Desiree walked off and Malone said to the one holding them, “Think you could put us down now, sport?”
The roughly seven-ten polar’s gaze went back and forth between them before answering, “No.”
After several minutes, Desiree returned, her expression direct and not too happy.
With a swirl of her finger, Desiree ordered her team to, “Bring ’em all in.”
“What the hell for?” Malone snapped.
“There are about twenty bodies back there,” she informed them. “Some in their human form, some not so much. Maybe you two would have noticed if you weren’t busy having a caged death match.” Disgusted, she shook her head. “Until we straighten this out, everybody goes.”
Desiree turned to her team, barking out orders.
Feeling downright shamed, Dee glanced over at Malone, who raised her head at the same time. And, for a moment, Dee guessed they both felt the same bone-deep disappointment in themselves for not keeping their eyes on the bigger issue. But then it seemed they both got tired of that and began snarling and snapping, trying to claw at each other from a distance, ignoring the bear ordering them to settle down.
Dee had to admit, it felt better doing that than feeling sorry for herself.
Ric pulled three plates from the overhead grill. He slammed the door shut with his elbow and slid the plates of sizzling sea lion blubber onto the saucier’s station for the final touch.
“Let’s go, people!” he yelled out, seeing the number of tickets piling up. “Let’s pick up the speed. We’ve got a full house out there!”
“Yes, chef!” was the answer he got back, followed by several muttered “Asshole.” But Ric didn’t mind. He kind of deserved it.
“Ric!” he heard his younger cousin Arden yell out as she stormed into the kitchen. If a Van Holtz didn’t want to work in the kitchen, then they worked front of house. At least until they got through college.
Arden held a large platter in her hand. A full salmon, head and all, that Ric had sent out ten minutes earlier.
“What is it?”
“The grizzly on six says there’s not enough honey in your honey sauce salmon.”
Knowing that his honey sauce glaze was, is, and always would be perfection, Ric understood what the disgruntled bear really wanted. Reaching down to one of the cabinets, he grabbed one of the fifty bear-shaped bottles of average, everyday honey he kept there. He wouldn’t waste the good—and expensive—European stuff on Philistines.
Pushing past his sous-chef, Ric unscrewed the top and dumped half the bottle of honey right onto the salmon, stole a knife from one of the nearby stations and smeared the honey over the fish. Taking the platter from his cousin, he tossed it into one of the industrial microwaves and re-heated the fish for a few seconds. Again, someone with an actual palate might deserve better treatment, but this idiot bear was lucky Ric didn’t drag the damn fish across the bathroom floor.
When he knew enough time had passed, he opened the microwave and pulled out the fish. “Here. With compliments from the chef,” he practically snarled.
Grinning, his cousin walked out.
“They’re all Philistines!” he announced to his kitchen.
“Yes, chef!”
Ric went back to work, his unwavering focus on getting the food done and getting it done well. He was happily in a zone when his phone vibrated from the pocket of his black sweatpants.
“This is Ric.”
“Hi, Cousin.”
Ric smiled. “Uncle Van! How’s it going?”
“Great. Great. I know you’re busy so I’ll make this quick. I’m having something messengered over to your apartment in the next day or two.”
“Okay.”
“You’re not going to ask me what it is?”
“Should I?”
“Probably.”
Ric grimaced. “This involves my father, doesn’t it?”
“Possibly. I’m sending you copies of the books for the Van Holtz restaurants in the tri-state area. I want you to look them over, closely, and tell me what you think.”
Ric’s grimace turned to slack-jawed panic. He could feel his mouth dropping open in shock. “Pardon?”
“You know what I’m asking, Ric.”
“Yes, but—”
“And you’re the one I trust to be honest with me.”
“But it sounds like you already know the truth.”
“I’m guessing. You are the one with the head for numbers. Or so my beautiful wife keeps telling me. Her exact words were, ‘Please don’t try to think. It’s painful to watch. Send the damn things to Ulrich.’ And, as always, she’s absolutely right. Will that be a problem?”
Investigating to see if Ric’s father, Alder Van Holtz, was robbing his own family and Pack of funds for whatever reason he might have? Gee . . . why would that be a problem?
“No, sir.”
“Excellent. Let me know when you have something.”
“Okay.”
The call disconnected, Ric went back to his work, glad that he would be turning over his kitchen to his sous-chef soon because he had guests coming over in a bit. But before he could get lost in the food, his phone went off again.
Dreading that his father had already heard all about it through his spies, Ric went out to the back alley to answer the call.
“This is Ric.”
“Mr. Van Holtz?”
Ric almost sighed in relief when he heard a woman’s voice on the other end. “Yes.”
“This is Detective MacDermot. NYPD.”
He knew her. Mace Llewellyn’s wife. Not exactly the type of woman Ric would expect a lion like Llewellyn to choose for his mate. Not that there was anything wrong with Desiree MacDermot. Far from it. But a Puerto Rican–Irish street cop from the Bronx wasn’t exactly a blue blood, was she? Something that the Llewellyns usually insisted upon.
“Yes, Detective. What can I do for you?”
“My boss was wondering if you could come in tonight for a meeting.”
