Hot and Badgered

by Shelly Laurenston

  “Stevie, you need to—”

  “No. Listen.”

  Charlie did . . . and she heard it too.

  “Is that a chopper?”

  As soon as Charlie asked the question, the military-type chopper charged past them, so close, Charlie was surprised it didn’t hit the roof of the car.

  Max slowed to a stop.

  The chopper turned and came back, hovering about fifty feet away.

  “Dude!” Max demanded, trying to look back at Stevie over her seat. “What kind of mental hospital did you go to?”

  * * *

  The target and her sisters waited in the SUV.

  “Stay here,” he ordered the pilot. “Give them a minute to figure out what’s about to happen.”

  “Got it.”

  The original plan had been to take the target in the clinic, but he’d just been heading toward the building when she’d run out, hysterically screaming. He’d immediately gone back to the copter. Especially when he realized the two older sisters were still alive.

  His orders had been painfully simple. Pick up the target and bring her to the safe house. Two other teams had been dispatched to take out the troublesome older sisters so they couldn’t get in the way. Apparently they had a reputation that had his clients concerned. But somehow those two had gotten away from full tactical teams. He still wasn’t sure how they’d managed that.

  The sister on the driver’s side eased out and headed toward the back of the SUV.

  “Want me to take her out?”

  “No,” he replied immediately. “We keep them alive until we have the target. They’ll keep her pliable.”

  “She’s probably going for a weapon.”

  He wasn’t worried. The copter could handle a few gunshots.

  Tapping the mic, he began the negotiation process.

  * * *

  Still in the backseat with Stevie, Charlie focused on her baby sister and ignored whatever the man in the chopper was saying. Most would be concerned with the chopper guy, but he was the least of her problems. Already Charlie could see the panic welling up again in Stevie. And if Stevie snapped . . .

  “What’s going on? Who are these people? They’re not from the center! What did Dad do now?” Stevie spit out in rapid succession. Then she asked, “Why are they doing this? What are we going to do?”

  There it went. That high-pitched squeal that said Stevie was moments away from going into full panic mode.

  “Don’t worry about them,” Charlie told her sister. “Let’s focus on your breathing.”

  Stevie calmed down enough to glare at Charlie. “Seriously?”

  “I’m trying to help.”

  “I’m not an infant.”

  “Fine. Then balls the fuck up!”

  “Don’t snarl at me!” Stevie shot back, her panic finally overridden by anger, which Charlie welcomed. “If you only would—”

  Both sisters screamed and ducked down, hands over their heads; the entire SUV bucked from the explosion. They waited a few seconds before sitting up and staring out the front window with their mouths open, as the remains of the chopper landed all around their vehicle.

  And with the chopper were the remains of several men, their charred bodies—and pieces from those bodies—banging against the vehicle and ground with nauseating thuds.

  Charlie heard Max humming and turned to see that she had the back door open and was returning the weapon she held to its case.

  “A rocket launcher?” Charlie exploded.

  “Oh, my God!” Stevie gasped.

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  Max shrugged. “What? I wasn’t about to get into a shoot-out with them. That’s a military chopper. Did you see the Gatling guns on the sides?”

  “I don’t care, you idiot! What are we supposed to tell the Swiss authorities?”

  Frowning, Max asked, “Why would we talk to anybody about this?” She closed the back door, went around the SUV, and got into the driver’s side. She stared out the front window for a moment, got back out of the SUV, and walked around the front, kicking bodies and big, burning chunks of the helicopter out of the way to make a path through the debris.

  When Max returned to the vehicle, she buckled her seat belt and glanced back at Charlie and Stevie. “Ready to go?” she asked, smiling. Chipper even. In fact, extremely chipper. Like they were going to brunch.

  How did she do that? Unlike her sisters, Max was all honey badger, and yet she had the most pleasant, happy, almost sunny disposition Charlie had ever known.

  Charlie had never met another honey badger like her.

