Bear Meets Girl

  “Crushek!”

  Crush opened his eyes, looked around. Shit.

  He turned the truck’s ignition key to get enough power to roll down the window. “MacDermot.”

  She scowled and at first he thought she was angry. Then he realized she was just making fun of him. “Crushek,” she said, imitating his voice, then laughed, and rested her arms on the sill. “How long have we known each other, Crushek?”

  “I don’t know.” He thought a minute. “Since the Evans case?”

  “Wow. The guys were right.”

  “Right about what?”

  “That you mark time by cases, not by years.”

  “Yeah, well ... I guess.” Crush heard another knock and looked forward. “There’s a cub on my hood.”

  “We were going for a walk so that his father could get a little more sleep. When my boy’s up, he wants everyone up. And gets mighty vocal when they’re not.”

  Smiling at the baby male lion, Crush asked, “Already roaring, is he?”

  MacDermot sighed. “Pretty much.”

  “We’re here, Miss Malone.”

  Cella opened her eyes and looked around. Yep. She was here. “Here” being the Long Island town where she’d grown up surrounded by her family. To most people growing up “surrounded by family” probably meant they’d grown up with a mother, father, maybe a couple of siblings. If they had an extended family, perhaps a grandparent, a sickly aunt, or an orphaned cousin. But that’s most people. Cella wasn’t most people. She was a Malone. Not any Malone, either, but one of the Malones.

  Sitting up and yawning, Cella pushed open the car door and stepped out. “Thanks, Mario.” Katzenhaus Securities, KZS, was the international feline protection agency she’d worked for since she’d been discharged from the Marines. And of all KZS’s perks (and there were many), Cella’s favorite was the KZS car service. They used the best and fastest vehicles in the world and manned them with armed and well-trained felines. It was perhaps one of the best limo jobs one could find, paying an incredible salary, but it was also one of the most deadly. Cella didn’t like to think about the number of times she’d run back to her car after she’d taken care of a contract, only to find her driver dead in the front seat. This scenario especially sucked when she was in unfamiliar or foreign territory.

  Waving once more at Mario and holding her high heels and her purse in her hands, she walked down the street toward her parents’ house. Mario could have driven her all the way to her house, but no one who knew the truth about this block would come down it. And the driver, a bobcat from Massapequa, knew about her street.

  “Morning, Cella!” cheery voices called out.

  “Hey, Aunt Kathleen, Aunt Marie, Aunt Karen.”

  It must have snowed last night, but not hard. Still, the cold felt good against her bare feet. This was her kind’s time of year. The lions and cheetahs could have their summers because the Siberian tigers had the winter. Snow, bracing cold, harsh winds. Lovely.

  “Morning to you, little Marcella.”

  “Morning, Uncle Aidan, Uncle Ennis, Uncle Tommy.”

  Cella reached her parents’ home and went through the side gate into the yard. She walked around the side of the five-bedroom house and into the back. As comfortable with the freezing cold as Cella, her daughter was outside at one of the patio tables by herself, a tall glass of milk nearby, crayons all over the top along with coloring books. Cella sat down next to her, leaned over, and pinched her beautiful child’s cheek.

  “How’s my little baby girl?”

  Gold eyes just like her own looked Cella over before asking in a decidedly non-childlike voice, “Nice dress, Ma. Still working the docks?”

  Smart. Ass.

  Crush leaned out the window a bit, looking down at MacDermot’s feet. Sitting quietly there were her four dogs. Waiting. For her. “That’s impressive.”

  “It’s a skill. I’ll admit.”

  Crush settled back. “So you just happened to be passing?”

  “No. We usually walk the other way. But one of my neighbors called. She knows I’m a cop. Apparently there’s a meth dealer hanging around, threatening everyone. A big, old scary guy in a blue pickup.”

  “I am not old. I’m not even forty. Unlike others.”

  “Discuss my true age at your own risk, buddy. But I’m sure it’s the hair. Although they got the ‘big scary’ part right.”

