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.”
Mace sat down on a couch. “My sister.”
Van Holtz nodded and sat across from him. “Nothing’s been decided yet.”
“You can’t believe my sister had anything to do with this. This is Missy Llewellyn we’re talking about.”
“I made sure to point that out. And I can assure you that we’re going to investigate this thoroughly before we make any final decisions.” Van Holtz leaned back on the couch, raising his foot and resting it on the opposite knee. Mace didn’t think he’d ever seen the rich wolf looking so casual except when he was cooking. Worn jeans, bare feet, and a Cathedral High School Lacrosse T-shirt. They’d gone to the same school, although Mace had been a few years ahead of him. He remembered Van Holtz’s older brother, though. What an asshole that guy was, and he hadn’t changed much. But they didn’t seem alike at all.
“Just promise me you won’t . . . do anything until you talk to me.”
“If she’s done this, Mace—”
“She hasn’t. But if she’s caught up in it somehow—just talk to me. My sister is a lot of things, but she’s my sister. Understand?”
“I do. And you are married to one of our top people on the case.”
Mace gave a little snort. “Considering how well they got along in school . . . you better be the one to give me a heads-up.”
“I will. I’ll also ask that you not discuss this with the other members of your Pride.”
“They’re not my Pride. Haven’t been since I turned eighteen and refused to be bartered off like cheap garbage. But Missy is still blood. She’s still Marcus’s aunt. I can’t forget that.”
“I won’t either. You have my word.”
“Thanks.” Mace got to his feet and walked into the hallway, where Dee-Ann and Marcus almost collided with him. He gazed at the pair and finally asked, “Was there a problem?”
Dee-Ann shook her head. “No. Why?”
“No reason.” He took his son, making sure to keep the child’s face far away from him since he didn’t want to be covered in chocolate gelato the way Dee was. The kid had to be the sloppiest eater on the planet and yet every female, including Desiree, let him get away with it.
Mace took the cone Marcus held—ignoring the way his son latched on to his arm like it was a chicken bone, tiny teeth trying to dig into human flesh—and headed to the door.
“Have a good weekend,” Van Holtz told him.
“You, too.” The door closed behind him and Mace headed to the elevator. Once inside, he held the cone up for his son so he would unleash his hold on him and lick the cone instead.
“I don’t know what allure you have for women,” Mace told the little brat, “but I’m guessing it has a lot to do with the minimane you’ve got going on.”
“Cute kid,” Dee-Ann told Ric when the door closed. “I like the hair.”
“He likes you.”
“I’m guessing that like his father, he likes anything with tits.”
Ric stepped closer and licked the melted chocolate gelato off Dee-Ann’s nose. “Yum.”
“Was Mace here about Missy?”
“Of course. She’s his sister.”
“True, but she doesn’t deserve it. Don’t even think she wrote him when he was stationed overseas and he spent most holidays in Smithtown with Bobby Ray.”
“It’s still his sister and that’s all that matters to him.” Ric slipped his arm around her waist. “Are you packed?”
“Packed?”
“For the weekend away. You’re still coming?”
“Not much choice now that everyone in the New York Pack is coming. They all want to see your house.”
“I got the list from Jess. I had to up my zebra and gazelle meat since the lion males are coming as well. But you’re still coming, aren’t you?”
“If you’re still sure.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sissy and Ronnie are going to be there. They’ll see us together. Trust me when I say records will be broken gettin’ that information back to Tennessee.”
“So?”
She petted his cheek. “I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
“You know, your father might actually like me.”
And Ric tried not to take it personally when she burst out laughing and went back to cleaning her guns on his expensive, eighteenth-century rug.
CHAPTER 22
“So what do you think?” Ric asked her.
Studying Ric’s “recent purchase,” Dee could only say, “Seems more a . . . resort than a house.”
“Why would you say that? Because of the guest houses?”
“And the multiple tennis courts, the nearby lake. All you’re missing is a gift shop and one of your restaurants.”
“It’s a Pack house. Where a large number of wolves can relax and enjoy a weekend away from the bustling city. Or, as in our case, a large number of random shifters who should probably never be in the same place at the same time, getting on each other’s nerves for an entire weekend until someone ends up mauled and whining.
”
To prove that point, MacRyrie lumbered up to them, the grizzly grinning. “This place is great, Ric.”
“Thanks.”
