“All right then.”
“If it helps, I’m kind of pissed she ruined my career.”
“Well, she didn’t ruin your career. I mean, you’re out of undercover, but you’re still a cop. And now that you’re with my division, you’ll be making more money and have great people to work with. So, ya know, all good. Right?”
“Sure. Why not?” He glanced around, shrugged, and asked, “Anything else?”
“Not really.”
“Okay. Well, like I said this morning, I’m leaving early.”
“Okay. Have a good weekend.”
“Yeah. Thanks. You, too.”
She watched him walk out. Jesus, what had Peg Baissier done to the boy Lou Crushek once was? Hearing the news, it was like he’d just shut down, and honestly, she had to wonder ... if what she had just told him didn’t get a reaction out of him, what exactly would?
Crush scrambled out of the barber’s chair, shaking his head. “Forget it.”
Conway, who’d dragged him to this shifter-friendly barbershop, laughed. “I can’t believe what a baby you’re being. Just get the damn haircut.”
At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Late lunch with his old partner and then he could head over to the Sports Center for tonight’s game. But Crush had had no idea that Conway would get such a bug up his ass about Crush getting a goddamn haircut. A haircut he didn’t even want!
“No way. MacDermot will just have to deal with my long hair.” He tugged at the strands. “This is polar hair. It’s not like everyone else’s. It just can’t be randomly butchered.” And, to be honest, Crush kind of knew he would never look good with a buzz cut, which was apparently all this particular barber could handle. In fact, Crush was pretty certain that with a buzz cut, he’d go from looking like a lowlife biker to looking just like a serial killer. Especially with what a full-human date once called his “soulless black eyes.” He didn’t think they were soulless, but his eyes were black. Like most polar bears’ eyes.
The sun bear barber let out a sigh. “Get your ass in the seat.”
“No way. You’re not just cutting it off.”
“All done!” a cheerful voice chirped. And from a back room, a pretty black woman walked out. She was definitely canine, but Crush couldn’t tell if she was wolf, wild dog, coyote, or some other canine, which made him think she was a mutt. “Hybrid” being the less offensive term. “I cleaned out your pipes and they should be flowing just perfect now.”
Crush and Conway looked at each other, trying not to laugh. To them, “cleaning out your pipes” usually meant a blow job, but since she was dressed in grimy khaki pants and a Philadelphia Eagles football jersey while carrying a tool bag in her hand and had a tool belt around her waist, Crush would guess she was actually a plumber.
“You’re a lifesaver, Blayne,” the barber said. “And I appreciate you coming over here so fast.”
“No problem, Mr. P. Anyway, I gotta go. I got practice in a couple of hours. Gotta meet Gwenie.”
“How much do I owe ya, sweetie?”
“We’ll bill you. But don’t forget you get the neighbor discount.” She suddenly focused on Crush and Conway, grinned, waved, and said with an alarming amount of cheer, “Hi!”
Crush jumped a little. Wow. She sure was perky. “Hi.”
“What’s going on? Everyone looks very tense. Like this.” She made a frown that had Conway chuckling.
“This wuss”—the sun bear motioned to Crush—“won’t let me cut off his hair.”
“Because it’s cool!” She walked over and took a closer look. “Wow. So very cool!” Then she sniffed him. “Are you a polar?”
“Uh—”
“How cool!”
“You need the cut, dude,” Conway reminded him. “There’s no getting around it. He needs it for work,” Conway explained to the hybrid. Although why he felt that was necessary ...
“Well, there’s a cut,” the canine explained to them, “and then there’s butchering.” She shrugged at the sun bear. “Sorry, Mr. Peterson, but you’re kind of a butcher. You should come with me,” she told Crush.
“Why?”
“I know someone who can cut your hair but give you, like, a great cut. That way you’ll look more handsome bear and less ...”
She dropped her tool kit on the floor, dragged a chair over, and stood on the seat. Then she put her hands into his hair and pushed the strands off his face. Why did women keep touching him? Was he releasing pheromones or something?
