Hot and Badgered

by Shelly Laurenston

  Charlie placed the phone on the table and hit redial, turning on the speaker. Then they all leaned in . . . and waited.

  “So is your father dead or not?” their aunt asked without any preamble. Not even a hello.

  “Nope,” Charlie replied. “Not dead. Very much alive from what we can tell.”

  “Just great!” Bernice snarled. Max imagined her aunt pacing one of the grand rooms in her Rhode Island home. The wedding might be in Manhattan, but Bernice was one of the Rhode Island wealthy due to a very advantageous marriage in her youth. And that was the only way Max could visualize her. “Do you know where he is? Is he still in New York?”

  “No idea,” Charlie said. Then, after glancing at her sisters, she added, “He could jump out at any time with one of his crazy schemes. Asking all your rich friends for money. When he’s not picking their pockets or stealing their jewelry off their necks in front of cameras. It will be fabulous! Is the New York Times going to report on it all for you? I’m sure they have access to Dad’s last sixteen mugshots from around the world.”

  There was silence, then a muffled scream from the other end of the phone and, silently, Max and Stevie laughed hysterically. Stevie slid down the refrigerator until she sat on the floor, arms around her middle. Max leaned over the kitchen table, her head resting on the wood. Charlie, of course, stayed focused on the phone.

  “He needs to be found,” her aunt finally stated.

  “And I need smaller tits,” Charlie told her, “but we don’t always get what we want.”

  “Do you know what’s going on right now, little miss?”

  Charlie leaned in a little and said, “No. What could be going on right now?”

  “My daughter is getting married—”

  “Oh. A family wedding? But that can’t be . . . because we weren’t invited. And we are family. Right?”

  Now Max was still on the table but on her back, her legs kicking out like a crazy toddler’s. She couldn’t help it. This was the best! Her sister was the absolute best!

  “It was nothing personal,” Bernice lied. “We just don’t like any of you.”

  Now all three sisters were laughing out loud. No longer bothering to hide it anymore. Because, although it was true that Bernice didn’t like any of them, they were also the only ones she could truly be herself with. The socialites never saw the true Bernice MacKilligan Andersen-Cummings.

  Clearing her throat to stop the laughter, Charlie told her aunt, “My sisters and I are well aware of your feelings about us, so . . . good luck with my dad.” She reached down to disconnect the call.

  “Don’t hang up!” Bernice ordered. Then, softly, she added, “Please.”

  Charlie pulled her hand back and rested both arms on the table. “Yes?”

  “Your father needs to be found. I can’t afford for him to just . . . show up at my daughter’s wedding. This is too important.”

  “And what do you want from us?”

  “For you to find him. For you to manage him.”

  “We are not our father’s keeper,” Charlie stated with absolute conviction. “You’ll have to manage him on your own.”

  “I don’t have time for that. Things here are a little bit . . . overwhelming at the moment. Adding your useless father to this situation . . .”

  “Plus there’s the other problem.”

  There was a long pause before Bernice asked, “What other problem?”

  So Bernice didn’t know.

  “Dad stole money from Uncle Will.”

  “Christ on a cross! How much money?”

  Charlie scratched her forehead with her thumbnail. “A hundred million pounds.”

  Bernice was silent for so long, Max was sure she’d disconnected the phone or passed out. But she hadn’t.

  “He can’t be that stupid,” she said, her voice like a whisper.

  “We both know he can be. He is that stupid.”

  “And to steal from Will . . . what was he thinking?”

  Charlie rolled her eyes. “I’m guessing he wasn’t.”

  “They’ll be coming for you,” Bernice told Charlie.

  “For what?” Charlie scoffed. “I don’t have a million pounds just lying around to fix my father’s fuckup. And Dad has never given a shit about his daughters, so threatening us won’t work either.”

  “But you’re the only one, Charlie, who has ever been able to manage the stupid fuck. The Scots know that. They’ll use it. They’ll use your sisters.”

  Charlie began to rub her forehead. “Can’t you talk to them?” she asked between clenched teeth. Charlie hated asking any of the family for anything. So she didn’t. Until now.

  “Me? That won’t help you. Will and I are not exactly close. But if I were in your shoes, I’d let Will and all your Scottish uncles know, in very clear terms, that you and your sisters are not to be put into the mix when it comes to dealing with your father.”

  Charlie exchanged confused glances with Max and Stevie.

  “I’m not sure I know what that means,” Charlie finally admitted.

