Hot and Badgered

  The thing was . . . life wasn’t exactly great now. They were being hunted. So what made Stevie feel comfortable bringing music back into her life? Why did she feel calmer than she had in a long while?

  It could have been shifting to her animal form earlier in the day. She didn’t do that often, which wasn’t surprising. She kind of terrified everyone when she became a giant, tiger-striped honey badger bigger than even the polar bears and grizzlies.

  Yet Stevie was starting to think it was being around her sisters that was doing her the most good. Yeah, Charlie’s anxiety and obsessive baking could be trying, and Max never stopped fucking with Stevie, no matter how many times Stevie punched her in the throat. But at the end of the day, knowing they were there for her . . .

  “Hello.”

  Stevie heard the voice. Someone was talking to her. Crunching on a french fry, she looked up. The handsome man appeared vaguely familiar but . . .

  “Still don’t remember me, huh?” he guessed with a smile.

  “Should I?”

  “We saw each other at Livy Kowalski’s apartment . . . you were hanging from the ceiling before passing out from lithium. I’m Cooper.”

  Stevie picked up another fry, put it in her mouth, chewed . . . and stared.

  “Still nothing?” When she continued to silently stare and eat, he said. “Maybe you remember my sister.” But Stevie doubted it.

  He turned, called out, “Cherise! Come here.”

  A pretty young woman walked over and Stevie sized her up instantly. This woman did not like being out in public. She did not like being around crowds. Stevie was guessing that if she had even one more minor trauma, she’d end up going full agoraphobic if her family didn’t keep an eye on her. But other than that unsolicited psychological diagnosis . . . nope. Stevie had no idea who this woman was either.

  “Wow. Stevie. Look at you!” Cherise said. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks . . . you.”

  “She doesn’t remember you. Or me. Or anyone.”

  “It’s nothing personal.”

  “Really?” the male called Cooper said. “Because it feels personal.”

  “I have a lot of knowledge in my head. If something isn’t important, I just get rid of it.”

  “How is that not personal?” Cherise softly asked.

  “I get rid of a lot people in my head. I don’t do it to be vicious. Or because I hate you. You’re just not important to me. It’s like clearing off a hard drive. All those songs you never listen to or out-of-focus pictures that are useless . . . you just wipe it off the drive. I mean, why would you keep that stuff?”

  “Again, not seeing how this isn’t personal.”

  “Well, to be blunt—”

  The male raised a brow. “You mean you weren’t being blunt before?”

  “—my brain is important. I refuse to fill it up with meaningless crap. I really don’t know what else to . . . oh, my God.” Stevie put her fries aside and stood. “Kyle?” she asked the tall young man walking toward their small group, smiling at her. “Oh, my God! Kyle!”

  Stevie ran into the open arms of Kyle Jean-Louis Parker, hugging him tightly. Behind her, she heard, “Him, you remember?”

  “Of course, I remember Kyle,” she said, keeping one arm around his waist while Kyle’s arm curled around her shoulder. “He’s Kyle.”

  Kyle nodded. “Exactly. But you do remember these guys, Stevie.” He pointed at Cooper. “Mr. Needy.” Cherise. “Pathologically shy.” He gestured to the young woman walking up behind them. “Genetic freak.”

  “Ohhhhh! Of course! Your siblings!”

  “Seriously?” Cooper demanded.

  “I’m leaving,” Cherise quietly announced, before doing just that.

  And, “Fuck you,” from the sister that Stevie now remembered was a prima ballerina in an important ballet company . . . somewhere in America.

  “See?” Kyle pointed out. “The genetic freak is sad because her brain can only do so much.”

  “That’s it. I’m out.” The genetic freak walked away, her middle finger held high in the air.

  “Wait,” Cooper called out. “Toni is coming to meet us here with . . . okay, well, she’s gone.”

  “That restrictive diet sure does make her cranky,” Kyle observed.

  “Why do you do this?” his brother asked.

  “You’ll have to be much more specific.” But before his brother could bother, he turned to Stevie. “So what are you doing in New York?”

  “Running for my life.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Your father again?”

  “Of course.”

  “Peruvian drug lords?”

  “Who knows. My sisters are here, though.”

  “Oooh. The infamous Charlie and Max. I have been dying to meet them for years.”

  “Well, now you can. I told them all about you. So what are you doing in the City?”

  “He was kicked out of another art school.”

  “I was not kicked out,” Kyle argued. “I was asked to leave because some people can’t handle criticism. Or the suggestion that they might have a borderline personality disorder that should get treated.”

  “Borderline or bipolar?” Stevie asked. “People often get those two confused.”

  “Definitely borderline. She came at me with a knife. Nearly took my eye out.”

  “That actually could have been anybody, with or without a disorder,” Cooper muttered.

  Kyle glanced at his brother before admitting to Stevie, “He’s so jealous of me, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

  “Jealous?” Cooper asked. “Of you?”

  “You wish you had as much talent as me and my dear sweet Stevie.”

  “I do have as much talent as your dear sweet Stevie. And God knows, I’m better than you.”

