Charlie focused on the street ahead and began driving again.
“I just can’t believe you guys,” Max argued. “It’s like you have all lost your minds!”
“That or you don’t want to tell me what happened last night so you’re distracting me with Stevie.”
Max dismissed Charlie’s words by waving her hand in front of Charlie’s face. Normally not an issue except Charlie was driving.
“You know,” Berg noted from the backseat, “my sister would say that no one has the right to dictate what any grown woman can do with her body.”
“No one is talking to you, Yogi!”
“Okay. But if you bring this up in front of Britta, you’re gonna get a lecture. And remember the last time you tried to walk out on one of her lectures? She just held you in place with her foot.”
“I suggest we all not talk until we reach the Sports Center,” Charlie told them, reaching for the radio.
“I thought we were going to the vet for that stupid cat.”
“The Sports Center has a new vet office in it. Bears love having pet dogs for some reason.”
“Dogs help keep invaders away from our beehives,” Berg said. “Don’t they, Max?”
Without even turning around, Max warned, “I know you’re not talking to me.”
“Me? Accusing a honey badger of stealing honey from a beehive? Why that’s crazy talk.”
* * *
Finn threw the black bear to the ground.
“What was that for?” the bear demanded, getting back to his big feet. “All I asked was—”
Finn again threw the bear to the ground.
“Hey! Cut that out! I can’t believe you’re acting like this.” Once more the bear got up. “All I wanted to know was why—”
Finn threw the black bear to the ground.
“Stop doing that!”
“Malone!”
Around the practice field, three heads turned to stare at the defensive line coach but she waved her tablet and changed her bark to, “E.R., come here.”
Finn jogged over to Big Julie Farnell. A She-lion from an enormous swamp-cat pride from the West Coast. Julie had taken a job with the team a few years back, leaving her pride behind, and even bringing her cubs with her. A bold move for a lioness and one not really appreciated by her mother and sisters, but Julie was a bold female in many ways. Full-humans had given her the name Big Julie when she joined peewee football as a kid. The parents hated her because she made their sons look bad but they couldn’t hate the way she stomped on the other team. She’d continued to play until junior high. She’d been ready to fight it out in court so she could play high school football but some players from the other team decided to “teach” the girl a lesson about playing in a man’s sport. They brutally battered her all through a game, using their biggest and meanest guys, with the full approval of the coaching staff.
Julie put up with all of it until one of the guys made the mistake of tackling her after she’d sacked their quarterback. And then he wouldn’t let her go. He thought it was funny. Julie didn’t. And she proved that point by shoving him off, grabbing his arm, and twisting it until it shattered at the shoulder joint. While he was screaming, one of his teammates tried to yank her off while calling her an “evil cunt.” Julie didn’t like that either, so she yanked the player’s helmet off and beat the hell out of him with it. Mostly around his face and head. Refs tried to step in but that didn’t work out for them either and both teams jumped in, fighting each other. It was, in short, a bloodbath when all was said and done. The two boys were in and out of hospitals for months, their future football careers over forever. The parents wanted to file criminal charges but two things backed them off that decision. First, the bruises Julie had all over her body within hours of the game, which the coaching staff had made sure to photograph for posterity. And, of course, Julie’s mother and aunts and her father and his brothers. The entire lion pride had walked into the principal’s office that Monday and the rage of the full-human fathers, who had such big football dreams for their sons, seemed to wilt in the face of the lion males who stood over them . . . breathing.
That’s all it was, just breathing. But when that breathing blew your hair back, and gold eyes bored into your skull like twin suns . . . maybe involving the cops was not such a great idea.
In the end, Julie was transferred to a private school and she started playing for a teen shifter team filled with males and females of all species who knew better than to call a She-lion an “evil cunt.” After college, she was drafted to a pro team, where she played for fifteen years until a bad car accident crushed her leg and arm. The accident should have killed her—her sports car had been decimated by a bus with badly repaired brakes—but she recuperated just fine in a shifter hospital except for her elbow. It never healed properly and the only way to fix it was with a metal joint. A minor surgery for an average shifter but a major one for a pro player. The prosthetic would give her an edge over her opponents, making Julie’s arm stronger than any top quarterback’s. So she had to choose between the surgery and her pro career. It wasn’t an easy decision but the pain radiating from her elbow to her shoulder made tackling guys twice her size the last thing she wanted to do despite her very high tolerance for pain. She’d been tossed around by enough Cape buffaloes on family vacations to know what real pain was, and being hit by a couple of grizzlies trying to keep her away from their quarterback was not it. Which meant if she couldn’t suck up the pain of an elbow injury, it was serious and would only get worse.
While the surgery had killed one career, it had given her another. Defensive line coach for the New York Crushers. She’d been with the team less than a year, but the Malones—so far—hadn’t minded her. And to be honest . . . they minded almost everybody. Especially the last defensive line coach.
