Bear Meets Girl

  He stared at her, cold dark eyes studying her. She felt like a bug he’d found in his kitchen. A spider he was curious about. Or an ant.

  His lips pulled back and she saw fangs. Not those stupid fangs she’d seen in even stupider vampire movies. But animal fangs. Just like the guy she’d picked up off the road. His had come out when she was driving him to that office and that’s what she saw now. Even in this barely lit place, she could see them.

  Panicked, she fought back, swinging her feet out, desperately trying to kick him away. Anything to get him to let her loose. She didn’t care she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t care that he was really hurting her now. She just wanted to get away. Anything to get away.

  Then there was a flash of silver.

  Sophie blinked, blood slashing across her face and neck. The man holding her gurgled and dropped her. She hit the ground, but kept her eyes open. She crawled away, but watched that woman, the woman with the dog eyes, yank the biggest knife Sophie had seen out of the guy’s neck. She wiped blood off on her jeans and tucked the blade back into the holster tied to her thigh. Then she pulled out the gun she had holstered to the other thigh, quickly fitted a silencer to the end, and walked around the man, gun down. Sophie thought she was coming for her. To finish what the man had started. But as the woman walked, she pulled the trigger four times, each bullet going into the man. One in his head, his face, his neck, his inner thigh.

  She stopped in front of Sophie, crouching down. “You all right?”

  Sophie nodded, but she still didn’t know if she could trust her. If she should. Her eyes ... as she moved, the moon reflected her eyes back to Sophie. Just like a dog’s.

  The knife flashed again and then Sophie’s hands were loose. Fingers gripped her and helped her to her feet.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I promised to look out for you. Sorry I let you down.”

  Sophie hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself. She wasn’t much for fanciful flights of fantasy as her grandmother liked to call it. Reality had always made that impossible. But now she knew. That guy she’d picked up, he was one. The guys who took her tonight. That bitch woman who’d slapped her around until she got the answers she wanted. And this woman. They were all kind of the same. They weren’t human. Not completely. Not like Sophie. Because no human Sophie knew, who could cut a man’s throat, then shoot him in major areas and arteries on the body, would turn around and apologize for letting her down. And she’d meant that apology, too. Sophie could tell. Sophie knew liars and she knew truth tellers. This woman, or whatever she was, was all about the truth.

  “What ... what’s your name?”

  “Dee-Ann. Dee-Ann Smith.”

  “What now, Dee-Ann?”

  “We get you someplace safe.” With her arm around Sophie, Dee-Ann led her back to the road. “While my friends deal with Whitlan and Baissier.”

  Sophie stopped, forcing Dee-Ann to face her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. Sophie could see the concern on the woman’s face, but it wasn’t easy not to be completely freaked out by those eyes.

  But Sophie choked back the fear. The woman had saved her life; she owed her this much. “Your friends are in there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Get them out, Dee-Ann. Get them out right now.” Sophie licked her lips and admitted, “There’s something I didn’t tell the other woman.”

  So this is what a country club looks like from the inside.

  Not surprisingly, most Malones were never invited to join country clubs. Although a few had worked in them and robbed several.

  Following the scent of bears, Cella and her team worked their way down several flights of stairs, far under the club, until she hit the last floor. She and the two lions walked out a door and into a long and wide hallway with marble floors. There were animal trophies lined up on both sides of the hallway. It wasn’t until she passed the first one that she stopped in her tracks, her body shaking. The two males looked at her, then at the trophies. They stepped closer, took a sniff, and immediately stepped back.

  Every trophy in this hallway that had been stuffed and mounted—a male shifter. A couple of wolves, several panthers, but a whole lot of bears—grizzly and polar—and lions. The ultimate predators. Cella didn’t see any tigers, but she had the feeling the pelts of her kind were decorating people’s beds and floors.

  Cella took several breaths. She had to keep it together. If she lost her control, got angry, and started killing everyone, this would not end well.

