When the pushing continued not to work, Shen became desperate and said to Stevie, “Okay, listen up. I know you are under a lot of stress and need new meds or whatever. And I really want to help you. But that means I need you to get in this car right now.” When she didn’t move, he suddenly had a brilliant idea and added, “So stop being a princess and get in the goddamn car.”
It was as if a light went on in her head, and the cat in his arms suddenly turned into a pissed-off woman.
“Princess?” Stevie snarled. An insult he’d noticed Max had tossed at Stevie more than once, which had always led to a violent confrontation of some kind between the sisters. “Princess?” she now yelled.
“Yes, you’re being a princess right now.”
Her head turned and kept turning until her nose lined up with her spine.
“I’m being a princess? Me?”
“Ahhh!” Shen yelped in surprise. “Is what your head doing normal? At all?”
“Don’t try to distract me from your insult!”
“Turn back around! You are freaking me out!”
“Oh, calm down,” she taunted as she turned her head forward. “You big baby.”
Annoyed by the insult and noticing that her arms and legs were no longer gripping the outside of the SUV, Shen shoved her inside.
“Hey!” she complained as he closed the door in her face.
“Like a house cat,” he muttered, snatching the keys out of the kid’s hand.
“This is so entertaining!” Kyle crowed.
“Get in the fucking car, psychopath.”
“I’m just a narcissist,” Kyle calmly explained. “My older sister, Delilah, though . . . now she’s a psychopath,” he added with a big grin. “Clinically diagnosed and everything!”
* * *
A princess? He’d called her a princess. Her? Stevie Stasiuk-MacKilligan?
She was as far from a princess as anyone could be. And Stevie knew that because she’d actually met royals. She’d performed for them when she was a child and then had given them tours around the labs she’d worked at when she was a teenager. And the one thing Stevie was absolutely sure of was that she was no princess.
How could she be? She was constantly aware of others’ needs and feelings. That’s why she was invited places and Kyle Jean-Louis Parker was thrown out of places. Because, like a true prince, he could not care less about anyone’s feelings but his own.
So that giant panda actually calling Stevie a princess did nothing but upset her. Because it wasn’t true.
She was not a princess!
“What are you yelling about back there?” Shen barked at her from the driver’s seat.
Stevie blinked. Uh-oh. She’d said that out loud, hadn’t she? She hated when she did that.
“Then stop doing it,” Shen ordered. “You’re distracting me.”
Her eyes narrowed on his fat panda head. She was tempted to slap him right in the back of it.
Kyle unbuckled his seat belt and turned so he could reach back and grab her hands, holding them in place.
“Let’s play our ‘We’re better than you’ game,” he said with false cheer.
Stevie cringed, realizing she’d spoken her thoughts out loud again.
“I threatened his big, fat panda head, didn’t I?” she asked Kyle.
“You did,” Shen told her. “And my head is not fat.”
“It’s not small!” she barked back.
“Stevie,” Kyle said, voice strong, “look at me. Focus on me. Because I’m fascinating.”
“I’m not a princess,” she felt the need to point out again.
“Of course you’re not. I wouldn’t be friends with a princess unless she was a lot richer than you are.”
Stevie nodded. “Thanks, Kyle. That makes me feel so much better.”
The panda pulled up to a light, stopped, and let out a long sigh before looking back at her and asking, “Seriously?”
* * *
Berg Dunn was always amazed at how Charlie managed people, depending on who they were and how they fit into her life.
When she spoke to the head of Katzenhaus, Charlie was friendly and polite and often told Mary-Ellen Kozlowski exactly what she wanted to hear while doing exactly what Charlie actually wanted to do. And when confronted by the cat, Charlie didn’t slap her down or shoot her in the head, as she’d been known to do with those who put her sisters at risk.