Ric frowned. “I’m working tonight and have plans, so I’m not sure that’s going to—”
“We have your team, Mr. Van Holtz.”
Ric blew out a breath. Dee-Ann. “I understand. I’m heading right over.”
“Thank you.” She ended the call and Ric slipped the phone back into his sweats. Already irritated, now Ric was extremely annoyed. He glanced at his watch, making sure he had enough time to deal with whatever drama Dee-Ann and her team had gotten into and then get back to meet his friends without being forced to cancel the entire evening. He could do it, even though he might be a little late, but they’d wait for him.
Already thinking of what he’d have to do in his kitchen before he could cut out, Ric gazed down to the end of the alley that led out to the street. That’s when he saw him. Their eyes met and the kid took off.
Ric ran to the end of the alley, looking up and down the busy street, trying to catch sight of him again. Nope. Nothing.
Damn it. This night was simply not getting any better, was it?
Dee sat in the cage, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin resting on her fists. She sat in the cage and waited while the She-tiger in the cage next to her paced back and forth like she was about to be dragged off to the Bronx Zoo tiger display.
“How can you just sit there like that?” Malone finally demanded.
“What do you expect me to do? Pace around like an idiot?”
“I expect you to do something.”
“Don’t see the purpose of gettin’ all upset.”
“When do you ever?”
“That was always your problem, Malone. All emotion, no sense.”
Malone faced her, gripping the bars with her still-bloody knuckles. “At least I give a shit. At least I care about those people they found.”
“That’s real Yankee of ya, Malone. But your big emotions don’t really help nothin’, do they?”
“Cold as your precious daddy, I see.”
That had Dee up
off the bench she’d been sitting on, across the cage, her arm through the bars, and her hand wrapping around the back of Malone’s head. She jerked her forward, slamming her forehead into the titanium metal they used for these cages since they were built specifically for shifters.
Malone’s fist came through the bars, punching Dee in the eye.
Fangs bared, the two females held on, trying to drag each other through the bars.
“Dee-Ann!”
Dee stumbled back, the pair releasing each other at the bellow.
Trying to see through her already swelling eye, she blinked in surprise.
Van Holtz . . . er . . . Ric, stood outside the bars, absolutely seething. He was in his black sweats, black Van sneakers, and black T-shirt, but the scent of his busy kitchen still lingered all around him. The predator cops sitting at their desks lifted their heads and tested the air, probably trying to figure out why they were suddenly so hungry.
“Get out here,” Ric ordered and Dee walked forward. She reached through the bars and fussed with the lock that held her for a bit. It opened easy enough, and she heard Malone gasp in surprise behind her. Poor felines. They just didn’t have the same way with locks as wolves and foxes.
“Why didn’t you do that before?” Malone wanted to know.
“Because knowing I can do it is just as good as doing it. Just like knowing that I can cut your throat while you sleep—”
Ric placed a hand over Dee’s mouth and pulled her down the hall. “Bathroom?” he asked Desiree, who was unlocking Malone’s cage.
“At the end of the hallway.”
They found the room and Ric pushed her in.
“What is wrong with you?” he demanded.
And all Dee could do was shrug and admit, “She irritates me.”
Ric opened the first aid kit tacked to the wall and took out some gauze and antibiotic cream. He wet the gauze and began wiping the blood off Dee’s face and her knuckles. Once the blood was gone, however, he still had bruises and cuts to deal with.
“She irritates you? She irritates everyone.”
Dee gazed at him through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “You know Malone?”
“I hired Malone. She plays on the Carnivores.”
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“Have you seen the way that woman plays?”
“I don’t care how she plays, supermodel. She’s with KZS. Did you know that, too?”
He gazed into her eyes and answered with utter honesty, “Of course, I knew.”
Dee shoved him aside. “You’re working with them now?”
“They’re not our enemy, Dee-Ann.”
“Like hell they’re not. Maybe you don’t remember when they tried to move on wolf territory, but I sure do.”
Ric scratched his forehead. “You mean in 1832?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. Smiths really don’t let a grudge go, do they?”
“Not unless we’re contractually obligated to like we were with y’all.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. But we don’t have time for this, Dee.”
“What does that mean?”
“Come on.”
Dee waited while Ric threw out the bloody gauze, slathered some ointment on the worst of her cuts, washed his hands, and took Dee to the main office on the floor: a glass room with a door and a view of the Brooklyn Bridge from the window behind the desk. Sitting at the desk was a black bear sow. Desiree stood next to the desk and Malone sat in a chair beside another feline. A lynx, who seemed way overdressed for this meeting.
“There you are,” the lynx complained, pointing at her watch. “Have date. Not missing. Let’s move this along, people.”
Ric closed the door and, always the gentleman, began introducing everyone to Dee. “You know Detective MacDermott, and this is her boss Lynsey Gentry. She runs this division of the NYPD. And you know Marcella Malone, and this is her boss, Nina Bugliosi. She’s Cella’s supervisor, but speaks for KZS as I speak for the Group.”
Dee gazed at him. Cella? He’s calling her Cella now?