  “Figure it out. We are on an open phone line. Until then, how about we meet for tea?”

  Charlie hated tea. “Tea? Why?”

  They could hear pages being flipped. “I have some time on Tuesday. Three o’clock. At the Kingston Arms. I’ll meet you at the front desk. Just you. And please . . . dress appropriately.”

  The call ended and Charlie straightened up.

  “You gonna go?” Max asked.

  “Yeah.” Charlie began to pace the room and Max watched her closely.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked her sister.

  “I’m thinking about what she said. About dealing with Uncle Will.” Charlie abruptly stopped and focused on Max. “What do you think Uncle Will is planning, to get back his money, I mean?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.”

  Max rubbed her nose. “I think he’s sent over a bunch of guys to kill one of us and take the other two hostage, hoping that’ll bring Dad out of the woodwork and get his money back, while showing the rest of the family that they risk their children when they fuck with him.”

  “But Dad won’t care. He won’t care if Will kills all three of us.”

  “I know.”

  Charlie thought a moment. “Do you think Will was behind the attacks in Milan and Switzerland?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “That chopper. In Switzerland.”

  “Are you going on again about that helicopter?”

  “It was military grade,” Max insisted. “Uncle Will is not paying for that. The fucker’s too cheap. That’s why I know that with a hundred million in play, he’s gonna do something. Personally, I agree with Bernice. He’s gonna make a move.”

  “Of course you agree with Bernice. Because she said we should strike first.”

  “No, she said we should let Uncle Will and the others know that we’re not to be fucked with because of our father. I say we set up . . . an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity to what? Fuck us over?”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Stevie asked.

  Charlie let out a long sigh, but it didn’t relieve the tension in her shoulders. The strain on her face. “Of course,” she said to Stevie.

  Their baby sister stood, smoothing down the front of her too-big sundress. “I say you call him up. Uncle Will. And tell him we want to talk to him. Some place private in the City.”

  “And then?” Charlie asked.

  Stevie shrugged her shoulders and lifted her hands, palms up. “If Uncle Will truly just wants to talk, then we talk, tell him we don’t know what Dad’s up to, and everybody goes their separate ways. But if Uncle Will intends to use us to get at Dad . . . then we do what we do. I mean, if they’re going to use us as an object lesson . . . maybe it’s time we make a lesson of them.”

  Charlie studied her sister a moment. “It’ll get messy.”

  “Anything involving Daddy gets mess
y. Call Uncle Will, Max,” she suggested while reaching into her oversized backpack, which was jammed with her notebooks, pencils, and pens. “Or his eldest son, Dougie. Pick an abandoned building and tell them we want to meet on Monday. Give it a sense of urgency so they don’t think we’re planning anything.” Stevie pulled out the SSRI antidepressants and antianxiety meds that she used to manage her panic disorder and placed them on the table. “You keep these for now. I’ll go back on them later.”

  “Are you sure—”

  “I’m sure.” Stevie nodded. “If they really want to hold our father against us . . . we’ll show them all—the entire family—what they’re really risking when they challenge the MacKilligan girls.”

  Charlie reached over and pulled Stevie close, kissing her on the top of her head.

  Max placed the meds in a drawer for quick and easy access while Charlie examined the table filled with all her baking. “God, what are we going to do with all this food?”

  Stevie leaned her head back and said, “I have an idea for that too.”

  This time Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “What idea?”

  * * *

  Charlie picked up the plate with the honey-pineapple cake she’d baked and headed out toward Berg’s place. She wanted to let him and his siblings know how much she appreciated their recent help, and according to Stevie, they’d probably finish off the rest of the baked goods, too.

  Besides, getting out of the house might ease Charlie’s anxiety. Her baby sister might have a panic disorder, freaking out at the slightest weird sound or fast-moving squirrel, but Charlie was all about what could possibly happen. That was what kept her up nights. Worrying about things she didn’t really have any control over, but knowing that didn’t mean she could stop worrying. Actually, she worried more.

  But maybe she could distract herself. At least for a little while. That’s what the actual act of baking did for her. Distracted her. Calmed her. Now she was going to try doing the same thing by sharing her food with near-strangers. It was, to be honest, the first time she could think of when she’d known people not related by blood or Pack well enough to feel comfortable to offer them food.

  Charlie came down the porch steps and reached the front gate. She’d just stepped through, closing it behind her, when the rumbling of a souped-up car had her turning. The car pulled into a spot not too far from her, and she waited to see who came out while sliding her hand around to grab the butt of the gun stuck into the back of her jeans under her T-shirt.