  “Thanks.”

  She laughed and handed him something wrapped in a paper towel. “A corn muffin?”

  “I didn’t have any honeybuns.”

  “I am not a grizzly, MacDermot. I’m a polar, and I am not a fan of honey.”

  “Okay. Well, I didn’t have any walrus blubber hanging around, either.”

  God, he was being an ass. “Mac—”

  “I just figured youse might be hungry.”

  Uh-oh. He knew what the appearance of that Bronx accent meant. Of course, he only noticed it because MacDermot’s time away from New York when she was a Marine had given her some kind of weird, flat accent. But when she got pissed ... look out. Even worse, she’d started pointing a gloved finger at him.

  “I was just trying to be fuckin’ nice. Next time I won’t fuckin’ bother!”

  MacDermot’s dogs snarled at him, and the cub slashed at his window while giving what could only be called a baby-roar.

  Crush turned to the full-human and raised a brow. “You have quite the control of the wild kingdom here, MacDermot.”

  She snorted, and they both laughed. Okay. He did like MacDermot. She was one of the few people—full-human or shifter—who didn’t get on his nerves.

  “I’m sorry,” Crush finally admitted. “Jell-O shots are not my friend.”

  “I told Mace not to have those. I was like, ‘What are we? A frat?’ Hey, do you want to come in for breakfast?”

  “Nah. I actually need to get going. Gotta game today.”

  “God, are you still playing on that shitty hockey team?”

  He wanted to argue with her about the level of skill his NYPD shifter team had, but the reality was ... they really did suck. The shifter firefighters and EMT guys kicked their asses constantly.

  She patted his arm. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m just hungover. When I got out here, I just meant to close my eyes for a few minutes and before I knew it—”

  “No, no. I mean ... when you got here last night. You weren’t your usual scowling, non-talkative self. You seemed a more depressed scowling, non-talkative self. Anything I can help you with?”

  Crush locked gazes with her, let out a breath. “Not unless you can get me out of this.”

  “Get you out of ... oh.” She smirked. “Heard about the transfer, huh?”

  “Yeah. I heard about it. I have very good connections. Now can you get me out or not?”

  “What makes you think I can get you out?”

  “Heard you had some pull.”

  “Crushek, in the NYPD’s shifter division, I’m just the crazy full-human that apparently smells like cat and that everybody steers clear of when I get pissed off.”

  He had to laugh. “Predators always know when to run, MacDermot.”

  Cella sat back, smirking at her nearly eighteen-year-old daughter, Meghan. Okay. So Cella had lied to the bear. She couldn’t help it. Watching the look of horror on his face when he’d thought she’d left her toddler daughter all by herself while she went out partying kind of made her morning.

  Well, actually ... waking up with all that delicious naked bear flesh had made her morning. The rest of it was really just the icing on top of that cake.

  Examining the coloring book her daughter was working on, Cella stated, “I see they’re really challenging you in that private school I’m paying for.”

  “I was watching the kids this morning,” Meghan said about her young cousins, her attention still locked on what she was doing, “and we were coloring.”

  “But the kids are gone.”

  “I don’t like
to start things and not finish.” She carefully added a little orange to the sun at the top of the page, of course making sure to not go outside the lines. Cella fondly remembered her own coloring books. Nothing had been in the lines. She hated lines. Hated limits. Amazing since Cella had done so well in the Marines. No one thought she would, especially her family. They were so certain she’d wash out during Basic that they didn’t even complain when she said she’d signed up. In fact ... they’d all laughed at her. “Our Cella Malone? A Marine? Yeah. Right.” But the Marines had given Cella the freedom she couldn’t have gotten anywhere else. Freedom from her family. From the Malones. At least for a little while.

  “There.” Her daughter pushed the coloring book away. “Done.” She placed the crayon on the table. When Cella was gone, Meghan would come back and put all the crayons back in the box—in their original order. “Did you have breakfast?”