“Oh, God. Yeah,” she said. “You lose all this hair it’s totally serial killer time.” She frowned, leaned back a little. “You’re not, though, right? A serial killer?”
What an odd question ... “No. I’m not.”
Her grin was blindingly bright. “Cool! Then come with me. I’m heading back to the office anyway. We’ll totally get you fixed up.”
“Well—”
But she was dragging him out of the barbershop and down the street, Conway laughing and following them.
Cella cut through the training rink to get to the team’s locker room. She’d spent most of the afternoon with her KZS bosses. She was afraid they wouldn’t want anything to do with BPC, considering KZS’s history with that organization, but it seemed that like Gentry and the Group chief, Niles Van Holtz, out of Washington state, they wanted Baissier out. Now. So Cella would be again working with MacDermot and Smith. Although what anyone really expected to find at a damn taxidermist’s storefront, Cella didn’t know. But she was well aware that she was the muscle to their little team. She left the obsessing over every little detail to the canine and the canine-lover.
Of course, none of that mattered right now. She had a game tonight and just enough time to get in a warm-up. She had to be ready. Her father would be meeting up with his old buddies and watching the game from the owner’s box. She had to make sure that, at the very least, she didn’t embarrass herself in front of him.
Cella reached for the rink entrance door, but she heard the sounds coming through it. Knew what those sounds meant. Growling, she snatched the door open and rushed through.
“Unbelievable.” She dropped her bag and charged across the rink and right into the middle of the brawl, pushing the males back and away from Novikov. Because, as always, he was at the center of the fight. But what surprised Cella was that the one fighting him was Ulrich Van Holtz, the wolf the entire league referred to as “The Gentleman.” He was also the Carnivore team’s captain, goalie, and goddamn owner.
“I control this team!” Van Holtz shouted at Novikov. “Not you! Not ever!”
Blue eyes shifting to gold, the longest fangs she’d ever seen exploding from his gums, the hybrid roared, “Then you can take your goddamn team and—”
Cella punched Novikov, her fist slamming into his nose, shutting him up. Shocked and bleeding, he stumbled back, gawking down at her.
She pointed a finger at him. “Do not say anything you’re going to regret.” She spun, pointed that same finger at Van Holtz. “You either.” Cella looked around at the rest of her teammates. Well, at least the male ones. The females were sitting in the bleachers, eating popcorn. Useless. These people were useless!
“We have a game in less than two hours,” she reminded them. “Let’s get ready.”
The males skated out, leaving Cella with Van Holtz and Novikov. She motioned to the three females watching them from the bleachers. But they only motioned back. Realizing it would be a waste of time to try to force those bitches to do anything, she walked over to Van Holtz first. “I’ll meet you in your office in about ten. Okay?”
When Van Holtz just stood there, scowling at Novikov, Cella turned him and shoved. “Ten minutes.”
She went back to Novikov and grabbed his arm, yanking him across the ice toward one of the exits. Without saying a word, she led him to Jai’s office.
“Maybe I could just—”
“Trust me!” the hybrid promised, practically skipping down the street like a little kid, but ho
lding on to Crush like a linebacker while Conway followed behind them. Still laughing.
She dragged him into an office building, past the front desk, around a pillar, and into a small office. A feline sat at the desk, frowning when she saw what her friend was dragging in.
“We need your help, Gwenie.”
“Another stray, Blayne?”
“No.”
“Really?” She sat back in her desk chair. “What’s his name?”
The canine chewed on her bottom lip, finally eking out, “Big handsome bear?”
Shaking her head, the friend began to turn away but the canine quickly explained, “He needs your help, Gwenie. He was at Mr. Peterson’s about to get a buzz cut!”
The feline turned back around, her frown worsening as she looked Crush over. “He’ll look like a mass murderer.”
“I was thinking more serial killer.” The canine looked up at him. “There’s actually a difference.”
