“Much. I can now see who’s trying to kill me.” She looked at Max and immediately cringed at the sight. “Oh, wow. They really beat the shit out of you.”
“Excuse me,” Max replied, indignant. “These lacerations and bruises are not because of the men who came to kill me. With my usual aplomb, I have dealt with those scumbags.”
“Uh-huh. Then what did happen?”
“Why do we have to discuss that? Our lives are in danger.”
Charlie gazed at her sister for a few moments before guessing, “Squirrels again?”
“They started it!”
“It’s nice to see that nothing has really changed since we last saw each other.” Charlie glanced out the window, but she had to look away. Her sister was moving so fast that it was kind of making her nauseous. “What about Stevie?”
“I’m waiting to hear back from her boss.”
“Her boss?”
“She’s not answering her cell and her assistants have no idea where she is.”
“Is she still in Switzerland?”
Max shrugged. “Maybe. And stop glaring at me.”
“How hard is it to keep an eye on one woman? I take six months. And you take six months. That was our agreement.”
“Why is she still our responsibility?”
“Because she’s our sister and we love her and if we don’t watch out for her, she will get involved with the wrong people, and destroy the world. Is that what you want?”
“You always ask me that question, and you’re always disappointed with my answer.”
Charlie sighed. “Well, we need to find her.”
“I know.”
“She’s in as much danger as we are.”
“I know.”
“They sent trained military after us.”
“I know.”
“And I know this car is stolen.”
“Of course it’s stolen.”
“Well, that seems like kind of a problem since we have cops behind us.”
“Buckle up.”
“Oh, God.” Charlie put on the seat belt. “We’re going to die before we even get to her.”
“Stop whining. You know how hard we are to kill.”
“Hard to kill doesn’t mean we can’t lose body parts in tragic car accidents. And we can’t exactly save our little sister if we’re both in prison . . . and legless.”
“What is your obsession with losing your legs?”
“It could happen!”
Max downshifted and swerved around a truck making a turn, barely missing the front end.
“I don’t understand why you insist on worrying about something that may or may not happen,” Maxie noted casually as a group of nuns dove out of her way, their panicked screams horrifying Charlie. “If you lose your legs, I’ll get you a wheelchair with a Ferrari motor that goes from zero to sixty in four seconds. Wouldn’t that be great?”
Hands pressed against the dashboard, Charlie admitted, “I’d rather have my legs still attached to my body.”
“That’s such a narrow view. What about bionic legs?”
“Schoolchildren,” Charlie warned.
“Bionic legs would be so cool.”
“Schoolchildren!”
“I see them. Calm yourself.”
The car stopped—somehow—and Max patiently waited for the children and their teachers to get across the street. Out of nowhere, she began to whistle “H.R. Pufnstuf.” Charlie had no idea why, but she blamed her mother. She loved that crap and made them all watch it in re-runs when they were too young to put up a fight.
Once the children were safely out of the way, Maxie hit the gas and roared down the street. Still whistling.
“We need a new car,” Charlie told her sister when the cops caught up with them again.
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“A lot.”
Maxie’s phone rang and she insisted on taking one hand off the wheel to answer it.
“Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay. Thank you, sir.”
She disconnected the call and glanced at Charlie.
“What?” Charlie pushed when her sister didn’t say anything.
“She needed a break.”
“A break? She needed a break? What does that mean?”
“You know what that means, Charlie.”
“I do?” Charlie thought a moment, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on! Again?”
“You know how she is. But hey! At least she’s still in Switzerland. We’ll get there in no time.”
“But it’s a mental hospital! Not a resort!”
“To her, all mental hospitals are resorts. Besides, it could be worse,” Max said happily. “This could all be so much worse!”
Charlie shook her head. “Dude, I seriously don’t know how.”
chapter TWO
The black Mercedes-Benz AMG G63 SUV stopped in front of the mental health and rehab clinic.
Usually, it was only the wealthiest of European royalty who came to this place. Most Americans didn’t even know it existed, but Charlie’s baby sister had a gift. She could track down high-end mental institutions anywhere in the world. They all seemed to have spa-like amenities, five-star chefs making the meals, and group therapy, something her sister truly seemed to enjoy.
The first one Stevie Stasiuk-MacKilligan had ever checked herself into was somewhere in Malibu and cost a thousand a day. She never paid a cent, though. The lab she “interned” for took care of that, which could explain why no one bothered to question why a fourteen-year-old girl—at the time—was checking herself into a Malibu mental health clinic without a parent or guardian in sight.
And what did these brilliant and pricey psychologists discover about Stevie over the years? Exactly what Charlie already knew: That her sister was a high-strung prodigy who suffered bouts of extreme panic like any abandoned child would.
Stevie’s mother, a Siberian She-tiger from a very wealthy family, had shown up at Carlie Taylor’s door one day, asking for Carlie to babysit five-year-old Stevie for “a few hours.” Charlie’s mom, a She-wolf who never really learned how to say no to anyone but Charlie’s grandfather, agreed. After three days, she told Charlie and Max that “it looks like your little sister is staying. Isn’t that great?”
