  “You mean other than his being a murdering art patron with apparently a low opinion of brilliant photography?”

  “He is bear,” Vladik explained.

  “Kamchatka grizzly,” Nova added as she walked into the room. She lifted her coffee mug, blowing on it to cool the liquid down. “You must have really pissed him off.”

  “Mama,” Vic admonished.

  “No, no.” Livy cut in. “She’s right. I must have really pissed him off.” She sighed. “What can I say? It’s a skill I have.”

  Livy stood. “I’m hungry,” she announced and walked out of the room.

  “Did we upset her?” Vic’s father asked.

  “No. She’s probably just hungry.”

  “I, too, am hungry,” Balt said and followed Livy. The rest of the Kowalskis and Yangs trailed behind him.

  “What a lovely family your Olivia has.”

  “Mama.”

  His mother snorted. “You always had interesting taste, my handsome son. But this . . .”

  “I’m not discussing my love life with you, Mama. Not now. Not ever.”

  “If I had listened to my mother, my love,” Vladik said to Semenova, “I would have killed you with a big rock and buried your body by the river near our village. Are you not glad I never listened to her?”

  “Your mother was a petty little cu—”

  “Semenova.”

  Vic’s father didn’t ask much of his wife, but talking about Vladik’s mother was and always would be off-limits. No matter how horrible the woman had been. And God, had that woman been horrible.

  “I like her, Mama. I like Livy a lot. But whether you like her or not is not my problem.”

  “I like her,” Vladik stated emphatically, causing Nova to roll her eyes. “Not only is she cute, but she can take sixteen bullets to back. Now that is woman!”

  Vic looked at his mother. “We need your help, Mama. You and Papa. Will you help us?”

  “ ‘We and us’ . . . so soon? My son, some days your bear-ness overwhelms.”

  “Mama.”

  “Of course, I will help my handsome son and the little rat.”

  “Mama!”

  “It’s badger, my love,” Vladik explained, always a bit oblivious to his wife’s pointed attacks. “Honey badger.” Vladik pointed at Vic. “You’ll need to buy her big coat.” When his wife and son just stared at him, “Honey badgers are bo
rn of heat. When you bring her to visit in Moscow for the holidays or during the winter bear games, she will need big coat. What did I say that’s so confusing?”

  Livy appeared at the library door. “Vic?”

  “Yes?”

  “Whose house is this?”

  “Novikov’s wedding gift to Blayne. It was purchased under his sport agent’s name so she wouldn’t find out, but that should keep the bears off our backs for a while. So I think we’re pretty safe for a little bit if that’s what has you worried.”

  “But this is Novikov’s house, right?”

  “Right.”

  Livy stepped back and yelled down the hallway, “Hands off the paintings and silverware and anything else you thieving felons might like to take! This house is under my protection as of this nanosecond!”

  Livy’s statement was greeted with whining and accusations of “going soft.”

  “The man saved my life,” Livy said over all that grumbling. “You think I’m going to just let you steal his shit?”

  The grumbling stopped, and Livy looked at Vic. “There’s bacon. We’re making bacon.”

  She walked off.

  Vic smiled. “Isn’t she amazing?” he asked his parents.

  His mother sighed and walked out. Vladik put his arm around Vic’s shoulders. “The best thing about sweet Olivia being shot is that if she can survive that, we can almost guarantee she can survive your mother.”

  “You do know, Papa, that doesn’t sound nearly as positive as you think it does.”

  “You’ve been away from Russia too long, my son. Because to Russian bear . . . that is as positive as we are willing to get.”

  Vic set up a giant whiteboard in the kitchen while Livy and her family feasted on big piles of bacon. The groceries had been delivered by a nearby shifter-owned store that morning.

  They were on Rhode Island. That was where Novikov’s mansion was located. And it was an amazing home. There was a heated pool outside, a heated pool inside, and a separate building that housed an NHL-regulation ice rink and another building that housed a banked track for derby training.

  Although Novikov wasn’t the most outwardly affectionate man, he’d clearly been thinking of his bride-to-be when he’d had this house built, and he wasn’t afraid to spend money to make Blayne happy.

  So for him to allow Vic to bring Livy’s entire felonious family to this house, to risk the gift he’d spent a lot of money on, in order to ensure Livy’s safety meant more to her than she could possibly express.

  Mostly because she was bad at expressing anything but her disdain.

  Once the whiteboard was set up, Vic, his parents, and Livy’s family ate bacon from the big platters on the island in the middle of the room and . . . stared.

  “Are we actually going to use this whiteboard?” Jake finally asked.

  “We need a picture of Chumakov,” Shen said as he wrapped bacon around his bamboo stalk. “Then we need arrows pointing to the picture.”

  “Arrows from where?”

  “No idea. I just know that’s how it always looked when we worked at the CIA. Lots of boards with a main guy and then arrows pointing to him from other, lesser guys. Except we have no guys.”

  “Or,” Balt suggested, “we can all travel to Russia, track Chumakov down, and kill him like dog in street.”

  “If we do that,” Livy said, “we’ll need to be back in time for Blayne’s wedding. I’m their photographer.”

  Everyone turned to stare at Livy until Melly asked, “So you’re doing weddings now? Because I’m getting married in September and—”

  “I am not doing weddings now. I’m doing a wedding.”

  “You’ll do a wedding for outsiders,” Melly accused, “but you won’t do it for family?”

  “When you have such perfect timing that you save me from getting shot in the head, then, yes!” Livy exploded. “That’s when I’ll photograph your goddamn wedding!”

  “You are such a selfish bitch!”

  “I’m a selfish bitch? And who exactly are you marrying? That hipster loser with a restraining order against your dumb ass?”

