Bears Behaving Badly

by MaryJanice Davidson, Camille Anthony, Melissa Schroeder

“Or I could have a car waiting for you guys? So you don’t have to walk all the way back to the parking garage?”

  “Or you could heroically allow yourself to be trampled,” Annette said again. “A life cut short, but on the upside, you’ll have died a noble death.”

  “I’ll go get the car.”

  And then there were two. Getting to the peds wing was easier than she thought, and thanks to Brian, the trickiest part was behind—

  “Hey! You can’t be here!”

  Annette flinched; those words had never been directed to her in this place, and the shock of hearing them took her by surprise. Especially since she was in a part of the hospital that she knew as well as she knew her own home. Recent events had shown her she now had to question what she used to think was familiar territory, not to mention the people in it. The thought made her profoundly sad.

  Sharon hurried to where they were hesitating in the doorway to the nursery. “Judge Gomph is looking for you. We have to let him or his clerk know if we see you.”

  “Yes, well, about th—hey.”

  Sharon was shaking out two sets of buttercup-yellow scrubs, complete with masks. “Put these on.”

  “But what if I don’t want to wear a yellow pup tent?”

  “You don’t want to be hauled in for obstruction, either,” she replied shortly. David, meanwhile, hadn’t hesitated to swath himself in pastels and now resembled a sexy marshmallow Peep. With stubble.

  Annette felt an invisible fist tighten around her throat. Obstruction! She’d never been in so much trouble in her life. Not even the time she refused to leave the All-U-Can-Eat buffet to prove they were guilty of false advertising. “It’s that bad?” she whispered. “What have you heard?”

  “That you’re up to something—nobody knows what—and it’s got something to do with all the missing kids.” This while Sharon effectively outfitted them to blend in with the staff as well as an Easter hunt for gigantic Easter eggs. “The last part’s pretty much all we give a shit about.”

  “Wait, ‘we’?”

  “All the missing kids?”

  “Annette!” the pediatric resident hissed from across the room. “What the hell are you doing here? You’ve gotta go!”

  “I will, stop nagging. What do you mean, all the missing kids?”

  “We haven’t been able to find some of them.”

  “What?” Annette whisper-squawked (which, until this moment, she hadn’t known she could do).

  Sharon and the resident—Dr. Tilbury, who as a werewolf was so amiable she’d been mistaken for an herbivore more than once—had tugged them over to the corner, their backs to the visitor window, and they were staring down at a chart, pretending to be conferring about a patient. Which, technically, they were. “In the last couple of months, we’ve discharged cubs back home, or to a fos-fam, or they’ve been released to another relative’s care, but when our visiting nurses follow up, they can’t find some of them. Or they’ll be adopted, but then no one can find the adoptive parents. It’s happened three times that we know of, but I’m betting there’s more.”

  “Oh, fucking perfect,” David muttered.

  Annette had to make a deliberate effort not to walk away from their small group to scoop up the Spencer cub, or check on the female werefox she’d fed the other… Could it only be a couple of days ago?

  They’re supposed to be safe here. What. A. Joke.

  “You say this has been going on for a couple of months?” she asked, making no effort to hide her horror.

  “Yes,” Sharon answered. “I told my boss, who promised to follow up and didn’t, and then Tilly here told her boss, who promised to follow up and did. ‘Paperwork snafus.’ That’s the party line, anyway. But before we could make more noise about it, miraculously, some of the kits turned up.”

  “You sound like you don’t believe that,” David said.

  “Maybe because I don’t?”

  “They were found on paper,” Dr. Tilbury added. “Or in the computer. Not in real life. Sharon and I haven’t actually seen those kids again.”

  “When I went to my boss with the third one, they stalled me for a couple of days and then an investigator came to see me with all the right paperwork. ‘Here they are, all snug and safe in the system, they were just misfiled, all the files are in the midst of being reorganized, not to worry, we’re doing our due diligence, run along back to the ward’…like that.”