“Yes, I know,” Crush responded. “Look, I can just go to one of those Quick Cut places—”
“Bite your tongue,” the one called Blayne gasped. “We don’t discuss those places here.”
The feline rolled her eyes. “I swear. The drama with you sometimes, Blayne.”
“Come on, Gwenie. Please? Help a bear-brother out.”
Finally laughing, a smile lighting up that pretty face, the feline stood. “All right, all right.” She pointed at herself. “Hi. Gwen O’Neill.”
“Oh! And I’m Blayne Thorpe. Sorry.”
Now it was Crush’s turn to frown. “Why do I know that name?” His frown deepened. “You’re not a criminal, are you?”
“Here or in Philadelphia?”
Confused and a little alarmed, Crush asked, “Does that matter?”
“Yes,” both females answered at the same time.
“Hey.” Conway, who’d been lounging against the doorway, enjoying every moment of Crush’s nightmare, stood straight, pointed at framed pictures on the office wall, and asked, “Do you guys know him?”
Crush stepped forward and leaned in to study the pictures, shock ripping through his system. “Holy ... do you know him?”
“Hockey fan?” the one named Gwen asked, grinning.
“Hockey stalker, more like it,” Conway joked.
“I don’t stalk. I just attend every home game. Religiously. Without question. Which is why I can’t worry about fancy cuts right now. Gotta get to the Sports Center. Game tonight.” The New York Carnivores, his home team, against the Alabama Slammers.
Still, Crush had to know ... “So do you guys really know Bo Novikov?”
The canine grinned. “A little.”
Hhhhm. Probably a hockey groupie. But her name still sounded familiar; Crush just couldn’t remember why.
“Where are you sitting?” Blayne asked.
“Nosebleed seats. But they’re my nosebleed seats.”
“You didn’t invite me to the game,” Conway complained.
“I didn’t think your mate let you out of the house after dark.”
The feline took a handful of Crush’s hair and examined it closely. “Weird.”
“Do you mind not calling my hair weird? It gives me a complex.”
“It’s like hair, but different.”
“I’m leaving.” Crush started to walk out, but the feline hybrid yanked him back.
“Calm down. It was just an observation.” She dismissed all that with a wave of her hand. “Come on.” She grabbed a case from beside her desk. “Let me get to work. This might take some time.”
“Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.”
“Maybe.” She smirked. “But just a little.”
Jai Davis smiled at the e-mail her daughter had sent her. She had no idea how on God’s green earth she and Cella Malone had managed to have the sweetest, most reliable daughters on the planet, but somehow they had. Maybe the old adage “it takes a village to raise a child” was true. Because the Malones were definitely a village. In the beginning, the big cats had scared Jai. There were so many of them, all with their black hair and gold eyes and Irish names. And then there were the campers and RVs. When Jai met Cella, Butch Malone was still playing hockey and when he traveled, the entire family went with him. They’d all pack up their RVs and off they’d go.
It seemed so strange to Jai, so far outside what she considered normal life for a mountain lion from a very small family. Except for the fact that they could shift into another species, the Davises were very average. Nothing exciting about them at all. But the Malones ... well, excitement seemed to follow them around.
And, if things had been different, Jai probably wouldn’t have been friends with Cella, the overwhelming She-tiger with the mean right hook. She was loud; Jai tried not to be. Cella was wild; Jai didn’t know how to be. But the day she’d met Cella at the doctor’s office, both of them eight months pregnant and miserable, Jai was completely alone except for her parents. Her “friends” had spent more time talking shit about her and her pregnancy than actually supporting her.
Desperate to be away from her disapproving mother’s glare, which she’d have to see if she were to return home after her ob/gyn appointment, Jai had accepted Cella’s offer to hit Friendly’s Restaurant for a plate of fries and a chocolate shake. Of course, the timing had been perfect as Jai’s ex-boyfriend, Frost, had walked in with what Jai thought was her best friend. Even worse? They’d come over to say “hi” like that was somehow completely normal. At first, Cella had just sat there, observing. Then, before the new and awfully affectionate full-human couple had walked away, Cella had asked, “Is this the guy who knocked you up?”