“I brought you a house-warming gift.”
Ric glanced down. “Cats?”
“Huh?”
“Your hands, my friend.”
MacRyrie looked down at his big hands. “Oh, gosh! I did it again. Sorry, guys.” He dropped Brendon and Mitchell Shaw, the two lions slamming hard to the ground. “Let me show you what I made you.”
The grizzly went back to his truck and returned with a coffee table made entirely of wood, created by MacRyrie himself. Dee knew the man had some skills but damn . . . he was really good.
He plopped the table down, forcing the lions on the ground to flatten themselves to the grass so that they weren’t hit on the head.
“What do you think?”
“It’s gorgeous, Lock. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” But the bear’s wide smile told Dee he’d put a lot of work into it.
“I think it will look perfect in the main living room,” Ric added.
“There’s a main living room?” Dee asked.
“Don’t judge.”
“I’ll take it in.” The grizzly picked it up and headed into the house, carrying the table under one arm.
Dee glanced at Ric. “That thing weighs about a hundred pounds, doesn’t it?”
“Probably more. I have him place the furniture he gives me and then I never touch it again. I don’t want to strain my back.”
More cars, SUVs, and trucks pulled up into the long winding road that led up to the Long Island property.
“Guess I better get inside.” He kissed Dee’s cheek. It was a sweet kiss, but still managed to make her heart beat just a little faster. “I hope you’ll relax this weekend.”
“Do I have to wear shoes?” she asked.
Ric shook his head. “Not if you don’t want to.”
“Then relaxing should be easy enough.”
“Good.” Ric walked inside his home, and Dee watched him, thinking about following him. Maybe dragging him into the nearest bedroom for a few minutes before everybody showed up.
But Ric had barely stepped inside the big house before Sissy Mae and Ronnie Lee were standing beside her.
“You and Van Holtz?” Sissy asked.
“Yeah.” Dee-Ann faced her younger cousin and Alpha Female. “And?”
“Nothing. Ulrich Van Holtz just seems . . .”
“Out of my league?”
“I was gonna say he just seems smaller than what you usually go for. And much more pleasant.”
“At least he’s not dragging himself off the ground after getting slapped around by a grizzly.”
Brushing dirt off his T-shirt and shorts as he got to his feet, Mitch Shaw snapped, “He didn’t slap us around. That bear’s dangerous and unstable. And shouldn’t be around my delicate baby sister!” he yelled as Gwen walked past with her duffle bag.
“Let it go already,” she shot back.
Dee reached around and grabbed Ronnie Lee’s hand—the hand holding the phone—and squeezed.
“Ow!” Ronnie Lee yelped. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow-ow-ow! ”
“Who you callin’, Ronnie Lee?”
“No one!”
Dee squeezed tighter. “Who you callin’, Ronnie Lee?”
“Just my momma. To say hi!”
“Let’s not do that, okay?” Dee waited until she heard metal bend and some bones crack before she released Ronnie’s hand. “That all right with you, Sissy Mae?”
“A day not talking to my mother is like a day of sunshine and sweet tea.”
“Good.” Dee faced Ronnie. “That all right with you, Ronnie Lee?” The wolf glared up at her from the spot on the ground where Ronnie had dropped to her knees.
“Yes,” the She-wolf hissed. “But you could have just told me not to call.”
“I could have also twisted your arms outta their sockets. Figured this was friendlier. Now y’all have yourselves a great time.” Dee went into Ric’s SUV and grabbed one of the cases of overpriced wine he’d brought with him and headed into the house.
Ric rubbed his forehead with both hands. When Novikov had said he was going to be arriving at the house a few hours before anyone else, Ric simply assumed the man was going to get in some pool time before he had to fight the swamp-cat lions for space. But he was realizing that Bold Novikov was much more diabolical than that.
The seven-one hybrid stood proudly in front of the chart he’d written out on several giant Post-Its that he’d stuck to the wall. The wall Ric had designated for the Jackson Pollack he’d purchased a few years back. He briefly wondered whether Novikov would have still put his precious chart up there if the Pollack had already been in place.
“Now,” the hybrid went on, “as you see, I’ve assigned rooms to everyone on your attendance list, keeping the Smith wolves in close proximity to the dogs, with Bobby Ray Smith and Jessica Ward-Smith in the room set up between them. Plus, this one also had an attached room they could put their baby in.” He’d written out each person’s name on smaller pieces of sticky paper and carefully placed them in the rooms he’d meticulously drawn out. To be honest, Ric hadn’t seen house specifications so expertly drawn outside a set of government-official blueprints.