  Cella gestured forward with two fingers and she walked on, trying hard not to look or think about those who’d met what could only be called a cruel end.

  They’d neared the end of the hallway when one male stopped, his hand raised to halt them. He lifted his head, sniffed. When he looked back at Cella, she let out a groan and pushed past him. She ran until she hit the last room. Stopping right inside, she closed her eyes and lowered her weapon.

  “You need to pull them out.”

  Knowing his team had Baissier’s men covered by their SUVs, Crush looked over his shoulder at Dee-Ann. She had the girl with her. The poor thing had clearly ended up on the wrong side of Baissier, but at least she was still alive. It seemed as if the sow had taken it easy on her. Surprising.

  “What is it?”

  But before Dee-Ann could answer his question, he heard Cella’s voice over his earpiece.

  He and Dee looked at each other and Crush said, “Repeat that.”

  “I said he’s gone, Crush. Whitlan’s gone. And you better bring everybody down here. Including Baissier’s men.”

  Crush raised his arm and motioned to Dez, who had a spot on a nearby building.

  “You better come with us,” Crush said to the remainder of Baissier’s team.

  One of the bears laughed. “What? Are you arresting us?”

  Crush shrugged. “I don’t think there’s a point.”

  “It was some kind of gas,” Cella explained while turning her back to the room. The device that had been triggered had released a gas that had not killed Baissier or her team easily, their twisted and tortured remains littering the floor. “As soon as they opened this door. It went off and took ’em out.”

  “Dissipated quick, too,” Smith muttered, walking around the room and coldly examining everything.

  “And Whitlan’s gone,” Crush noted again, his gaze locked on where this room led ... to a dock filled with lots of very fast and very expensive boats.

  “Yeah, but he’s got us looking for him. And the feds.”

  “And we have our own inside there. We’ll find him, Crush.”

  “It better be quick. Whitlan enjoys killing our kind. He’s not going to lose his taste for that anytime soon.”

  “So what do we do now?” one of Baissier’s men asked.

  “Call whoever is next in command,” Crush told him. “Let him or her know about this.”

  “The trophies,” Cella said. “We identify those we can, alert the families. The ones we can’t, we give a proper burial.”

  Cella called in the cleanup team for assistance since they had to be done before the country club staff made it in for the morning shift. Knowing they were short on time, they all got to work.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  These days Cella didn’t have time to be as exhausted as she felt. Why? Because she was a goddamn bridesmaid. Why? Why did she say yes to being a bridesmaid? Even worse, a maid of honor!

  She could be such an idiot.

  Between the bachelorette party, the bridal shower, and the never-ending dress fittings, Cella was goddamn burnt out. But she was almost done. Almost.

  So, running down the stairs, lifting the hem of her five-thousand-dollar dress—only for a friend would she spend that kind of cash on a stupid dress—Cella yelled out, “Let’s go, Malones! We’ve gotta get a move on!”

  “Where’s the kid?” she asked her young cousins, busy getting dressed up for the day.

  “In back,” one answered.


  “All right. The cars will be here to pick you guys up soon. Do not keep the drivers waiting. And no whore makeup,” she added before running outside.

  Meghan and Josie, already dressed, with minimal makeup, and ready to go, sat at one of the tables and ...

  Eyes narrowing on her daughter and daughter-by-friendship, Cella demanded, “What is that?”

  Meghan held the thing up, her grin wide. “It’s a kitty! Miss Smith brought it over for me and Josie while you were in the hospital.”

  Cella studied the black-and-white tabby carefully. A bright red collar with an annoying little bell that kept making this tinkling noise was around its neck and it smelled distinctly of ... well ... of bear sow.

  Josie reached over and took the tabby from Meghan’s hands. What always amazed Cella about the pair of them was that they never fought over anything. They shared so easily. Cella would admit she didn’t know any felines who could do that.

  “Isn’t she cute?” Josie asked, nuzzling her nose against the cat’s.

  “It’s a cat. It’s a house cat.”