  “See?” Kyle said to Stevie. “How he lives in his sad fantasy world?”

  “Although Stevie doesn’t remember it and it was at different times, we were both trained by the same maestro. We even played together at one point.”

  “But did you ever conduct the St. Petersburg Orchestra in a symphony you wrote . . . when you were nine? Didn’t think so,” Kyle said before his brother could reply.

  “Hey, Coop.”

  Cooper turned and waved at a woman walking toward them, with a large male behind her.

  As soon as Stevie saw him, she recognized that mane of hair. Stevie immediately moved behind Kyle, using his tall frame to block her.

  It had been so long ago. And she’d been so young. Too young. Not even seventeen. He’d come into her life, trying to get her back into music. Trying to drag her back to a world she’d willingly left. But she’d listened to his pitch because he was a cat shifter and Stevie had stupidly thought he was like her. Would understand her. She’d assumed that it had all been about money for him, and to a point it was.

  But that day he’d backed her into a corner in her lab, saying things to her that made her uncomfortable, but making her feel like she couldn’t leave. That she had to listen. That she somehow owed him something.

  Of course, those had been the days when her sisters had kept a much closer eye on her. They couldn’t afford to go to college themselves, but they liked hanging out at her campus.

  So, when her sisters had walked in to Stevie’s lab, things had spiraled out of control quickly. After that there were cops and lawsuits and more threats—until it all disappeared. Stevie still didn’t know how or why; she’d just been grateful.

  But seeing him again. Even after all these years. All these changes in her life . . .

  Stevie turned her back and prayed neither of her sisters suddenly appeared.

  * * *

  Coop saw Stevie move away as soon as Toni walked up with that lion male she was considering as an agent for Cherise and Oriana. He apparently specialized in representing artists and was known for making them very profitable deals. But the way Stevie reacted to the sight of the man . . .

  Kyle, who rar
ely cared about anyone but himself, moved in front of her, helping to block her from the cat’s sight.

  Stevie was older than Kyle by a few years, but Kyle always got along better with adults than kids his own age. He didn’t know how to talk to them. He did, however, know how to emotionally torture them, which was another reason he didn’t spend a lot of time with kids his own age. Their parents wouldn’t allow it.

  Coop thought back and remembered some news, many years ago, about the possibility that Stevie MacKilligan would be reentering the music business. She’d apparently found an agent who’d convinced her that the world was at a loss without her music and passion. Then, just as suddenly as the rumor started, it stopped. There was no comeback. She stayed with science and moved through that difficult profession like a house on fire. But Coop also remembered reading a small story in a German paper about the “sisters of Maestro Stevie MacKilligan being investigated by American authorities” for a brutal assault. Since Coop hadn’t really known Stevie’s siblings, he hadn’t paid much attention. He had his own psychotic siblings to worry about. He was just grateful none had ended up in the crime section of the paper . . . yet.

  Now Coop studied the man with Toni. Another arrogant lion wearing a tailored suit—necessary for males that size—who couldn’t seem to control his hair.

  “Where are Cherise and Oriana?” Toni asked. “I told them to meet us here.”

  “Well . . . Kyle—”

  “Okay. Enough said.” Toni had been more on edge since Kyle had come back to the States. Add in the attack on Coop’s hotel room and his sister was, to put it mildly, less patient than usual. “Any idea where they went?”

  “I don’t know about Cherise. But Oriana likes to watch the hockey players, and your mate’s brother invited her to check out practice.”

  Toni’s eyes narrowed. “Is she dating one of those idiots?”

  “She hasn’t told me anything. Kyle?”

  “I don’t care.”

  Coop sighed. “And Kyle doesn’t care.”

  “We’ll walk over to the practice rink. See if you can track down Cherise, please.”

  “If she hasn’t already gone home. Why don’t you just call Oriana? Or text her?”

  Toni moved past Coop, lovingly bumping her shoulder against his as she went by. Letting him know her terseness had nothing to do with him. A gesture he appreciated at the moment.

  “Apparently,” she explained as she moved, the lion walking beside her, “she’s blocked me on her phone. The little cow.”

  Coop smiled and waited for the pair to turn the corner before he walked past Kyle and stood in front of Stevie. She wouldn’t look at him. The confident artist and scientist who couldn’t be bothered to remember Coop’s name suddenly appeared as painfully shy as Cherise.

  It was clear she didn’t want to talk about any of this, but he still had to know. He decided to go with the direct but noninvasive approach.

  “If you had a little sister,” he asked Stevie, “would you hire him?”

  Kyle put his arm around Stevie’s shoulders. A form of protection he didn’t even bother to show his own sisters.

  “If I had a little sister,” Stevie said, her arms wrapped around her waist, “I’d keep her as far away from that fucker as humanly possible.” She leaned against Kyle and added, “And he’d better pray that my sisters don’t spot him.”

  * * *

  Jai Davis watched, mesmerized, as the bullets that had been pumped into the hybrid female sitting on her examination table began to pop out of the wound on her shoulder.