Unlike everyone else, Julie used an abbreviation of Finn’s team nickname when calling him. E.R. stood for “Eternal Rest.” A nickname that was well deserved, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Made him feel like a funeral home. And why nicknames were necessary at all, he didn’t know. Weren’t they mostly for the fans?
“You can just call me Finn,” he reminded her.
“I’ll just call you Malone Three.”
Finn let out a long sigh. “Or that.”
She gestured in the black bear’s direction. “Why are you throwing Franklin around like a chew toy?”
He shrugged. “No reason.”
Franklin stood beside them now. “All I did was ask him—”
Before Finn could even raise his hands, the black bear was flying forward thirty feet or so as Keane came up behind him.
It was true, what they said . . . tigers really did enjoy attacking a man from behind.
“I know I keep asking this of you both, but I’m going to try again . . . please do not beat up your own teammates.”
“What if they deserve it?”
She let out a long breath. “This is why we call your kind alley cats.”
“Racist.”
Julie let out another breath.
She began to walk away but stopped. “Who is that? He’s waving at you.”
Finn turned and saw the canine he’d called, hoping he might get some information that could help him and his brothers.
“No outsiders during practice, Malone. You know that. If Coach Bradley sees him . . .”
“I just need to talk to him for five—”
A football slammed into the dog’s unsuspecting head, dropping him where he stood.
Finn closed his eyes, but he heard Julie clearly suggest, “Why don’t you and your brothers grab your friend there and carry him to my office and we’ll all try to convince him not to sue the entire team into oblivion. Okay? Great!”
* * *
Julie watched the second oldest Malone brother for nearly a minute before asking, “Could one of you get him down, please?”
Keane Malone slammed his fist on her desk and roared, “Shay!”
&
nbsp; The sound startled the big cat and Shay fell off the bookshelf he’d been climbing so he landed on his back, leaving a healthy dent in her concrete floor.
She rolled her eyes. She’d always thought dealing with lion males was a lot of work. All the hair conditioner the females needed to provide and feeding them first, even ahead of the kids. It was all so much work. But give her that any day over these cranky tigers. It wasn’t just the Black Malones either. They might be the crankiest tigers she’d ever met, but all tigers were grumpy and rude. They just wanted to be left alone to eat and sleep and argue with anyone that happened to walk by.
“How’s he doing?” Julie asked Finn, who was hovering over his canine friend.
“He could be dead.”
“He’s not dead. He’s unconscious. Just gently—”
The alley cat reached his arm back and slapped the poor dog as hard as humanly possible.
“Don’t hit him!”
“But he’s awake now.”
He was. The canine woke up swinging and snarling, scrambling backward and looking for who had just struck him.
“Calm him down,” Julie ordered. “Calm him down before he starts barking. See, he’s barking. That’s going to bring Coach Bradley right in here. You know polar bears are attracted to barking because of seals.”
“It’s okay, Stein,” Finn told the dog. “It’s okay. Calm down.”
“Why am I here again?” Keane asked.
“Because you and your brother were beating up the bears—”
“That wouldn’t be possible if you had more bears from Alaska. These tiny Yellowstone bears are holding us back.”
“I can’t have this bear discussion with you again, Keane.”
“What about Russian bears? If they can play stupid hockey, we can teach them to play football.”
“Is your brother dead?” she asked about Shay.
“No. Wait.” He looked at where his brother had fallen, stared a moment, then finally refocused on her. “No.”
“How are we doing, Finn?”
Finn held up a finger and said to his friend, “What do you mean you can’t help me?”
“I haven’t gambled in years. Thanks to rehab and my cousin’s constant threats.”
“I thought you had contacts.”
His friend finally stood. He was tall. Extremely good looking. A wolf. “What kind of contacts?”
“People who could get me information. You know . . .” Finn gestured with his hand. “Information information.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Stuff no one else has. About underground shit.”
“What makes you think I have that kind of contacts?”
“You’re a Van Holtz.”
“A Van Holtz with a gambling problem. I just made sous chef for the lunch shift. That is not a show of confidence from my family. I got miles to go before my cousins and uncles trust me with anything really important. Although . . .”
Julie watched the canine glance off, staring at her bookshelf.
“What’s he doing?” she asked Finn.
“He’s thinking.”
“Is that what that is? How do they function during the day? You know, without assistance?”
“I can hear you!” the wolf suddenly barked, glaring at them. “I’m standing right here!”
“Maybe he can get a dog,” Julie suggested, “to assist him. I’ve heard border collies are very intelligent.”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“I thought you couldn’t help,” Finn reminded the wolf.
“I can’t, but I have a suggestion.”
“What suggestion?”
“Your sister.”
Julie didn’t know too much about the Malones’ personal life. She’d heard things during her time with the team. About their father’s murder. About how the rest of the Malone family had been no help, putting the three eldest brothers on the outs with the entire Traveling clan. And about how the brothers had made it their mission in life to get revenge on those who’d done the deed.