  “And we’re keeping her,” Meghan told her mother, all haughty about it, too! “She was a gift to us and Grams said we can keep her. So we’re keeping her.”

  “Whatever. But I’m not taking care of that thing while you’re off partying with frat boys.”

  Her daughter shuddered in disgust. Knowing her kid, she’d spend her college years partying with the chess players’ club or with the geeks who design lasers before returning home for a hot cocoa at eight p.m.

  Cella stepped close, scrunching her nose at the cat. “What are you going to name it?”

  “It’s a she, and we’re naming her—”

  “Mrs. Fuzzybottom!”

  “No,” Meghan told Josie in no uncertain terms. “We will not give a cat a stupid name.”

  While Josie pouted, Meghan thought a moment and finally offered, “Cleo?”

  “Over my dead body,” Cella said quickly. “There will be no cliché cat names. No. Never.”

  “Well, since you’re being so picky about it, She Who Will Not Take Care of This Thing, what would you suggest?”

  The answer hit her so quickly, she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it before. “Do you know what a really nice gesture would be, girls? Naming the cat Dee-Ann.”

  Josie grinned. “You mean in honor of Miss Smith?”

  “It was her gift to you guys. I just think it would be a really sweet gesture.”

  “I like it.” Josie stood, the cat in her arms. “I’m going to tell Mom. I’ll let her know you’re ready to go, Aunt C.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  Josie walked off to her house and Cella looked at her daughter. “What?”

  “How do you live with yourself?”

  “Very well,” she told her. “I find myself quite entertaining.”

  It wasn’t nearly as painful as Crush thought it would be. He’d never been to a Jewish wedding ceremony held by cats before, so it was new and interesting for him. And now he was back at one of the Kingston Arms’ ballrooms for the reception. Although the ceremony was a little more serious, the couple wanted the reception to be a lot lighter and considering the dancing and laughing he walked in on, he could see they’d already achieved their goal.

  “Hey, kid!”

  Crush jumped a little, trying not to panic when Nice Guy Malone wrapped his arms around him in a big hug. “Hi, Mr. Malone.”

  “Butch, kid. Butch.” He stepped back, grinned. “Did you hear about my girl? What the Carnivores offered her?”

  “I heard.” And he’d been bragging about it at the office so much that all his coworkers roared anytime it came up again. Including Dez.

  Butch grinned. “My girl.”

  Meghan and Josie ran up, both looking beautiful in their bridesmaids’ gowns.

  “You came,” Meghan said, going up on her toes to kiss Crush’s cheek, Josie kissing the other one.

  “Did you really think your mother was going to let me out of this?”

  Meghan laughed. “Nope.” She tugged at her grandfather’s tux. “Grams is looking for you.”

  “As my wife or as—”

  “Wedding planner.”

  “Crap. She wants me to move something.”

  “I can do it for you,” Crush offered.

  “Nah. She just makes me do it ’cause she likes to see my muscles ripple.” Grinning, Butch walked off.

  Meghan shuddered. “Ew.” She jerked her thumb toward one of the doorways. “We better go, too. The bride and groom will be making their entrance soon.”

  “See you guys when you’re done.”

  Meghan and Josie waved and rushed off. Crush looked around at the tables, debating whether he should go ahead and get seated now or wait a little longer when he realized Novikov stood beside him. Breathing.

  He really liked the guy ... but he hated when he did that.

  “Hey.”

  Novikov nodded.

  “Why are you here?” Crush had to ask.

  “Blayne finagled an invite because she wanted to see how Barb runs her weddings.”

  “Is she happy?”

  “Ecstatic. She really likes the cake.”

  “The cake?”

  “It’s Blayne.”

  “How have you liked the wedding?”

  “Everything has been on time ... so I love it.”

  Crush laughed, stopping when a woman in a full-length dress stopped in front of him and stared at him like she knew him. She seemed out of place because she was one of the few canines in attendance.