  According to Charlie MacKilligan, this was what her body did. The wound began to heal from the inside, without stitches, without surgery. At first, infected fluid poured from the wound while Charlie sat and read a three-year-old Vogue. So much fluid that Jai was surprised the girl didn’t have a brutal, possibly fatal fever. Then, some blood.

  At that point, Charlie said, “Almost done.”

  It was clear the hybrid was used to this. She didn’t even have to look at the wound to know what stage it was in. She was still reading a magazine.

  Jai and Ellen waited and thirty minutes later . . . bullets.

  “That is fascinating.”

  “Is it?” Charlie asked.

  “Not for you, I’m assuming. How often has this happened?”

  “A few times over the years.”

  “You’ve been shot a few times?”

  “Not just shot. There were a couple of knife fights, bar fights. Fight with a pit bull once, but she started it.”

  “Sure she did.”

  Pieces of the third bullet slid out and once out, the skin began to knit shut on its own.

  “Amazing.” Jai straightened up and walked around until she stood in front of Charlie. “Really amazing. When you shift, do you heal faster?”

  “I don’t shift.”

  Jai was surprised. She’d heard about a few shifters who refused to shift. Religious zealots from every branch who thought being a shifter was evil. Was this female one of those? “Is that a moral choice?”

  Charlie looked at Jai, frowning. “Huh?”

  “Is it a moral choice that you don’t shift?”

  “Why would that be a moral choice? There’s nothing morally wrong with shifting.” She leaned away slightly. “Are you one of those weird, crazy religious people?”

  “No, no.” Jai chuckled. “I’m actually a Buddhist. But you said you don’t shift.”

  “Oh. Well, let me rephrase. I can’t shift.”

  Jai folded her arms over her chest. “You can’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. My sisters started shifting very early, but me? I just didn’t. And my grandfather’s entire Pack worked with me for years after I hit puberty. But other than claws and fangs . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t shift.”

  “Are you . . . okay with that?”

  “Well . . .” She thought a moment. “I heal really well. Have bones like iron. And my inability to shift is just more proof that my father can’t get anything right. So I’m all good.”

  Jai laughed. She liked Charlie. She was . . . unusual. Although she’d never met a shifter who couldn’t shift. She’d met a few who didn’t know they were shifters. Who’d lived their lives as full-human and, when puberty hit, hadn’t gone through that quintessential moment of shifting back and forth to human. It was rare, but it did happen.

  But that wasn’t Charlie’s story at all. She had to be the strangest hybrid Jai had ever met, and she’d met quite a few. There was a large and still-growing group of hybrids in the tri-state area, yet Charlie now stood out among them—and apart from them.

  At least Charlie had a sense of humor about it. Nothing would be worse than if she was a whiny mess about herself. Jai hated people like that. The always-victim, she liked to call them.

  Jai’s cell phone vibrated in her coat and she took a quick glance. Slipping it back into her pocket, she moved forward and took another look at Charlie’s wound. The scar was ugly but Jai couldn’t see any lingering evidence of infection or internal damage.

  “Get dressed,” she ordered, “and I’ll be right back.”

  Jai went down the hallway toward the large glass windows that separated the exam rooms from the waiting room. She saw her best friend standing among all the chairs. Sadly, though, Cella Malone was not by herself. She had that hillbilly hound dog with her.

  Jai opened the thick glass door and went into the waiting room. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Cella jerked her head toward the exam rooms. “Do you have Charlie MacKilligan in there?”

  It was true, Jai loved her best friend. She wasn’t just a best friend. She was family. Their daughters—conceived before either was even seventeen—were like close cousins. But as much as Jai loved Marcella Malone, she didn’t lie to herself about Marcella Malone.

  “You know I can’t tell you that,” Jai replied. “Doctor-patient privilege.”

  “
For shifters?”

  “For everyone, dumb ass. You know that.”

  “Look,” Cella went on, “I can’t get into detail—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “—but we really need to—”

  “Don’t wanna hear it.”

  “—talk to the kid.”

  “Go away, Cella.”

  Jai heard the glass door close and she turned to see that some male had slipped past her into the exam room hallway.

  “Cella, what have you done?”

  “Trust me. Just give him five minutes.”

  Jai faced her friend, eyes wide. She was horrified. She knew what her friend did for a living. Had heard what her hound dog companion was known for. Knew the kind of people Cella hung around when she wasn’t hanging around Jai and the Malone family.

  Jai turned to run back into the exam room, to help her patient, but Cella grabbed her arm, held her in place.

  “Five minutes,” she said, calmly and coldly. Just the way Cella killed.

  chapter THIRTEEN

  The helpful, full-human nurse had given Charlie a clean T-shirt to wear, and as she pulled it down—it was so big it reached her knees—she saw what was written on the front.

  “The Carnivores,” she read. “Subtle.”

  “It’s the local pro hockey team,” the nurse said with a smile, busy wiping away the remnants of Charlie’s healing process. She had to admit, she was glad she didn’t have to clean it up herself. What her body went through to heal was disgusting, but she was still grateful for it.

  The nurse dumped unclean things in a special trash can, stripped off her latex gloves, and dumped those too.

  “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Okay.”