  Annette felt an inappropriate surge of excitement. I was right! Problem solving was hunting; they were all born to it. Still, it seemed wrong to be gleeful at the prospect of missing children, not to mention the ensuing cover-up.

  “How has this been happening right under our snouts?” A glance at David showed he was as stunned as she was.

  “You know how,” Tilbury said quietly. “It’s only happening to the little ones nobody cares about. That one?” She pointed to the premature werefox Annette had fed the other day. “Abandoned. No name or pack affiliation. So once she’s off the oxygen therapy, into the system she goes. And we’ll hope she gets adopted by a nice family and maybe she will, but…” She shrugged.

  “We’ve all got so much work, who’s got time to follow up with every single kit discharged out of here? That’s exactly when we stop being involved, and when IPA takes point. It was a miracle we noticed the ones we did, which is a disgrace. But who can we tell?” For a moment, she looked as distressed and helpless as Annette felt. Sharon stood silently, but reached out and took her colleague’s hand. “We have to keep it in-house, we can’t have Stables sniffing around.”

  “That’s what they’re counting on,” David muttered.

  “Can you give us any names? Anything at all?”

  Sharon let out a breath. “So you are investigating. And not just the Lund thing. You’re looking into all of it.” To the doctor: “That explains a lot, wouldn’t you say, Tilly?”

  Dr. Tilbury nodded, looking at them over the tops of her glasses. What is it about a werewolf in spectacles that always makes me smile? “I’d say. The word is that you’re obstructing an investigation to cover your own incompetence, and that the missing kids are on you.”

  “On…us?” I can’t breathe. There’s not enough air in here. Why are they keeping cubs in a room without enough AIR? “They’re saying it’s our fault?”

  “Keep it together,” David said, giving her arm a squeeze. “It’s a shitty lie, and a stupid one, because anyone who’s spent more than five minutes in your company won’t believe it.”

  “Right.” Deep breaths. In, out. She had to keep calm, or Tilbury would start giving her oxygen therapy. Which, while tempting, would just slow everything down. “Right. Okay. Well, I can assure you both that we aren’t trying to cover our tracks.” Except for dodging Gomph. And staying mum about the dead bodies in her kitchen and living area. And not disclosing Caro’s new location. Or Dev’s. Or Pat’s involvement and the ensuing injuries. Or Nadia stalling Gomph. Or Oz doing whatever the hell he was doing. “What’s ‘the Lund thing’?”

  “That guy signed himself out, and the first thing he did was come up here. Tilly had to politely kick him out.”

  “Here? Where the babies are?” Why? Was he so desperate for new blood he was going to snatch them right out of their cribs during daylight hours? Or was he getting a head count by subspecies? Making note of the most vulnerable of the vulnerable?

  And then after his head count, he went home and one of his partners killed him. And that’s all. That’s all we’ve been able to figure out. And there’s so much more, and it’s so much worse.

  The thought made her want to bite something. Or someone.

  “What about the ones who are still here?”

  “That’s the question,” Tilbury replied. “We can’t keep them indefinitely, but once word got around that you guys were looking into it, I decided my discharge plans were prematur
e. None of these ailing cubs are going anywhere just yet. But that’s just a temporary fix.”

  “Yeah, but they know you’re watching now. And they know Annette and I are poking around. I don’t think they’re gonna dare snatch any kids right now. So we’ve got a window.”

  “A narrow, rapidly closing window,” Annette pointed out. “Time’s not on our side, either. Sharon, did you happen to keep the investigator’s card?”

  For the first time, Sharon smiled. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “Excellent, hand it over.”

  “It’s on the chart you’ve been staring at for the last five minutes.”

  “Oh. Good. Sorry, being accused of kidnapping and child abuse and obstruction of justice was distracting. At least we don’t have to worry about the Spencer cub for a bit. Now we’ve got to… Ouch!” David’s hand had clamped down on hers, which was when she heard the telltale sound of Judge Gomph’s tread. Along with the telltale sound of Nadia in crisis mode.