  “You’ll never understand our love!”

  “Because I don’t have a psychosis!”

  “That is enough! Both of you!” Vic’s mother yelled before she turned those angry gold eyes on Joan. “Why are you not doing this? This one,” she accused, “is your child, is she not? I mean based on eye—”

  “Mama!”

  “—color.”

  Livy whispered against Vic’s ear, “Nice race-save there, Ruskie.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Is anyone listening?” Nova demanded.

  Busy staring at and tapping on her phone, Joan lifted her head. “Huh?”

  “We need to lure Chumakov here,” Vic’s father suggested.

  “Good idea,” Balt agreed. “We lure bear here and club him to death like seal.”

  “No.” And Livy could see Vladik’s patience beginning to wane. “We lure Chumakov here so that we can have this Whitlan person taken care of in Russia.”

  “Wait, wait,” Vic cut in. “How do we know Whitlan is in Russia? Chumakov could be hiding him anywhere.”

  “Trust me,” his father said flatly. “If Chumakov has Whitlan, he has him on his territory in Motherland.”

  “Papa, don’t call it that.”

  “Best place to protect him is there.”

  “This no longer about Whitlan,” Balt snarled. “It was not Whitlan who sent bears to kill my dear, sweet, defenseless niece.”

  “The defenseless niece who took out five bears in a stairwell after being shot at least sixteen times? That defenseless niece?” Shen asked.

  “Quiet, stuffed toy!” Balt snapped. “I want Chumakov!” he yelled at Vladik.

  “You cannot have Chumakov, you fool. Not unless you want entire bear nation coming down on you like flames of hell!”

  “He is right, Baltazar Kowalski,” Nova cut in. “Rostislav Chumakov is very powerful in the BPC. If you kill him without clear evidence, bears will no longer find honey badgers cute and adorable like rat in sewer.”

  “Especially with new commander of the BPC.”

  “Who’s the new commander?” Vic asked.

  “Bayla Ben-Zeev. She used to be Israeli commander. Her father and mother used to hunt Nazis. She is cold, calculating, and very loyal to bears. Other breeds, species are second to her.” Nova raised a finger. “However, considering her size . . . she has lovely sense of style. It must not be easy to find things to fit her—she has shoulders like man—but manages to really pull off clothes I would never even think to put on her.”

  “Is it her accessories?” Joan asked. “Because good accessories can make the She-bear.”

  Livy glanced at Vic and crossed her eyes in annoyance. “I’m so very sorry to interrupt the fashion-bonding going on between you two, but can we get back to the cold, calculating nature of the BPC commander rather than where she might find shirts that fit her giant man-shoulders?

  “If you kill Chumakov now,” Nova explained, “without any proof that he was the one who tried to kill your Livy, they will crush your little rat heads.”

  “It’s ratel,” Aunt Teddy snarled.

  “But we have proof,” Jake said. “We have the bears. If we identify them, maybe we can prove that they work for Chumakov.”

  “Yeah . . .” Vic began, looking over at Shen, who began to munch harder on his bacon-wrapped bamboo stalk and look down at the floor.

  “What?” Vladik asked.

  “Well, Dee-Ann handled the cleanup for us.”

  “So?”

  Vic cleared his throat. “She usually gets . . . uh . . . a clan of hyenas to do it for her.”

  “So?” Vladik asked again. “They must have put the bodies somewhere.”

  “Yeah . . . that’s not actually what this particular hyena clan does with the bodies that Dee-Ann gives them. But what they do is effective. You know . . . to make the bodies disappear.”
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  “Until,” Shen muttered, “those hyenas have to take a shit.”

  Vladik recoiled in disgust. “Oh . . . son!”

  “I don’t ask the hyenas to do it.”

  “No. But you associate with Smith Pack,” Balt tossed back at him. “Demon dogs of underworld.”

  “Bottom line is,” Jake rationalized—since no one else would bother, “we have no proof.”

  Joan lowered her phone. “Then Vladik Barinov is right—we should lure Chumakov here and go after Whitlan.”

  Balt slammed his hands on the island. “You will let this bear get away with what he did to your daughter and my brother?”

  “Do not question me on this, Baltazar!” Joan snapped in Mandarin.

  Balt frowned. “What?”

  “Do as I say,” she told him in English.

  “But—”

  “She is my worthless daughter!” Joan pointed out.

  “Hey!”

  “Damon was my worthless husband! This is my decision, Baltazar Kowalski. Not yours.” Joan settled down. Smiled. “So we lure Chumakov here and then have Whitlan dealt with in Russia.”

  “Okay,” Livy agreed, willing to play along even though she didn’t trust her mother to let things go with Chumakov that easy. “But A: how do we lure Chumakov here? And B: Who takes care of Whitlan in Russia?”

  “I don’t know about B,” Jake replied, “but I’ve got an idea for A.”

  “Which is?”

  “Livy, you say he’s an art patron. He’s also a scumbag mobster. Something tells me a lost, let’s see . . . how about a lost . . . Matisse? Worth millions. That would be something that would get his interest.”

  “I’m afraid to ask,” Vic sighed, “but do you have a lost Matisse?”

  “No. We just need a good picture of a lost Matisse.”

  “A picture?”

  “Like, out of a book.”

  “And what are you going to do with that?”

  As one, the Kowalskis all turned and looked at Melly. She didn’t notice, though. She was too busy texting someone. The way her fingers were moving, Livy could tell she was arguing with someone. Probably her stalked not-really-a-fiancé.

  And Livy knew she was right when Melly suddenly jumped up and yelled at her phone, “I will kidnap myself again, before I ever let you leave me!”