  “Stop smiling,” Charlie ordered her sister.

  And, of course, Max’s smile grew until it took up most of her face.

  Charlie nearly had her hands around Max’s throat but Stevie wrapped her arms around her and dragged her back against the seat.

  “What are you mad at me for?” Max asked, oblivious as always.

  “Just go,” Stevie ordered. “And shut up.”

  “Both of you are so moody.” Max took the car out of park and drove through the path she’d created until she was able to enter the woods. This got them off the road and, hopefully, away from any law enforcement who’d be heading this way.

  * * *

  So this was what it was like to be a true “maestro.” Berg thought he’d “gotten it” before, but he hadn’t. Not until men came from the Vatican, sent personally by His Holiness so that they could escort Coop to his next venue.

  Even cooler? They were waiting to board a private jet that was only used for His Holiness. The Pope had sent it to transport Coop and his entire team, and apparently he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Coop had tried. Politely. Not wanting to put the Pope and his attendees out in any way. And Coop wasn’t bullshitting. He really didn’t like to put people out, but again . . . His Holiness wouldn’t hear it.

  Of course, Coop had not asked for any of this, but his sister. . . ?

  Well, Toni Jean-Louis Parker Reed was a different matter. Plus, she was trapped in Siberia at the moment and couldn’t make her way to Italy just now. At least not in time to help. So she’d called the Vatican herself—of course she did—and had them make all these arrangements. For her brother’s safety, she’d said. A sentiment that Berg could only roll his eyes over.

  “Hey, Berg,” Coop said next to him.

  “Huh?”

  “My sister is sending even more backup, to get us home.”

  Berg rolled his eyes again. “Oy.”

  The jackal chuckled. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just my sister’s way. She can be obsessive when it comes to her siblings. Among jackal families, she’s considered the gold standard of proper older sibling behavior.”

  “Is she sending someone I’m going to hate?”

  “I don’t think so. But I can never tell with you and your brother, which people you guys hate. Unlike your sister, who is very direct about her hatred.”

  “You do always know where you stand with my sister.”

  “I heard she’ll be the one ‘handling’”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“Toni when she gets here.”

  “Well, Dag and I weren’t going to do it.”

  “Nope,” Dag muttered.

  “I don’t blame you. She wanted to fire you guys, by the way. But I said, ‘Absolutely not. They’re my friends. And so what if they put me in grave danger and put my life and, more importantly, my God-given gifts at risk? A loss that would deprive the entire world, maybe even the universe, of something truly amazing. They’re still my friends.’”

  Berg gazed down at Coop. “How big of you.”

  “I thought so.”

  “We’re friends?” Dag asked.

  “The jet is ready, Maestro,” one of the Vatican’s men announced.

  With Dag on one side of Coop and Berg on the other, the trio began to walk toward the door that would lead them to the private airstrip. But as they passed the front desk, Berg caught sight
of the TV behind the attendant.

  Both he and Coop stopped walking and briefly watched the Italian-language news announcement about a helicopter in Switzerland that had been shot down on a private road.

  Coop didn’t understand Italian but he got the gist of the story from the visuals.

  He looked at Coop and the jackal stared back, both of them silently asking the question.

  Then, after several seconds, they both said together, “Nahhh.” And continued on toward the awaiting jet.

  * * *

  “Get out. I have to set this thing on fire.”

  Charlie stared at her sister. “Are you just on a rampage? What are you doing?”

  “Don’t worry. We have another car waiting right there. We’re totally covered.”

  With another pleasant smile, Max walked off.

  “She’s going to get us killed or put in prison for the rest of our lives,” Stevie informed Charlie. “I just want you to know that.”

  “I wish I could argue with you,” Charlie admitted. “But I can’t.”

  They got out of the car, each grabbing a duffle bag from the back of the SUV, and headed in the direction Max pointed out to them.

  As Charlie walked, she smelled smoke from behind her just before Max ran up to them. Another bag was hanging from her shoulder. And the . . .