  “Well—”

  “I’ll make you something.”

  “Why do you bother asking me when you’re going to make me something anyway?”

  “It’s polite.” Meghan leaned in and kissed Cella on the cheek. “Did you have a good time last night at your party?”

  “Eh. It was okay. Mostly full-human cops and their full-human wives.”

  “Your cat killer friends and that dog didn’t come?”

  “First off, they, we, are not cat killers. If you want to be accurate, we’re killer cats. And that dog has saved my life a few times. Respect that.”

  “I don’t know why you still do that job. You don’t need the money anymore.”

  “What? You think Boston University is going to pay for itself? Speaking of which, did you get that paperwork in?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “I do not want to pay for an apartment in that area, Meghan. Make sure you get a dorm room.”

  “Can we talk about this later?”

  “Why are you getting so cranky?” Cella frowned. “You have been so cranky lately.”

  “I haven’t been cranky.”

  “You’ve been totally cranky. At least to me.”

  “I don’t mean to be. It’s just very stressful right now.”

  “It’s your final semester, Meghan. You’ve already been accepted to college and you’re doing great in school. You shouldn’t be stressing about anything. Just relax. Try and have a good time. I honestly don’t know where you get this intensity from. It’s definitely not a Malone thing. And you didn’t get it from your father. I remember him when he was seventeen.”

  “You’re not going to tell me another Dad-and-hash story are you? Because I don’t want to think about my father as some loser.”

  “Your father was never a loser. Besides, he grew out of that phase. Look at him now. A responsible accountant about to marry the feline of his dreams.”

  As always when Cella mentioned Brian’s upcoming wedding, their daughter got the strangest expression on her face. Cella had begun to think she was upset about the whole event. Seemed typical for a teenager to feel that way but ... but Meghan was far from typical. And she had to know this didn’t change anything. Not between her and her dad.

  Cella tossed her shoes up on the table and caught hold of her daughter’s hands. “Talk to me, Meghan.”

  “About what?”

  “I mention your dad, you get weird.” Cella tilted her head to the side, studying the beautiful girl she adored. “Is it the wedding?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “You know this doesn’t change anything between you and your dad. He loves you, Meghan, and so does Rivka.”

  “You just like Rivka because she’s another cat killer.”

  “You love Rivka and we are not cat killers. Stop calling us that. We are protectors of the cat nation. Like the Marines or—”

  “The C.I.A.?”

  “Well, you don’t have to get nasty.” Tired of this same damn argument—Meghan, like Cella’s mother, Barb, was not a fan of Cella’s career as a Katzenhaus contractor—Cella released her daughter’s hands and grabbed her shoes. “You know, Meghan, I’m just trying to be helpful and let you know I’m here for you.”

  Meghan rolled her eyes. “Ma ... is there anything about me—or you, for that matter—that screams let’s sit down and talk about our feelings?”

  “I’m trying a different approach. I’m trying to be ... ya know ... a proper mother. Thoughtful and caring and ... and all that other shit.”

  “Ma, being a hockey enforcer for a guy nicknamed the Marauder, killing on order from a thousand yards away, and being the kind of mom I don’t want my male friends around because all they do is stare at your breasts and drool ... these are your strengths. Let’s not stray too far from that. Okay? Great. Now I’m going to make you some waffles. You’ll eat, and then you can go upstairs and shower off that funk of ... of ... ?”

  “Bear,” Cella admitted.

  “Right. Bear. Yeah, you can go wash that off and you and I will pretend we never had this discussion, okay? Great. Thanks!”

  Cella watched her daughter head back into the house they shared with Cella’s parents. Cella had known all those years ago when she headed off to the Marines that she was taking a risk. The risk of losing her daughter. But what was she supposed to do? Raise another Malone She-tiger? So the kid could end up sitting around all day with all the other “aunts,” plotting and planning?