“And my best friend,” Jai had replied, so angry she wasn’t really thinking clearly. And not really expecting that particular information to set Cella Malone off. But man, did it set the girl off. Cella Malone had hauled her sizable bulk out of the seat and proceeded to yell in Laura’s face about loyalty and how she was a “whore bitch” for betraying her friend for some piece of cock. That’s around the time the shoving match started and Frost, always kind of stupid, had gotten between the two women. When Cella wouldn’t back down at his command, he’d pushed her. Just once. But it was enough for a Malone. Especially a pregnant Malone. Cella had laid out the all-star fullback with one punch.
“Come on, Jai,” Cella had said casually, picking up the giant Chanel purse that she’d been proud to get for practically nothing off the back of a truck. “We’ll go to my house and hang out.”
Although Frost had some involvement in Josie’s life now, he still hated Cella, wouldn’t speak to her or about her. But Jai would eternally adore Marcella Malone because up until then no one but her parents had ever fought for her like that.
Even better, Jai and Cella’s daughters were best friends, watching each other’s backs and supporting each other over the years. They’d turned out to be lovely, amazing young women who Jai had no doubt would do well in the world.
So, yeah, Jai was a single mom in a world where that was never easy, but she wasn’t alone. She had the Malones.
Jai e-mailed her daughter back and had just hit send when there was a knock at the door and Cella walked in with a bleeding Bo Novikov.
“What happened?” Jai asked, coming around her desk. Although she could guess. Another team fight.
“She broke my nose,” Novikov accused.
Jai stopped, surprised by that answer because Cella was always the one trying to stop the fights between her teammates. “You did?”
“He was fighting again.” Cella pushed the hybrid into a chair. “And he wouldn’t back off. What did you expect me to do?”
Jai grabbed the leather satchel where she kept emergency supplies. She could take Novikov downstairs to be treated by one of her technicians, but that would only cause more problems than it would solve since all the techs were afraid of Novikov. “You’ll have to cut her some slack, Bo. Cella only knows how to handle her brothers and uncles one way. And she hits them.”
“The Malone Bare Knuckle champ five years straight,” Cella bragged. It was an honest brag. There were several breeds and species of shifter Travellers who roamed the states and Cella had been named champ at their annual summer get-together five years in a row.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Novikov complained, snarling a little when Jai began to examine his nose with her fingers. “I was just trying to help.”
“And how did you do that?” Cella asked.
“I told Van Holtz who he needs to fire and provided a helpful list.”
“Oh, really? Let me see.” He pulled the list out of his sock and handed it to Cella. Without looking at it, Cella ripped the sheet of paper into pieces and threw it in Novikov’s face.
He stared at her before calmly saying, “I made several copies.”
Jai stood back with a laugh and asked, “Why?”
“Blayne,” he said, speaking of his fiancée.
“What about her?”
“She does the same thing to my lists, so I always make multiple copies.”
Wow, Jai mouthed at Cella before she went to get a towel to help control and clean up the bleeding.
“I tried to help,” Bo insisted, “and once again Van Holtz was being an asshole.”
“I personally think you’re both fighting for that title,” Cella shot back.
“He’s unreasonable.”
“And you’re a dick. You know you’re a dick. And you wear your dickness proudly.”
“I know. But we’re not going to make the play-offs this year if—”
“Play-offs are out. I know that.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“It’s not going to keep me up nights. I’m definitely not making lists because the play-offs are out.”
Jai frowned at Cella’s statement, glancing at her friend. She’d admit she didn’t actually follow sports beyond the health and welfare of her patients. The money was great and she didn’t have to worry about her less-than-acceptable bedside manner—apparently she could be cold and standoffish. But she’d thought the team was doing well this year.
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