  Charlie stopped and her sisters stopped with her. “You brought the rocket launcher?”

  “You expect me to leave it? Do you know how much these things cost? Especially these really compact ones? Are you nuts?” she scoffed before heading off again.

  “You know,” Stevie noted, “we could kill her here and bury her and no one would ever know.” She frowned, shook her head. “I guess that was a horrible thing to say.”

  “No, sweetie. It was just a honey badger thing to say. Nothing to worry about. I say honey badger things all the time but never do them.”

  They followed Max, reaching a brand-new Range Rover painted a very bright red.

  “Subtle,” Charlie said to Max. Her sister grinned, oblivious, and quickly began packing the trunk, stopping to answer her vibrating phone.

  “We’re all going to jail, aren’t we?” Stevie suddenly asked as she and Charlie finished up the trunk packing.

  “Not if I can help it,” Charlie promised. “I’ve worked too long and hard for any of us to go to prison now.” She paused a moment, then added, “But if we have to sacrifice someone, it’ll be Max. She could handle prison way better than either of us.”

  After a few minutes, Max returned to their side and Charlie knew, as soon as she saw her sister’s face, that something had changed.

  “What?” Charlie asked when Max didn’t say anything.

  Max glanced at Stevie, then back to Charlie. “I just got a call . . . from New York.”

  “Oh, God,” Stevie began. “Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, G—”

  “Stevie,” Charlie said, raising one finger. “No.”

  She could see her sister was readying herself for another panic attack, and Charlie simply didn’t have the patience for it right now. Especially when Stevie could go from zero to hysterical in six seconds.

  She was the Ferrari of panic.

  “Breathe,” she ordered Stevie before facing Max. “Who do we know in New York?”

  “Not a lot of people. But . . .” She cleared her throat, glanced at Stevie who was now doing her deep breathing exercises. “It’s Dad . . .”

  Charlie briefly closed her eyes. “Let me guess. He’s in jail. He wants bail. Well, fuck him! I’m a thousand percent positive that we’re on the run because of him. So he can stay in jail until he rots.”

  “He’s dead,” Maxie abruptly announced. “They need someone to identify the body.”

  Stevie put her hand to her chest and turned away from them, her head bowed, shoulders beginning to shake, her pain and grief clear to anyone who might be near.

  Charlie and Max, however, didn’t hesitate to silently bop around each other, performing dance moves they really shouldn’t because they just didn’t have the talent for it. However, it wasn’t a dance of skill, but of excitement. Of relief. Of downright giddiness.

  Neither sister spoke as they boogied around each other because words weren’t necessary. But despite their silence . . .

  Stevie slapped her hand against the Range Rover and snarled, “I know what you two are doing back there and stop it! He’s still our father!”

  chapter FOUR

  It took a few days to make it into the States, and it hadn’t been easy. But Max had a lot of connections, which always helped when they were in foreign countries. Thankfully they were back now and able to drop their bags in the middle of the safe house Max had found through her birth mother’s family.

  “Wow,” Charlie said, looking around. “This place is awesome. Your aunt hooked us up.”

  Max nodded. “It’s not bad.”

  Stevie sat in the farthest corner and deepest part of the couch, her knees up, arms around her calves. “I don’t like it.”

  “Why not?” Charlie asked.

  Her nose crinkled. “It smells funny.”

  “That’s just badger.” Max took another sniff. “And something bear-ish.”

  Stevie’s eyes grew impossibly wide. “Bears eat people.”

  “I’m taking a shower,” Charlie announced because she couldn’t start down this road with her sisters. “Then we’ll figure out next steps. Okay?” When she got nods from both, Charlie grabbed her duffle and headed deeper into the Manhattan apartment.

  The place was beautiful. Big, comfortable furniture. Lots of windows allowing for light. And tons of cabinet space for the honey badgers to sleep in.