  “Just a few more months, Malone,” she reminded herself. Just a few more months and the kid would be out of here and off to college, to do whatever she wanted. Meghan’s whole world was open in front of her with absolutely no limitations. And that’s why Cella had risked everything. Some days she still risked everything. And she’d keep risking everything until her kid had everything she’d ever dreamed of.

  Picking up her shoes, Cella headed into the house. Her mother, rushing out the side door attached to the garage to handle some rich full-human’s wedding, quickly kissed her on the cheek.

  “I might be late,” she said. “Make sure your father eats.”

  “I will.”

  Cella came around the corner and met her daughter in the hallway. The two felines stared at each other until Cella said, “I love you, you trifling little heifer.”

  “I love you, too, Ma. Even when you’re dressed like a high-priced hooker.”

  “I’d have to be high priced to pay for these shoes.”

  Crush sat on the bench and waited. He was grateful that MacDermot had gotten him up when she did. Most Sundays during the winter were game days for him and he hated missing even one. He played hockey with a bunch of local Queens and Long Island shifters from different precincts and firehouses because he wasn’t good enough for pro ... or even semipro. He was, to be honest, barely good enough for weekend hockey with his friends and thankfully he’d given up his childhood dream of being one of the “greatest players of all time” long before he reached junior high. He actually left that particular dream to those who had real talent. Instead, Crush played on the weekends with people who didn’t care how bad he was, and the rest of the time he was a diehard fan of the pros, shifter and human.

  “So how was MacDermot’s party?” his partner Conway asked.

  Crush winced. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “That good, huh? I’m surprised you went.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re not exactly known for going to parties that don’t end with you arresting everybody at some later date.”

  “I know you’ve heard,” Crush accused when Conway fell silent. “About the transfer.”

  “Yeah. I have. Although I’ve only heard about it for you. Not for me.”

  “Miller has been wanting to get rid of me for years,” Crush complained about his captain.

  “You terrify the man, but he has no idea why. You can’t exactly blame him, though.”

  “Yes. I can.”

  The coyote shook his head. “Look, don’t be an idiot, Crushek. This is your chance to make some real money. Do you know how mu
ch that division pays their detectives?”

  “I don’t care. God knows I’m not into this shit for the money.”

  “You’re into it to be a badass.”

  “I am a badass.”

  “But you can still be a badass and make money to help you pay the mortgage on your new place. In fact, you get this job and you might actually be able to live in your house rather than in that rat hole you’ve been using for your cover.”

  “I do live in my—”

  “You can have friends that are actually friends rather than just people you plan to eventually arrest.”

  “I get your—”

  “Maybe a girlfriend. Someone who wasn’t once a stripper with a sob story.”

  “Okay.” Crush studied his ex-partner. “This is your wife talking to me, isn’t it? Through you.”

  “You know she worries about you.”

  “And I didn’t date the stripper; I just bought bus tickets for her and her kids.”

  “Sucker.”

  Annoyed, Crush snarled and looked back at the game. “I’m not wearing a suit.”

  Conway snorted. “No one in that division wears a suit. And maybe you’ll get to work with MacDermot now. You two seem to strangely get along. Of course, with her living with that male cat, you must be like a breath of fresh air.”

  “But what am I going to do there? Kill on command?”

  “They don’t do that ... I don’t think.”

  “Yeah. That’s comforting.”

  “God, Crushek, get over it already,” Conway snapped. “Nothing’s worse than a whiny bear. Especially a whiny bear that’s going to be making a lot more money than I will.”

  Crush didn’t say anything, just skated out onto the ice with his fellow players when it was time. Conway was with him, a few minutes later, going for a puck. That’s when Crush coldcocked him with his stick.

  The coyote, eyes crossing, went out like a light, crashing to the ice, and their team captain yelled, “Jesus, Crushek! I thought we told you no more hitting Conway!”

  Crush shrugged. “He called me whiny.”

  Freshly showered and wearing sweatpants, tank top, and sneakers, Cella walked into the family kitchen, but immediately stopped right at the threshold.