She’d also heard that any time their baby sister came in to watch a practice or to stop by and bring the brothers lunch or just to visit, the other players were very polite. They also never made eye contact with the kid. The first time Julie saw this behavior, she assumed that maybe they were just uncomfortable being around a shifter who was deaf. There weren’t a lot of them, but she’d heard there were a few. But she kept seeing the same reaction each time the pretty shifter came to practice, which wasn’t very often. Still, often enough that the players should have gotten used to her presence.
Then there was that day . . . the day a rookie smiled at her. It was a rather innocent smile. Not a leer. Julie knew a leer. So she hadn’t thought much about it. Until the team practiced a new play. It was just a run-through. Just a quick way to show each player the moves without anyone actually doing the full running or tackling. The rookie was a running back. All he had to do was catch the ball from the quarterback. The offense would protect him. The defense would go for him, but not really.
Because it was just a run-through.
Julie remembered watching in horror as the Malone brothers, two on defense, one on offense, mowed down the entire offensive line and took out that poor rookie just as he caught the ball. He even had a smile on his face. No idea that he was about to be taken down by three giant tigers, pissed off that he’d smiled at their baby sister. Sure, she’d been sixteen at the time, but it wasn’t like he was forty. The poor kid wasn’t even twenty-one and, again, it was a pretty innocent smile. It wasn’t like he’d tried to hump her right on the field! Julie was sure a simple “Stay away from our sister or we’ll kill you,” would have gotten the message across to the young cheetah just as effectively as turning him into a twisted pretzel did.
When the kid asked to be traded to another team, in another state, across country, the head coach didn’t even argue. How could he?
So the dog’s even mentioning the Malones’ baby sister seemed reckless.
Julie cringed when Keane’s big fist again slammed on her desk, and she wondered how much longer the old metal could last. It wasn’t like the team had gotten her a new desk when she’d taken this job. It had probably been here ever since the team’s founding in the seventies.
“Did you just bring up my baby sister?” Keane roared.
Surprisingly, the wolf didn’t make a run for it. He just rolled his eyes and put his hands in front of him, palms up, and said, “Don’t get hysterical. I swear, you cats always get so hysterical.”
“Tigers don’t get hysterical,” Shay warned from the floor he was still lying on. Julie had forgotten he was down there. “We just rip your skin off and eat you whole.”
Julie looked at Finn and nodded. “Subtle,” she told him.
* * *
Wolves were stupid! Even Van Holtzes were stupid!
Because what else would possess Stein Van Holtz to bring Nat into this conversation other than extreme stupidity?
“If ya let me finish . . .”
“We can kill you then?” Shay asked from the floor.
“Prefer you didn’t, but thanks for the offer. Instead, I was going to suggest that you talk to her sisters.”
“She doesn’t have sisters,” Finn reminded the wolf.
Stein rubbed his forehead. “Oh, my God. Seriously? Are you guys still doing this shit? Everybody knows she’s a MacKilligan.”
Keane got up so fast, his metal chair flew backward. All Finn could do was get between the dumb dog and his brother. Even Julie jumped back from her desk, fangs out, a warning growl rolling from her throat. Only Shay didn’t bother to move. Why should he, though? Stein was a decent size for a wolf, but nothing Keane couldn’t kill on his own.
“She is not a MacKilligan!” Keane growled, his voice like crushed gravel. “She’s a Malone.”
“Whatever gets you through the day, dude,” the wolf said with a dismissive wave, forcing Finn to slam his ha
nds against his brother’s chest and push him back.
“Are you going to help?” Finn asked Shay.
“Nope.”
“Okay, let me put it to you this way so we can get through this conversation,” Stein went on. “Let’s pretend the MacKilligans are delusional, and they just think your sister is also their sister. You can use that.”
“Use it how?” Shay asked, his hands behind his head. “To steal us a Porsche?”
“If you want. Or to get you information.”
Keane stopped trying to rip Stein’s head off and, instead, they all gazed at the wolf.
“What are you talking about?”
“I won’t say that honey badgers know everybody. Because they don’t. What they do have are connections to almost every badger family worldwide. And by knowing someone in every badger family, they know everyone. It’s weird and very honey badger, but it works for them.”
Feeling his brother relax beneath his hands, Finn released Keane and turned to face Van Holtz.
“Meaning,” the wolf went on, “that if there’s one species that can get you information—that can help you solve the murder of your father—it’s the honey badger.”
* * *
Mads wiped the sweat from her face with a dry white towel and grabbed the cold water bottle one of the assistant coaches handed to her. She knew she should sip, but she wasn’t really a “sipper.” She happily gulped down the cool water until the one-liter bottle was finished and again wiped the fresh bout of sweat from her face.
She was about to take another ball and start a new round of three-point shots when she noticed the four people standing at the entrance of the practice court.
The team practiced on Staten Island so they wouldn’t be seen by the opposition, but she practiced by herself at the Sports Center in Manhattan. It had amazing facilities and, even though they were New Yorkers, the people there were surprisingly nice.
Still, these four people stood out from the crowd.
The assistant coach leaned in and said low, “I don’t know who they are or how they got down here without being grabbed by security, but they’re full-human and freaky.”
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