At the time, Charlie didn’t think so. It was bad enough they already had one of their father’s castoffs to take care of in the first place; now they had two. But that first situation had made more sense because Max’s mother was doing hard time in a Bulgarian prison for armed robbery. She couldn’t take care of her kid. But the She-tiger . . . she’d just walked away. From her own daughter.
Of course, Stevie didn’t let any of that bother her. In her mind, she had so many other things to worry about “in the universe” that her mother’s desertion didn’t rate as important enough for her to hold a grudge.
So Charlie did it for her. She was very good at grudge-holding. Just ask her idiot father.
Charlie met up with her sister at the front of the SUV.
“All right,” Charlie began, “you know the drill.”
Max nodded and flatly replied, “Go in. Kill everybody. Get Stevie out.”
Charlie briefly closed her eyes, took a moment to breathe and try to relax her shoulders. When she felt she wouldn’t yell, she said, “That is not the drill.”
“It could be.”
“Could be, but it isn’t. The drill is we go in, I do all the talking, you don’t pick on Stevie.”
“She’s too sensitive.”
“But because you already know that, you’re not going to pick on her.”
Max smiled. “What if I really want to?”
“Then I’ll let her take your eye out this time. And you’ll wear an eyepatch . . . and we’ll call you One-Eye McGee.”
Laughing, Max headed toward the front doors, Charlie right behind her.
When they stepped inside, both of them glanced at each other. Their sister really did have a knack when it came to finding beautiful places
for the mentally ill.
There was so much white marble and beautiful white furniture. Stunning and expensive oriental rugs were laid out in front of white couches. White marble coffee and end tables rested on top of them. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the remarkable beauty of the Swiss countryside that surrounded the entire building.
“You have got to be kidding,” Max muttered, staring up at the cathedral-like ceilings. “I think I’m feeling mentally ill because I could really use some valium and a massage.”
“Stop it.”
Charlie grabbed Max’s arm and pulled her to the desk, which was not white but clear glass. And perfectly clean. The stunning woman sitting on the other side in a white button-down shirt and tight, white skirt smiled, revealing perfect white teeth.
“Hallo. Sprechen sie Englisch?” Charlie asked.
“Yes,” she immediately replied. “May I help you?”
“I’d like to see my sister. Stevie MacKilligan.”
“Please have a seat. I’ll contact her doctor.”
“Thank you.”
Charlie walked over to the couch, but it was so white that she was worried about putting her less-than-clean body on it. Max had had an extra pair of jeans and bright red Keds in Charlie’s size—they always had backup clothes for each other—so she wasn’t walking around in only a T-shirt, but Charlie hadn’t had time for a shower. Just a quick stop at a gas station to wash the blood off, and let Max bandage up her shoulder so the bullet wounds could heal without a mess.
And for Charlie, nothing would be more humiliating than getting up from that bright white couch and leaving an unfortunate stain behind.
But Max didn’t seem to have those issues, turning and dropping on the couch like she owned it.
Of course, Max didn’t worry about much, which worried Charlie. She knew her sister could be reckless when it wasn’t necessary. Max did, however, always manage to find a way to wiggle out of whatever situation she’d gotten herself into. And if she couldn’t wiggle free, she would attack head-on without stopping.
It was the honey badger way.
Max pulled a baggie of honey-covered peanuts from the back pocket of her jeans and began munching, wiping her hands on the white couch after each handful she put in her mouth.
“Dude.”
Max looked up. “What?”
“You’re being sloppy.”
“So?” She gave that lovely but still off-putting smile. “We don’t have to clean it up.”
“Dude.”
Rolling her eyes, Max pushed the nearly empty baggie back into her jeans and brushed both hands against each other. She motioned to a spot behind Charlie and Charlie turned to see a man walking toward them. He wore a white coat and held a clipboard. He also had on a gold Rolex and Gucci leather shoes.
The doctor had expensive taste.
Smiling, Charlie immediately put out her hand for a shake.
“Ladies,” the doctor greeted, grasping Charlie’s hand. He went for Max’s but Max just stared until he pulled his hand back. She didn’t even bother getting up from the couch.
“Do you speak English?” Charlie asked.
“Of course,” the doctor replied. “I am Dr. Gaertner. I am the director here. Come. Let’s talk in my office.”
He led them down the wide hallway, which looked out over the front of the building through more of those big, grand windows.
“Your center is beautiful,” Charlie noted as they walked.
“Ahhh. Danke. Thank you, I mean. We are very proud.”
He ushered them into a big office with white leather chairs and couches and even more glass windows revealing more amazing views.
No wonder her sister had come here for a break. It was way better than any spa Charlie had ever been to before.
“Please. Sit,” he offered with a smile. Charlie immediately noted that except for a lamp, blotter, and phone . . . the man had nothing else on his desk.
Maxie plopped into a chair, her legs swinging up, about to land on the man’s glass desk before Charlie punched them back down. With a warning glare at her grinning sibling, she sat down on the very edge of her chair and realized she should have left Max out in the car.
“Now, how can I help you ladies?”
“We’d like to see our sister, please.”