“I was really thinking people could just pick their own rooms,” Ric tried to suggest.
Blue eyes narrowed. “But I have a chart.”
“Yes. You do. With colored legend and arrows and, of course, illustrations of each breed.”
“I always feel that visuals help.” He held up a stack of sheets. “I also made accompanying flyers for everyone.”
Ric’s hands curled into fists. “Yet the idea is that everyone can come here and just relax. Unburdened by rules and regulations as long as everyone keeps the Viking-like pillaging to a minimum.”
Novikov pointed at the wall. “But I have a chart.”
“And a lovely chart it is. Truly. Beautiful. But it seems like a lot of work for you. Wouldn’t you rather lounge in the pool for . . . you know . . . ever?”
“I have schedules for pool use.” Novikov stuck another giant Post-It onto the wall. “That way we can all get a proper amount of pool time without actually infringing on each other’s space.” Then Novikov added. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
Before Ric could tell the man how much he wasn’t going to thank him for that, Lock walked up to him. “Your cousin’s here.”
“Specifics, Lachlan.” Since he had hundreds of cousins worldwide.
“Stein.”
Finally! “Stein!” Ric yelled out.
His younger cousin walked into the room, looking comfortable and summer-ready in baggy swim shorts, an Hawaiian shirt, and a ridiculous straw hat.
“Cousin! Man, this weekend is just what I need.” He slapped Ric on the back. “Thanks so much for inviting me.”
Ric stared at him, just gazed until the kid finally got it.
“I’m here as slave labor, aren’t I?”
“Kitchen. Meat. Chicken. Clean, strip, debone, season. Now.”
“But can’t I—”
“Move!”
Shoulders slumping, the kid wandered off to find the kitchen.
“What fantasy world is he living in?” Ric wanted to know.
Lock motioned to Novikov’s charts and schedules. “What is this?”
“These are the sleeping arrangements. As you can see, I placed you here in room 4B.”
“The rooms are numbered?”
“They are now. White duct tape.”
Ric gritted his teeth. “You put white duct tape on my mahogany, hand-crafted doors?”
“This place is huge, Van Holtz. You don’t want your guests getting lost.”
Ric went for Novikov’s throat but Lock held him in place with an arm around his shoulders. “What’s that?” Lock asked the hybrid.
“That’s the pool schedule. I also ha
ve a tennis court schedule and basketball court schedule.”
“Pool schedule?” Lock laughed. “You don’t think that’s going to work, do you?”
“Of course, it will. I wrote it out. In pen.”
But to prove the ineffectiveness of his theory, two lion males tore down the stairs, made a mad dash through the house, tearing off clothes as they went, and crashing into each other, Ric’s furniture, and the walls, screaming, “Pooooooool!”
“Wait!” Novikov yelled, running after them. “There’s a schedule! Your time isn’t for another three hours!”
And like that, Ric’s anger vanished, replaced by laughter.
“Come on,” he said to Lock. “Let’s go torture Stein by telling him he’s doing everything wrong even when he’s not.”
“Excellent plan.”
Lock walked off and Ric began to follow, but stopped long enough to return to the chart and move Novikov’s precisely placed people all over the place, separating couples from each other, their children, and spreading them out randomly so breeds and species were all sorts of mixed.
Laughing harder, he headed toward the kitchen, already deciding he didn’t like the way Stein deboned those damn chickens.
Yeah. It was going to be a great weekend!
Dee headed into the house from a side door after spending a couple of hours in the pool with her Pack and kin. As she passed through, she saw that the Shaw brothers had moved from lounging next to the pool to lounging in the living room, both of them sprawled over Van Holtz’s furniture like the big, lazy beasts they were. In fact, Mitchell might actually be drooling. Shaking her head, disgusted, she walked down the hallway toward the kitchen.
“Dee,” she heard behind her, but Dee kept walking. “Dee. Dee-Ann. Dee-Ann. Deeeeeeee-Annnnnnnn.”
Eyes closed, Dee stopped, took a breath, before she faced Teacup. “Yeah?” Dee gritted her teeth when the wolfdog hugged her. “Why are you touching me?”