But Charlie was always direct and honest when she dealt with Bayla Ben-Zeev of BPC. Berg had originally thought that was due to his relationship with Bayla and BPC, but no. It had nothing to do with him; Charlie just respected Bayla and she was always direct and honest with those she respected. They often didn’t agree, but both ladies were too smart to ever challenge each other. They were aware neither would come out of that particular confrontation alive.
Then there were the Van Holtz wolves. Charlie never smiled at them. Was never honest with them. And more than once, Berg was terrified she was going to throw Max at them. Literally. Just pick her sister up and chuck her at Niles Van Holtz because throwing honey badgers at a person is an excellent way to get someone’s face ripped off.
She just didn’t like them. And they were as nice and polite as they could possibly be. Berg didn’t know wolves could be so polite. Yet no matter how polite they were or the fact that Charlie was half wolf, it didn’t seem to change her lack of desire to make the leaders of the very powerful Pack her allies.
And he thought he knew why. Because Charlie didn’t trust them. Not yet anyway. And if Charlie didn’t trust you, she had no use for you.
Sadly, the Van Holtzes hadn’t realized any of that yet, so they didn’t see the problem with asking Charlie to spy on her own family. She might have little patience or respect for the MacKilligans, but they were still her family.
“Again,” Van Holtz cut in, his voice curt, “and for the sixty-thousandth time . . . we are not asking you to destroy your family.”
“Just kill them,” Max casually tossed in, forcing Berg to sit in a nearby chair and look out the big windows of the office so that he didn’t laugh in anyone’s face.
“No!” the wolf barked. “We do not want you to kill anyone. Especially women and children.”
“Hhhmmm” the sisters said in unison, shaking their heads.
“Yeah,” Max said. “That is not a good idea. To kill the men first and leave the women and children alive . . . because they will retaliate. Especially the . . . uh . . . cubs?”
“I thought it was pups,” Charlie said.
“Maybe it’s badgerlings . . . like ducklings?”
“Awwww. That’s cute.”
Van Holtz placed his elbows on his desk and buried his head in his hands.
“So, yeah. The badgerlings . . . yeah,” she said to her sister, “I like that too. The badgerlings are definitely something you want to wipe out real early in the process.”
Max’s phone vibrated and she looked down at it. “Excuse me a minute,” she said before standing and moving to the far side of the room.
Charlie stared at Van Holtz. “So does that work for you?”
“No!”
“No need to snap, White Fang.”
Van Holtz’s younger cousin quickly stood and moved in front of the desk, blocking his uncle’s now-gold wolf eyes from Charlie’s view.
“How about we just let this go?” he suggested. “We’ll deal with the Will MacKilligan thing on our own. How about that?”
Charlie shrugged. “That’s fine with me.”
“Great! I think that’s it then.”
“Okay.”
“Wait, there is one thing,” Van Holtz said, slapping his cousin’s hip until he moved off his desk. “I was wondering next time when you come, if you could bring your sister.”
Charlie pointed behind her. “She’s right there.”
“Your youngest sister.”
“Oh . . . uh-huh.”
Max suddenly appeared in front of Berg. She leaned in an
d whispered against his ear—and he was working really hard not to cringe away from her; she was just so close to a major artery that it was uncomfortable—“We need to go.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Just trust me. But if I say it to Charlie, she’ll panic. So can you do it?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Great.” She moved away from him—Thank God!—and toward the office door.
Berg could see Charlie again and she was nodding at whatever Van Holtz was saying, a halfway pleasant smile on her face.
With a shrug, Berg stood and went to her side, crouching down.
“I just think,” Van Holtz was saying, “that it would be great to meet her. I’ve heard so much about her.”
At a pause in the conversation, Berg leaned in and said, “It’s time to go.”
“Oh.” She looked at him. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. But we have another appointment.”
“Okay.” Charlie stood; the Van Holtz men stood with her.
She held out her hand and Van Holtz took it, giving a firm shake. He then tried to pull his hand back, but Charlie held it and tugged him forward a bit.