“Ahhh, our dear Fräulein MacKilligan.”
“Doctor MacKilligan,” Charlie corrected out of habit. And, when Max raised an eyebrow at her, she reminded her sister, “She worked hard for those PhDs.”
“True, true,” Gaertner said, still smiling. “She is one of our favorite patients here. She is so helpful during our group sessions.”
Max snorted, but Charlie quickly leaned forward to keep the doctor’s attention. “I’m so glad she’s here and getting the help she needs, Dr. Gaertner. But we’d really love to see her for a few minutes.”
“I’m sure we can arrange something . . . in a few weeks. Right now it is too . . . uh . . . early in the process for family meetings. You understand?”
Before Charlie could explain that “no! I do not understand!” in the politest way possible, Max slammed her fist on that expensive-looking glass desk and announced, “Motherfucker, we wanna see our sister now!”
“Max!” Charlie barked, locking gazes with her sibling. “Could you let me handle this, hon? Thanks.” Charlie turned back to the doctor, gave a helpless shrug. “So sorry. We’ve been under a lot of stress and—”
“I’m sure. But you understand, that’s part of the problem, is it not?”
Charlie shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“Fräulein MacKilligan—”
“Doctor.”
“—can’t afford this kind of outside stress you and your sister bring. We are leaning toward a breakthrough. But you two . . .”
Blinking, Charlie asked, “You’re saying that we”—and she motioned between her and Max with her forefinger—“are the cause of Stevie’s problems? Is that what you’re telling us?”
“Your sister loves you,” Dr. Gaertner insisted. “But you both are . . . and I’m sorry for being so blunt . . . terrible for her.”
Max sucked her tongue against her teeth and looked at Charlie. “Now can I hit him?”
“No.” Not that Charlie wasn’t tempted to unleash Max on the good doctor, but as much as this place might look like a spa, it wasn’t. It was a mental hospital. With large orderlies.
Charlie tried again. “I understand your concerns, doctor. I really do. But if I could just get three minutes alone with my sister, I would absolutely—”
“Nein,” the doctor said flatly, although with a smug smile on his face that Charlie desperately wanted to slap off.
The doctor stood. “But I will tell her that you were here when I think the time is right, and we will plan on a controlled meeting between you three. Very soon.”
Charlie started to go across the desk just so she could tear the good doctor’s nose off, but she didn’t have a chance. She was too busy grabbing hold of Max and yanking her back before the badger could clear the glass and wrap herself around Gaertner’s body like a python.
Charlie stood, bringing Max along, her grip tight on the tough flesh of her sister’s back.
“Well,” Charlie said, dragging her snarling sister along, “we look forward to hearing from you, Doctor. I’m sure you have my number on file.”
“Of course.”
Charlie walked toward the glass door and opened it. She pushed her sister out and hissed in warning when Max turned to go back into the doctor’s office.
As they headed toward the front of the building, Charlie glanced back and saw that several orderlies were following behind them. Making sure they left the building without a fuss.
Once outside—the orderlies stood in front of the doors, preventing the sisters from reentering—Charlie and Max stopped by the SUV’s passenger side and faced each other.
“Now can I go in and kill everybody?” Max asked.
 
; “No.”
“You and your half-canine morals. It does nothing but get in the way.”
“I know you’re working hard to be a sociopath, but stop it.”
“Sociopath is in the eye of the—”
“—forensic psychologist working for the prosecution?”
* * *
Berg was eventually sent to the local hospital to get his wounds checked out, but the local cops made it clear that they didn’t like what Berg and Coop were trying to sell. The investigators knew the pair were hiding something; they just weren’t sure what exactly.
It helped, though, that Coop wasn’t just Coop but Cooper Jean-Louis Parker, master musician and former child prodigy. The Italian authorities could only push so hard, especially since they were already dealing with the repercussions of being the city where Jean-Louis Parker had been attacked. Every news service—even in the United States!—was reporting on the attack and what had happened to the much-beloved American maestro.
The first doctor that came into the exam room had been full-human and, after looking over Berg’s wounds, had abruptly left. A few minutes later, a female doctor came in. She was older, with unbelievably long legs and a strong, lean body. A cheetah. Her nose twitched once and she smirked at Berg.
“You worried my associate,” she said in charmingly accented English. “He thought you must be on steroids to be so big. Then he saw that you were already healing . . .” She washed her hands, dried them, and put on gloves. “He wanted to run many tests, check you in for the night. I told him that would not be necessary.” She grinned, fangs briefly extending. “I am his boss, so he has to listen to me. He hates that, but for some reason,” she added with a shrug, “I seem to scare him.”
She leaned over and examined the wound in his side, her fingers pushing against the flesh. It hurt like a bitch, but he wasn’t about to admit that to a cat.
“This is already healing. No point in doing more.” She straightened and looked closely at the gunshot wounds on his chest. “These are already healing, too, but I will need to open them up to get the bullets out. We don’t want the skin healing over those. That could lead to infection and fever.” She pressed her wrist against his forehead. “Good. You do not have fever so far. I will make this quick. You don’t need to go under do you? Before I do this.”