  Charlie was surprised the Yang family had helped Max get this place for them to stay in. Even temporarily. Maybe Max hadn’t mentioned that her sisters would be with her, but she didn’t usually hide that from anyone. The Yangs had made it clear long ago that they would be more likely to help Max when she needed it if her half-sisters weren’t involved. They’d never quite forgiven Max’s mother for hooking up with Fred MacKilligan. Among the honey badger population, the MacKilligans didn’t have the best reputation. Especially when it came to good ol’ Freddy. The most useless of beings as far as Charlie was concerned.

  To this very day, she still didn’t understand what her amazing, feminist mother—or any other woman for that matter—saw in her worthless excuse of a father. He was . . . worthless! She had no other word for it. Or maybe she had too many words for the man. Many ways to describe how worthless he truly was.

  But that was over now. Her father—thankfully!—was rotting away in a New York City morgue. Just waiting for her and her sisters to identify and bury him.

  Charlie couldn’t wait.

  She knew it sounded cruel to those who didn’t know her father. Who didn’t understand why she disliked the man so much. But she had her reasons and those reasons were all she needed.

  If nothing else, she hoped his death would end the bad luck that seemed to follow the man around and, in turn, follow his daughters around as well.

  Daughters who hadn’t asked to be born. Definitely hadn’t asked for him to be their father. Three girls who’d had no say in what they’d already been through.

  Yes. She blamed her father for all of it, but she wasn’t about to let that get in her way. Because it was a new day! She just had to be cool about it.

  Stevie didn’t like their father any more than Charlie and Max did, but she took the fact that he was their sperm donor much more seriously. She would want to mourn his death, and they had to respect that.

  Which reminded her . . .

  Naked, Charlie walked out of the bathroom, where the shower was now running. She went into the living room and found that Max and Stevie already had each other in headlocks. Max grinning. Stevie cursing Max.

  “The never-ending, battling sisters,” was what the Pack had called Max and Stevie. And it was true. The pair of them could and would go at it until someone
separated them or an ambulance had to be called. The thing was, an ambulance rarely had to be called for either Max or Stevie. If there was one thing that was true about all MacKilligan females . . . they could take a beating. But teachers, coaches, strangers on the street, anyone who thought it was a good idea to get between the sisters to stop them from fighting always found out the hard way that it was not.

  But Charlie wasn’t some stranger on the street. She knew how to handle her sisters. It was the first thing her mother had taught her when she realized how poorly the two got along.

  Going behind both women, Charlie grabbed Max by the tough skin of her back and swung her one way, then the other. Poor Stevie forced to go with her.

  And while Charlie swung, she kept chanting, “Let her go, let her go, let her go.” Until Max did what she was told to do.

  “On the couch,” Charlie ordered, pointing at Stevie. “You, on the chair.” She motioned to the leather armchair until Max sat down.

  Once both her sisters were sitting away from each other, she said, “Now listen up. I’m going into the shower. It will be a long shower. A luxurious shower.”

  “Why not a bath?” Stevie asked.

  “I don’t like baths. I don’t like soaking in my own filth.”

  Max started laughing but stopped when Charlie snapped, “Shut up. Now, while I’m in that shower, you two will not argue. You will not fight.” She pointed at Max. “You will not startle.” She pointed at Stevie. “You will not throw things. No matter what she says to you,” she added quickly before Stevie could argue. “Let’s just be glad that we made it back to the States without killing each other or getting arrested. Let’s enjoy this moment for what it is.”

  “The death of our father?” Max asked.

  Charlie glared at Max for a moment before they both raised their arms in the air and cried out, “Hurray!”

  “Ladies!” Stevie barked, disgusted.

  “Sorry. Sorry.” Charlie didn’t want to upset her sister. She wanted a shower too badly. A nice, normal, relaxing shower. And she couldn’t have that if she was worried the two of them were attempting to kill each other in the next room.

  “We’ll get through this, Stevie,” she promised her baby sister.