Gazing into his eyes, she said, “You stay the fuck away from my baby sister or I’ll find out where you live. Sneak into your house. And, while your wife is sleeping next to you, I’ll peel the skin off your body. And if you don’t believe me, ask the Peruvian drug lord who once kidnapped my sister. His wife never even knew I was there . . . and your wife won’t either. So . . . stay away from my baby sister, so I don’t have to make your wife weep.” She smiled. “Okay? Do we understand each other?”
Van Holtz didn’t answer, he just kept staring at her. So did his younger cousin.
“Great!” she said to his non-answer. “Speak to you guys soon.”
Charlie turned and followed Max out the door. Berg paused long enough to say, “Uh . . . ummmm . . . okay, bye.”
Head down, he followed Charlie and Max to the elevator at the end of the hall.
Once the doors closed, Berg observed, “That seemed a little. . . strong.”
Charlie’s smile was faint. “I like clarity.”
Berg expected more on the subject, but nope.
Turning to Max, Charlie asked, “Is there a problem?”
“Got a call from Shen. Stevie’s meds stopped working.”
Charlie cringed. “I was afraid that was going to happen.”
“Don’t worry, though. Kyle went to his mom’s town house downtown. He said she could help.” Max shrugged. “Let’s face it, with those kids of hers, I’m sure she’s got some great psychiatrists on speed dial.”
* * *
“That could have gone better,” Ric said, dropping into the chair near his cousin’s desk.
“They’re crazy.” Van was still standing there, staring off, his expression blank and confused. “They’re absolutely crazy.”
“I thought we’d already figured that out.” Ric shook his head. “So now what?”
“Plan B, I guess.”
“Plan B? You want me to call Dee-Ann and—”
“Dear God, I’d never ask your wife to involve herself in this in any way.”
Ric smirked. The fear in his cousin’s voice was, to say the least, entertaining.
“No offense, of course,” Van eventually added.
“Of course.”
“No. I’ve got a better plan. My wife—”
The snort-laugh was out before Ric could stop it.
Ric cleared his throat. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“My wife is in town—”
“Great. We should have dinner togeth—” The glare was so harsh, Ric stopped speaking.
“—and she, I’m sure, can handle this.”
When Van didn’t add a wink to that statement, letting Ric know he was joking, Ric nodded and said, “Of course. I’m sure . . . that Irene Conridge, PhD, internationally known for making a Pope cry, can deal with three women—one of which just threatened to skin you alive while the other happily offered to mow down the women and children of her own family—without any problems.”
Van rubbed his nose. “Your sarcasm is noted, cousin.”
“To paraphrase my wife, just sayin’.”
chapter THREE
Kyle unlocked the front door to his parents’ rental home and walked inside. He turned back and watched his friend step in behind him. Stevie had her arms wrapped around her middle, hands clasped around her elbows, and her eyes darted around the hallway. It was like she was expecting some kind of random attack that could come from anywhere.
Over the years of knowing her, Kyle had seen Stevie under stress. He’d seen her become stressed over what many would consider little things. He’d seen her lash out when she heard noises she didn’t like or scream hysterically when someone touched her shoulder. He was used to that.
He was not used to this.
This quiet, tense, softly growling Stevie. This Stevie was freaking him out. It wasn’t what she was or wasn’t doing, though. It was her energy. An intense, dangerous energy that had the jackal in him ready to head for the hills. And his jackal side was something Kyle didn’t really deal with. It was there, it was a part of him, but as an artist, he felt he didn’t need it. He barely acknowledged it.
But for the first time, he felt it scratching inside him. Panicked and ready to bolt.
“Why don’t you wait in here?” Kyle softly suggested, gesturing to the grand ballroom with a wave of his hand because he was afraid to touch her.
Stevie nodded and walked in. Kyle turned and started down the hallway, but his overly familiar bodyguard yanked him back by his shoulder.
“Where the fuck are you going?” the giant panda demanded.
“To get someone who can help her.”
“You’re leaving me alone with her?”