  “…cannot imagine her doing any such thing, Judge! David Auberon, sure, one look at that reprobate and you can see he’s a clear sociopath…”

  “Jesus Christ,” David muttered.

  “—but Annette, while dangerously and stupidly naive, has too much respect for our terrible system.”

  Gomph must have answered, but all they heard was low muttering neither of them could quite make out.

  “As you yourself know, sir, she was raised in it. And I am horrified, horrified, that anyone could insinuate she’s involved in such repellent acts. Whomever is spreading these ugly rumors deserves a strict talking to and perhaps a kick to the seat of the pants, you’ll pardon my impertinence.”

  Quick as thought, David and Annette dropped to all fours and scooted back until they were against the wall. They probably looked ridiculous, not that it mattered. What did matter was that Gomph could see into the room, but he couldn’t see them unless he came in through the door and looked to his right and then down. And even if he did that, unless he got kissing close (or stomping close), he wouldn’t be able to see them clearly; he was notoriously far-sighted.

  “Not to mention, sir, that I am troubled by your seeming eagerness to believe unsavory rumors!” The closer Gomph got to their hiding place, the more high-strung Nadia sounded. Annette’s eardrums throbbed in sympathy. “Yes, that’s right, and I shall say it again! Unsavory! Rumors! Would you have us live in anarchy, Judge? Because speaking for all who live in a free society, I should bloody well hope not!”

  She must have looked rattled, because David leaned close and murmured, “He won’t be able to scent us. Too many other odors to sort out.”

  “True. But how’s his hearing?” she whispered back.

  “Not the best. You’d think he’d be able to hear lettuce growing with those ears, but nope.”

  Annette stifled a giggle; it wouldn’t do to waste Nadia’s efforts by being overheard. This is getting worse by the hour. Why in God’s name am I laughing?

  Nadia’s hectoring started to get further away as they heard Gomph plod past the window. Annette let out a relieved sigh. Prematurely, as it turned out.

  “Hey! You can’t be in here!”

  They both flinched and looked to their left, and Annette was startled to see Taryn, Gomph’s clerk, framed in the doorway, hands on hips, sturdy legs in cream-colored Uggs.

  “Shit.”

  “The perfect word,” Annette muttered. Then to Taryn: “I know you have to report us to the judge, but would you consider giving us a head start?”

  “You have to get out of here! Right now!”

  “People keep saying that, and I’m really beginning to hate it.”

  Taryn ran over, grabbed each of them by a wrist, then tugged until they were on their feet. “At best, you’re going to be suspended. At worst, arrested, then fired.”

  “Actually, I think fired, then arrested, would be wor—”

  “You have to go right now.” She was hauling them out of the room and down the hall, and Annette was reminded that when she was inclined, Taryn could dislodge a car stuck in a snowdrift by herself. Fortunately, at this hour there was hardly anyone in the hallway, and the ones who were kept their eyes on their charts or their phones. Or deliberately turned a blind eye, which took some of the sting out of all the You can’t be here pronouncements. “I don’t know what you’re into, but you need to get gone. Far, far away. You’ve got money? Passports?”

  “Passports? Taryn, what—”

  “We’re not leaving town, much less the country,” David added. “Not until we figure out—”

  “Don’t you understand?”

  “No! Not one thing, dammit!” Annette squashed the urge to rip her hair out and make confetti out of the clumps. “In all of this!”

  “They think you killed Lund,” she said simply. “We just found out. The cops are bringing your arrest warrants to Judge Gomph for signature. The minute he signs, that’s it. You’ll both get popped for murder one. Shit!” she hissed, cocking her head to the left. “I think I hear him coming back.”

  And then, with very little effort, and before either of them could utter so much as a squeak of protest, Taryn yanked open the nearest supply closet door and bundled them both inside, then shut the door and left them in ammonia-scented darkness.

  Chapter 25

  “Well, shit.”

