But trying to find him would be the challenge. Like the snakes they all loved to eat, the bastard was wily. Could hide in plain sight sometimes. Or so it seemed.
But Will was done playing this game with him. Especially now. Especially after what that bastard had done to him. Had done to the family.
He didn’t even bother contacting his other half-siblings in the States. He doubted they would care any more than his own brothers and half-brothers here at home did. Not when it came to Freddy MacKilligan. And business-wise, they had no connections. The Scottish MacKilligan finances never mixed with the Americans. That’s how their father had set it up and that’s how it stayed.
His eldest son sat down beside him on the step.
“The uncles are calling,” he said calmly.
“Let ’em call.” Will shook his head. “I can’t believe Freddy did this.”
“I can’t believe he’s smart enough to do this. The man’s an idiot.”
“A wily idiot. He’s maneuvered his way out of more shite than you know.”
“We have our people in the States looking for him but—”
“But he could be anywhere,” Will finished for Dougie.
“Maybe his sisters know where he is. I know he keeps in touch with them.”
“They ain’t that close. They hate him.” He thought a moment. “What about Freddy’s girls?”
“The daughters?” Dougie snorted. “They hate him more than you do. They wouldn’t help him. Besides, they got their own problems right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Someone’s trying to get the youngest again.”
“What? Another drug dealer looking for designer meth?”
“No idea, but I can find out.”
Dougie made the offer, Will was sure, without really thinking about it. It was just his way to always get his father the information he might need as quickly as possible.
But instead of dismissing the suggestion, Will looked at his son and said, “Yeah. Find out.”
Surprised, Dougie asked, “Really? You sure?”
“I’m sure. Find out. Find out everything.”
“And then what?”
“Then we see what we can do with that information. See how we can make it work for us.”
“Even if it involves the girls?”
Will nodded. “Their father doesn’t care about them, but if there’s one thing the man does fear . . . it’s that oldest girl.”
“Charlie.” Dougie stood. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Will stood as well, already feeling a little better. Still angry, but now with some hope. “And, if we’re lucky, and all this gets fixed . . . I’ll be able to kill me brother with me bare hands.”
Dougie patted Will on the shoulder. “We’re all hoping for that, Da. We’re all hoping for that.”
* * *
Max glanced over her shoulder, cringed when a corpse hit the glass window, followed by a desperate scream of rage.
“So,” the detective standing next to her said, “I’m guessing that was not your father?”
Max ducked before the leg torn off another John Doe corpse could hit her in the head. “Yeah. That’s not our dad . . . unfortunately.”
“Then you’d better get your sister out of here before I have to arrest her for desecration of a corpse. Or multiple corpses.”
Max reached out to pat the shifter cop on the shoulder as a thank-you, but he jerked away from her so violently, she decided not to push it. She knew that sometimes honey badgers made other shifters nervous.
Besides, it was one of those days, wasn’t it? When everybody was just a little more sensitive than usual.
“Put that torso down right this second, Charlie MacKilligan!” Stevie yelled, pointing her finger at their outraged sister and using her own body to protect the poor morgue attendant. “Right this second!”
* * *
Berg walked into the room, cell phone in hand, eyes on Charlie.
She stood in the middle of Vic and Livy’s living room, staring blankly at the far wall. The three sisters had just returned to the apartment, but he honestly didn’t know what was going on.
Stevie rushed in from the kitchen with a glass of what looked like scotch on the rocks in her hand.
“Drink this, Charlie. It’ll help.”
Charlie’s blank gaze focused on the glass of scotch and she locked on it for several long seconds.
Everyone in the room watched her watching the scotch. Berg had remained at Livy’s place because he’d found the sisters a place to stay and needed to take them there. Coop, however, refused to return to his own New York apartment because he wanted to “see what happens next!” His exact words. Dag and Shen were still hanging around because neither had anywhere interesting to go anyway. And Vic and Livy lived here.
They all watched Charlie, the room silent. Until she suddenly barked, “I need to bake.”
Her sisters quickly moved out of her way and she disappeared into the kitchen.
“There’s nothing in there,” Livy called out to Charlie, “that anyone can use to bake.” She glanced at the others. “What? I don’t shop a lot.”
“This is bad,” Stevie said softly. “When she starts baking . . .”
“So,” Coop guessed, “it was your dad? I’m so sorr—”
“Oh, no,” Max cut him off, her arm swinging out toward the big picture windows. “He’s still out there somewhere. Alive. Fucking up our lives.”
“Your father’s not dead?” Vic asked. Max and Stevie shook their heads. “And your sister’s upset because . . .”
“He’s not dead.”
Vic leaned back in his couch. “Didn’t see that coming.”
Charlie suddenly walked back out of the kitchen, a bag of unopened flour in her hands. “Do you all realize—”
“Uh-oh,” Stevie said softly, her head dropping.
“—that the only reason we’re all here is because of my father?” She pointed at Coop. “You had to cancel the rest of your world tour because of my father.” She pointed at Berg. “You were shot and stabbed because of my father.”