“Aren’t you the trained professional?” Kyle demanded, turning to face the security guard his sister insisted he have with him anytime he was away from the family. “Can’t you manage one tiny woman until I get back?”
“That’s not my job. I’m supposed to be managing one tiny boy.”
As Kyle was at least two inches taller than the six-foot panda, he didn’t take the bait. He wasn’t so easily taunted into giving someone what they wanted.
“I’ll be back. Keep her away from everyone.”
Kyle headed deep into the house, ignoring the bear’s “Wait . . . what do you mean? What does that mean?”
He knew where his family would be if they weren’t in the grand ballroom practicing or working. The kitchen. It was where the Jean-Louis Parker clan gathered. But as he neared that room, he heard strange sounds for the middle of the day. He heard children laughing and running. Giggling and screaming.
For most houses with lots of children, these might be considered normal sounds, but not for the Jean-Louis Parkers. If they were home at all this early in the day, each of them would want quiet so that they could do their work. Usually, the only sound they tolerated was the music that came from Coop, Cherise, or their mother, Jaqueline. His older sister Oriana was a dancer, but she wore earbuds to listen to her music. So the only sounds that came from her was of her toe shoes against the floor and the occasional snarl when she couldn’t get a move exactly right. His other, younger siblings leaned toward math, science, and art. All of them demanded silence and hours to work alone. Especially in the summer when they weren’t forced by ridiculous government laws to attend regular schools with regular, useless children.
So what were these annoying noises Kyle was hearing?
He finally reached the kitchen and pushed the swinging door open. He immediately froze, a faint sense of panic inching up his spine.
“Shit,” he said out loud.
“You cursed,” a child he’d never seen before told him, pointing her finger. “You cursed. You cursed. You cursed.”
Thirteen-year-old Freddy—although he preferred to be called Frederick now—pushed the child toward the
back door. “Go away.”
Still chanting, the kid walked off and Freddy turned toward Kyle, grabbing his T-shirt and raising himself on his toes so he could more easily look his brother in the chin.
“Help me,” he growled.
“What is going on?” Kyle demanded, looking around the room. There was evidence of children everywhere. Stickiness, half-eaten sugary things, electronic handheld games . . . that were covered in more stickiness. It was disgusting!
“Mom decided we needed a playdate with the wild dog pups across the street. She and Dad felt we weren’t getting enough—”
“Of a real childhood,” Kyle finished for his brother. He rolled his eyes. “Don’t blame Mom. This has Dad written all over it. Dad and Toni.”
The only two normal people in their family, Kyle’s eldest sister Toni and his father, Paul, were lovely human beings, but they sometimes managed to get in the way of “the work.” And “the work” was all the rest of them cared about despite the fact that each of them focused on different things. Kyle was a sculptor. Freddy was all about physics. Family members were divided between the artists and the scientists/mathematicians, but each of them was a prodigy. All except poor Toni, his oldest sibling, and their father. They were nothing but average people with average lives.
Kyle shuddered at the thought.
“Where’s Dad now?” Kyle asked.
“Out back with most of the children and a few wild dog adults.”
Kyle glanced back down the hall; remembered why he was here. “You know what would be great?”
“For me to make a run for it while you distract everyone?”
“No. For you to take everyone back over to the wild dog house. For a little while.”
“I don’t want to do that. I want to get back to work. I thought you, of all people, would help me get back to work.”
“Later. Just get everybody out.”
“Why?”
“Would you trust me?”
“But I don’t trust you.” Freddy’s eyes narrowed. “You just want the house to yourself.”
“I don’t, but believe what you want. Just do what I’m telling you and get everybody over to the wild dog house. Now.”
“Fine. But I’m not happy.”
“I am aware.” Kyle moved away from his younger brother and headed toward his eldest, Cooper. He was standing by the refrigerator, a bottle of soda in his hand; chatting with one of the adult wild dogs.
In a Badger Way Page 4