  “What?” she finally asked.

  Crush blinked, recognizing the voice. “Dee-Ann?”

  “Who the hell did you think it was?”

  “Not you,” Novikov muttered.

  “You look great,” Crush told her honestly.

  But her eyes narrowed and Crush held his hands up. “Forget I said anything.”

  Ric Van Holtz stepped in beside his mate, slipping his arm around her waist and kissing her cheek.

  He smiled. “Crushek ...” His smile faded and gave a barely there nod. “Novikov.”

  “Asshole.”

  The She-wolf snarled in warning.

  “Gentlemen and She-wolf,” Crush warned, “it’s a wedding. Let’s all be nice.”

  “Is that your cop tone?” Novikov asked.

  “That’s my cop tone. Don’t make me bring out my cop fist.”

  “So—” Van Holtz began.

  “I don’t know anything,” Crush cut in, knowing Van Holtz was about to ask him—again—about whether Cella would take his offer of becoming the Carnivores’ assistant coach.

  The wolf bared a fang. “What is taking her so long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Want me to talk to her?” Novikov asked.

  “No,” both Crush and Van Holtz immediately replied.

  But Smith grinned. “Oh, Lord, please do.”

  Cella helped her mother adjust Rivka’s gown. The bride and groom would be making their big entrance in a few minutes and everything had to perfect. At least, as far as Cella’s mother was concerned, it had to be perfect. Personally, Cella could give a shit. She was hungry.

  “Your stomach is growling again,” Barb sang at her. But it was her trying-to-keep-the-bride-calm-while-telling-the-person-she’s-singing-to-she’s-annoyed voice.

  “That’s because I’m hungry,” Cella sang back in the same tone.

  “Where’s Bri?” Rivka asked.

  “He made a desperate run for it?” Cella teased, only to get a paw to the back of her head. An actual paw!

  “Ow!”

  “Go find out where Bri is,” Barb ordered.

  “Fine.” Anything to get away from the dictator her mother became whenever she handled a damn wedding.

  Cella went down the hall, her steps slowing when she saw Bri hugging Meghan. She smiled, her heart warming at the sight.

  Bri caught sight of her over hi
s daughter’s shoulder and winked.

  “Why don’t you go make sure Rivka’s doing okay. I’ll be right there.”

  “Okay.” Meghan kissed her father’s cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”

  “You, too, baby.”

  Meg walked past Cella, stopping briefly to also kiss her cheek. “I love you, too, Ma.”

  “Tossing me a bone.”

  “I had to. I didn’t want to hear the whining later.” Grinning, Meghan walked off.

  Smart. Ass.

  “Where’s Josie?” Cella asked her daughter’s back.

  “Getting Aunt J. for the entrance.”

  “Good. We’ll be right there.”

  “How good did we do?” Bri asked Cella, taking her hand in his own.

  “We did amazing.”

  “You okay about Hofstra?”

  “I’m fine with Hofstra. I’m fine with her staying with the family. God knows they need someone to manage their craziness.”

  Bri kissed the back of her hand. “Thanks, Cella.”

  “For what?”

  “Giving me an amazing daughter and being you about it. You always worked with me about visitation, always made me feel part of the family.”

  “Because my kid is the most important thing and you are a great dad. I would never keep you away from her. Now go to your mate. Be happy.” She hugged him.

  “You be happy, too.”

  “I’m always happy,” she told him honestly. “It annoys people.”

  Bri released her with a laugh, giving her one last kiss on her cheek before he headed back to Rivka.

  Cella took a moment to adjust her dress, pausing when she saw her Aunt Deirdre heading from the bathroom back to the ballroom. Deirdre glanced at Cella, sneering a little at her without saying a word. Cella let her get a few feet before she said loudly, “I saw you sobbing at my bedside, old woman!”

  “Shut up, heifer!”

  Chuckling—okay, maybe it was a cackle—Cella adjusted her gown one more time and headed back to the rest of the wedding party.