“I’m not sure we can blame him specifically—”
She pointed at Livy. “You got in a fight with your cousin because of my father.” Pointed at Vic. “Strangers in your apartment because of my father.” She gestured between her and Max and Stevie. “Recent attempts on our lives, most likely because of our idiot father.”
“We don’t know,” Stevie interrupted, “that Daddy had anything to do with any of this.”
Her sisters suddenly turned to her and stared. For a really long time. Until Stevie finally admitted, “It was probably him, but we don’t know it was him. That’s all I’m saying.”
Making a sound of disgust, Charlie turned on her heel and walked back into the kitchen.
“Where did she find the flour?” Livy asked Vic. “We have flour? ”
“I don’t know why you’re all mad at me!” Stevie argued. “He is still our father!”
“I’m not angry at you,” Dag suddenly announced, thoughtfully gazing across the room. “But I don’t know you. So I don’t have any reason to be angry at you.”
A “beep” sound from the kitchen had Livy frowning. “We have a microwave oven?” she asked Vic. “When did we get a microwave oven?”
A moment later Charlie returned from the kitchen. Now she held a stainless steel mixing bowl in the crook of her left arm and a wooden spoon in her right hand. And whatever she had in that bowl was taking a hell of a beating from that spoon.
“No one is angry at you, Stevie,” Charlie stated, still mixing. “I don’t blame you for how you feel about that idiot.”
“I call him Dad,” Stevie said to the others.
“But we have a serious problem here. We’re not safe while he’s alive.”
“I could track him down,” Max said. “Kill him.” She glanced at Stevie. “Cry a little about doing that if it will make you feel better.
”
Stevie’s eyes narrowed. “It wouldn’t.”
“No, no.” Charlie shook her head, still mixing. “I can’t ask you to do that. If there’s one thing our father knows how to do, it’s hide. You’ll never find him, and you’ll just get frustrated.”
“Because her frustration is everyone’s main concern in this particular conversation,” Vic muttered.
“We need a safe place to hide,” Charlie reasoned, her mixing arm never stopping. “With Dad still alive and the ones trying to kill us still out there, we have to find a safe house. We may have to leave New York.”
“I don’t think they’re trying to kill all of us,” Max suddenly announced to Charlie. “Just you and me. I think they want Stevie alive.”
Charlie briefly stopped mixing. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, you know when we—” Max abruptly cut off her own words and looked around the room. “Uh . . . you know . . . when we were in the Mercedes near where we picked up Stevie?” she asked vaguely.
“Yeah,” Charlie said.
“That time, they didn’t try to blow us all away. They tried to negotiate, which only makes sense . . .”
“If they wanted Stevie.” Charlie began mixing again. “Unbelievable,” she snapped. “He sold her again.”
Vic’s head snapped up. “Wait . . . what?”
But the sisters ignored him.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Charlie told her sisters.
“Wait,” Berg said before they could leave. “I have a place for you guys. A safe place.”
Charlie gave him a very small smile. “I don’t feel right getting you involved. You know . . . again.”
“It’s already set up. I promise, you can’t find a safer place.”
Max snorted. “Like we haven’t heard that before.”
“If my brother says it’s safe,” Dag cut in, “it’s safe.”
“Okay.” Charlie smiled even while Max appeared not to believe a word Berg was saying. But Berg didn’t care if the honey badger believed him or not.
“Just give me ten minutes to finish the cookies and we’ll go.”
She disappeared back into the kitchen and Max pointed at Berg. “You better be right about this. Or I’m going to get cranky.”
“You can’t find a safer place than this one,” he promised, meaning every word.
The pair stared at each other, Max sizing him up, making sure he was telling the truth until Livy threw up her hands and demanded, “Is no one else concerned about what the fuck she’s using to make those cookies?”
* * *
After Charlie put a plate of the most amazing honey-lemon sugar cookies Berg had ever tasted in Livy’s hands—“Where in the unholy fuck did you find stuff to decorate these cookies with?”—Berg took the three women to Grand Central Station, where they caught the Long Island Rail Road.
None of them spoke as they headed out to Queens. Stevie pulled out a reader from her bag, giving her access to thousands of digital books. She read the entire trip and didn’t say a word. Max, with a small smile on her lips, gazed at random people on the train until they got up and moved.
Charlie simply stared out the window.
When they arrived at the Jamaica station, they got off and Berg led them to the garage where he kept his SUV.
The three women silently put their bags in the back of his vehicle and piled inside.
On the drive, Stevie continued to read, Max continued to smile, Charlie continued to stare.
Coop had wanted to come along on this trip but Berg had a feeling that the sisters didn’t really want to be bothered with anyone at the moment. The fact that they had to be bothered with Berg was probably a tad more than they could stand. Adding a nosey jackal would no doubt push one or all three of them over the edge. So Dag took the maestro home and Berg was here.
Berg turned onto his street. He loved this Queens neighborhood and had been grateful when he’d found it. Living in the City wasn’t really his thing. He’d been raised in Washington, after all, and with his parents, he was used to a much more . . . relaxed way of life.