“Sit, you two. Sit.” The sow motioned them down and began. “I’ll keep this short because I don’t see a point in making it long-winded. Here’s the deal. These fight rings have popped up all over the city and they’re multiplying. Now, I won’t get into the concern over protecting who we are from the full-humans who know nothing about us. That’s a given, I think. The more important issue is that we can no longer ignore what’s happening to the hybrids in this city and the other boroughs, nor can we continue to try and strike at these small dogfights that we’ve been stumbling across. It’s not effective. So after talking to Niles Van Holtz, who runs the entire Group from East Coast to the West, and Victoria Löwe who represents Katzenhaft Security in the States, we’ve all decided to join forces.”
“Which means what, exactly?” Malone asked.
“That means we’re putting a small team of our best people on this to get to the heart of where it’s all stemming from. I want to know who’s the money behind this. Once we find the money, we can take it from there. But we’ve got to find the money.”
“And who’s gonna be on this team?” Although Dee already had a bad feeling she knew the answer.
“Desiree will take lead. She represents NYPD and can keep the full-human precincts off you, something she did earlier tonight after the residents of that neighborhood complained, so you should thank her. I don’t know what we could have done if anyone else had found you in that warehouse with all those bodies.”
Together, Malone and Dee looked over at Desiree and sneered, “Thank you.”
Desiree laughed and Gentry continued. “To represent KZS, we’ll have Miss Malone and for the Group, Miss Smith.”
Canine and feline scowled at each other across the room. Then Malone roared and Dee barked multiple times, lips pulled back over fangs.
The lynx snapped her fingers in Malone’s face. “Date!” she bellowed. “Was I not clear I have a date? I don’t have time for this bullshit.” She pointed at Dee-Ann. “From you either. So let’s cut to the chase rather than wait for the bear to make her slow, plodding way to it. We’ve already looked at your records, ladies. All three of you are former Marines, and both Smith and Malone have Unit training. So you’re going to get over whatever bullshit issues you have and fix this problem before I get really fucking cranky.” She stood, smoothing down her mini-dress. “Is that it?”
“Well—” the sow began.
“Good. See ya!” Then she was out the door and gone.
Dee turned to Ric, waiting for him to say something. He did.
“So . . . are you hungry?”
CHAPTER 3
R ic paid the cabbie and stood, Dee-Ann glaring at him from the front stoop of his family’s restaurant.
“What did you want me to do?” he asked.
“Tell them no.”
He shrugged. “I like the idea. Besides, we should all be working together to stop this—don’t walk away from me, Dee-Ann.”
His stern warning ignored, Dee kept walking, but Ric caught up with her and pulled her into the alley between the restaurant and the deli next door.
“Don’t you find it curious,” he asked, standing in front of her, “that felines who are so into pure bloodlines they could be British royalty are suddenly concerning themselves with hybrids?”
Folding her arms over her chest, Dee did that thing he hated where she looked right past him. Then again she only did that when he was right about something and it pissed her off.
“If you’re really adamant about not working on this, I can put someone else on it.” He tried to think of the one person who’d really set Dee off and he realized that one person was waiting for him right inside one of the private dining rooms. “I’ll give it to Blayne.”
Ric took a step away, but Dee’s hand shot out and caught hold of his arm. “Pardon?”
“I said I’ll put Blayne on it since you don’t want to—” br />
“Teacup? You’re going to put Teacup on this?”
“She’s a great ambassador for the Group, gets along well with felines and bears, and she already knows Dez MacDermot.”
“She babysits for Desiree.”
“She’s also taken on bigger responsibilities with the Group and that’s worked out just fine.”
“With the hybrid pups and cubs. It’s not like she’s ever been in the field.”
“But she handled herself just fine in Ursus County.” Ric still had a hard time believing that his goofy, loveable wolfdog buddy was the same She-predator he’d seen decimate a gang of full-human males trying to kill them. And she’d done it with nothing more than a couple of blades in her hands and sheer willpower. Then again, Blayne’s knife skills only made a real appearance when she was backed into a corner with no way out. Of course . . . he didn’t have to mention he knew that to Dee.
“Ursus—” The She-wolf gritted pearly white fangs and snarled at him like he was trying to take her favorite chew toy. “The only reason she lived through Ursus County was ’cause of me. The only reason she has a job with the Group is ’cause of me. The only reason she breathes my precious, precious air is ’cause of me!”
It was true. The one person who could really set Dee-Ann Smith off was and perhaps always would be Blayne Thorpe.
“I understand that, but—”
Dee’s head dipped low, bright gold eyes looking up at him through dark brown lashes. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Not if you’re just going to use this as an opportunity to beat up on Cella.”
If it was possible, Dee-Ann’s expression turned even angrier. “That’s true. I wouldn’t want to hurt your girlfriend.”
Ric blinked. “My what?”
“Forget it.” She stepped around him, ready to leave, but Ric caught hold of her wrist, keeping her in place.
“I promised you food.”
“I don’t need you feeding me, Van Holtz. I’m not some charity case.”
“I never said you were. And what happened to Ric? It sounded so nice when you called me Ric. And you have to eat, Dee-Ann.” He gripped one of the loops of her jeans, tugging at it.