  “Well put.”

  She shifted against him, which gave David another whiff of her hair, and he had to tamp down a groan.

  “This is unbelievable,” she muttered.

  “Yup.”

  “A closet? Really?”

  “Shhhhh.”

  “Good God,” she hissed. “I can’t keep up with the clichés!”

  The closet was tiny and Annette’s wonderful ass was inches away and he mentally begged his cock to be a gentleman.

  Never, obviously. That’s what he needed to keep in mind. That, and strangling Oz and Nadia, whose idea of fun was apparently talking up imaginary relationships. He liked them both well enough, but the goddamned arrogance was staggering. He didn’t mind so much for his sake, but Annette had to be embarrassed at best and hating it at worst.

  Argh, that wonderful ass.

  “You said ‘that’s what they’re counting on.’”

  Just be cool! Do you really want to be the poster boy for #NotAllShifters? “What?”

  She turned her head. “When Dr. Tilbury said the missing kits were the ones nobody cared about.”

  Oh. The case. Gotcha. “Yeah. The syndicate or cabal or fuckstick brigade or whatever the hell they are—”

  “All right, first of all, we need to make ‘fuckstick brigade’ the official handle for those monsters. It’s just so…concisely evocative.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, they all count on that.”

  “Consciously? As in, it’s part of their plan?”

  “Sure,” he replied, flaring his nostrils to take in more of her scent, then cursing those same nostrils. Of all the days to not have a sinus infection. “They’ve gotten away with this because all the caregivers and advocates have too many kids to worry about. That’s been true forever, it’s not something that just happened.”

  “So it’s on us, too.”

  “No.” Jesus. Does she really think that? “Annette, that’s not true, it’s on them. You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s the fuckstick brigade. It’s a cold, deliberate plan, and the system is set up to hamstring anyone who tumbles to it because everyone’s more concerned with hiding from Stables than anything else, and they count on that, and none of that is your fault.”

  “But…we have to be. Concerned about the Stables, I mean. There’s so many of them. It’s just safer to keep to the Beneath,” she murmured back. “And yes, sometimes at the expense of the few. I—I hate the phrase ‘for the greater good.’ Most of the time it sounds
like a lazy cop-out. But now and again, that’s what it is.”

  “That’s the cage we’re all in, Annette. The worst kind, the one we put ourselves in.” Was he really giving his crush a lecture on his pet peeve while they were stuck in a closet? Yep. “And there’s no reason for it. It cuts us off at the knees at every turn. How much bad shit have you had to look away from because doing something would have meant exposure? What’s getting overlooked—who’s getting overlooked—because our bosses figure the devil we know—ourselves—is better than the devil we don’t?”

  Silence, finally broken with “I understand that your personal experience with Stables has been positive…”

  “That’s underplaying it. A lot.”

  “Fair enough,” she went on in a low voice. “But we can’t put millions at risk just because your dad was friends with a nice Stable.”

  “And there it is. Like I said, it’s the cage we put ourselves in. And since we’re doing it to ourselves, I don’t look for that to change anytime soon.”

  His speechifying was met with more silence, probably appropriately, and he sighed and shifted his weight. How long had it been? Five minutes? Seven days? He couldn’t reach his phone without poking Annette (groan). Nor could he shake the sense of urgency that had been growing the moment they’d found out Caro had been set loose by a person or persons unknown. He felt like they were trapped… Well, they were trapped, but even before now, it was like they were stuck in some hellish game of Beat the Clock, where the best prize you could hope for was not getting fired. And the worst was… Well. The worst.

  We have to get the holy hell out of here.

  On the other hand, Annette was fragrant and wonderfully close.

  Decisions.

  “You were on the right track with Nadia,” she said abruptly.

  “Sorry, what?” Jesus. At least pretend you’re thinking about something besides her proximity, you horny jackass.

  “When you encouraged her to complain about what a trial I am. Having me as a partner is pretty horrible.”

  “Are you always this hard on yourself?”