He got out of his SUV and went to the back. He pulled out their bags just as his phone went off.
Berg looked at the screen and cringed. His sister’s text was in all caps. That was never good.
“Uh, I’ll be right back, ladies,” he said, pointing at the house he’d secured for them. “Why don’t you guys have a look around the yard.”
Berg started across the street until he got another all cap text . . . then he ran.
* * *
Charlie stood by her sisters, the three of them staring out over the Queens street that Berg had taken them to before running away like he was on fire.
She briefly wondered if he’d actually come back. Considering the day she’d already had . . . she wouldn’t be surprised to find out that this was all an elaborate setup to kill her and Max and take Stevie, and the sweet bear was the great mastermind behind it all.
It would be her luck, wouldn’t it?
“I guess this could be less safe,” Max commented, her gaze examining everything quickly and closely.
Charlie glanced down one side of the street and then the other. “What does that mean? What’s wrong with it?”
Max watched her for a moment before asking, “We need to get your allergy meds, sweetie.” She briefly glanced at Stevie, who was staring up at the sky. “And this one needs to be less oblivious.”
“Why? What am I missing?” Charlie asked before she sniffed the air. But she couldn’t detect anything. She really needed her meds. “What am I not smelling?”
“Don’t sweat it.” Max sighed. “It’s not like we have a lot of choices.”
Because, once again, their father had made choices impossible for his daughters.
“It’s very nice, though,” Stevie remarked. “You know . . . for Queens.”
Max glanced at her sister. “What do you know about Queens?”
“I know about lots of places. Been to lots of places. You’re not the only one who travels a lot, Maxie MacKilligan.”
“You travel from lab to lab and mental hospital to mental hospital. Not exactly like you’re taking in the scenery on your way to and from.”
“How do you know what I do or don’t do? You’re never around.”
“Because I know you. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who didn’t have time to notice the Eiffel Tower while in Paris.”
“I was busy! And I’ll have you know I’ve seen it since.”
“You three the sisters?” a gruff voice asked from behind them.
Max instantly went for one of the knives she kept on her body at all times, forcing Charlie to grab her hand before she could pull one free. A skill she’d taught herself very early in life so that she could keep her middle sister out of juvenile detention and then, when Max was older, prison.
Stevie, also startled, screamed like she’d been stabbed, her back arching, before she flipped herself onto the nearest tree trunk, her claws digging in. With a warning hiss, she scrambled backward up into the branches, disappearing among the leaves.
The gruff man who’d been standing behind them stared at the tree, wide eyes wider. “Uhhhhh . . .”
Stepping in front of her middle sister—so if Max tried to stab anyone, she’d have to take Charlie out first—she held out her hand.
“Charlie MacKilligan,” she said, introducing herself. “This is my sister, Max, and in the tree is Stevie.”
Big brown eyes focused on Charlie. “Why do you all have boy names?” he asked, now appearing nervous. Not that Charlie blamed him.
“My father always wanted boys. But, like Henry the Eighth, he only got girls.”
“Actually,” Stevie explained from her hiding place in the tree, “Henry had a son and he was crowned king after his father’s death, but he was sickly. Didn’t last long. That’s when Bloody Mary—”
“Why is that one up in a tree?” the gruff man asked
.
“She’s a genius. So she’s weird.”
“Is she always so . . . jumpy? We don’t like jumpy around here.”
Charlie tried to think of a good answer that wouldn’t lose them their temporary home before they even saw it. But before she could say a word, a bee flew by, briefly lurking around Max’s face. And just like that, her sister was off.
“Where are you going?” Charlie demanded.
“Bees,” was the only response she got back. But it was really all Charlie needed.
“She’s going to be a problem,” the gruff man said.
“I know it seems that way—”
“We don’t like her kind here.”
Charlie blinked, shocked. “What did you just say to me?”
“You heard me.”
Stevie’s head stuck out from the leaves and she accused, “You racist!”
The gruff man frowned. “Huh?”
“You heard me! You’re a racist. And when Max gets back, she’s going to kick your ass for it!”
Berg walked out from behind a house across the street and jogged over.
“Sorry about that,” he said, coming closer. “My sister . . . had some issues.” He smiled. “So how are we getting along?”
“You didn’t tell me what they were,” the gruff man said.
“Yeah.” Charlie couldn’t help but sneer. “Two women of color must be terrifying for you.”
The two men looked at each other and back at Charlie.
“What are you talking about?” Berg asked.
“Apparently only Stevie can stay here in your precious neighborhood. She seems to be white enough.”
“And you, sir,” Stevie yelled from the tree, “will not make me feel horrible for what you said. I will not take the mantle of white guilt on my shoulders, thank you very much!”
Berg shook his head. “Tiny doesn’t care that you’re black. Or that your sister’s Asian. That’s probably the last thing he cares about.”
“It really is,” the gruff man sighed.
“His name is Tiny?” Charlie asked, staring up at the man. He was taller than Berg. And wider.
“Family nickname,” he growled.
“All Tiny cares about is that you guys are honey badgers,” Berg went on.