  The driver door opened and she watched the man who stepped out, her eyes briefly closing. How could Max do it? Of all the people she could have called . . . why him?

  And to bring him here? A bear-only neighborhood? Had she lost her mind?

  When he saw her, he smiled and Charlie’s grip tightened on her gun. She could just drop him here. She really could. But she knew Max would never forgive her for that. It could be the one thing that would possibly break the bond between them. Or at the very least damage it so that it would take decades to repair.

  He stopped just as he reached the trunk of his car. “Don’t shoot,” he said, still smiling. “I know you want to, but that’ll just bring out my sister and cousins . . . and I’m sure you remember what happened to the last girl that hurt my tender feelings.”

  Using all her internal fortitude, Charlie released her gun and dropped her arm to her side.

  He laughed and came over to her.

  “Don’t—”

  But it was too late. She was already enveloped in big arms and pressed against an excruciatingly large chest.

  She held the plate with the cake away from her body, but she could already hear him sniffing, his body leaning over to take a ruthless bite.

  “Touch that cake,” she warned, “and I’m taking your dick.”

  Dutch Alexander pulled back. He was just six feet, but wide as a house. And all of it muscle and power.

  “You never like to share, MacKilligan.”

  “Not with weasels.”

  “I think of you as a sister.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Is everything all right, Charlie?”

  Their landlord, Tiny, stood behind her, eyeing Dutch.

  “I’m fine.” She tried to pull away, but Dutch held her tightly. Why? Because he enjoyed irritating her. Always had. “Do you mind?”

  “Can’t I show affection to my best friend’s beloved older sister?”

  Charlie placed her hand underneath his jaw and unleashed her claws, making sure the middle one pressed against his jugular.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Dutch released her and stepped back, which was impressive because Dutch usually had no concept of personal space. He was a touchy-feely guy who loved hugs and affection, which many found surprising when they realized what he was. What he truly was.

  But just in case Dutch tried to hug her again, Charlie took a step back as well, which was when Tiny took a big step forward. The six-foot-nine man thought to use his natural strength and size to intimidate the smaller but equally wide foe.

  Before Tiny could even flex his muscles, though, Dutch was next to him. Against him. He sniffed his way up Tiny’s chest, looked at him, then abruptly huffed. Twice.

  Shocked, Tiny took a startled step back and Dutch huffed again, moving closer. Huffed again, moved closer. Then he unleashed his fangs.

  Fangs that could crush nearly anything.

  The bear unleashed his claws, but Charlie quickly stepped between the two huffing males and snarled, “I am trying to be a good neighbor. I’m not sure how one does that, but I’m almost positive bloodshed is not involved!” She pointed her finger at Tiny. “So put those claws away.” She glared at Dutch. “And don’t you even think about doing anything involving your anal glands.”

  Dutch grinned, his fangs still out. “Sweet talker.”

  “Here, Tiny.” She handed Tiny the cake she’d been planning to give to the Dunns. “It’s honey-pineapple.”

  “Oh. Uh . . . thanks.”

  Tiny took the cake and turned to walk away, but he stopped, looked back at Dutch.

  “Honey badger?” he guessed.

  “Hardly,” Dutch said, his voice full of that ridiculous pride, his fang-filled grin widening even more. “Wolverine.”

  Frowning, Tiny focused on Charlie. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing wolverines here.”

  “Racist.”

  Charlie slapped her hand over Dutch’s face, knowing that would do little to keep his big mouth shut, but she had to try.

  “He’s just here to see my sister. I promise he won’t cause any trouble.”

  Tiny grunted and again started toward his house a few doors down. But as he walked away, he muttered, “And I’m not racist. Wolverine is not a race. Honey badger is not a race. It’s a species.”

  Dutch retracted his fangs and asked Charlie, “You’re blaming me for this, aren’t you?”

  In answer, Charlie reached up and slapped the back of Dutch’s head. Just like she did to her sister. Just like she’d been doing to both of them since the first day Max had brought the little shit to the Pack house. The wolves had not been happy, but the pair had only been twelve and the adults were just glad Max actually had a friend. Any friend. But, as always, it had fallen on Charlie to keep the pair in line. A job she did not enjoy.

  The front door to their rental house opened and Max stepped onto the porch.

  She threw her arms up and cheered, “Dutchy!”

  “Maxie!”

  Max ran down the steps and Dutch leaped over the gate. They met somewhere in the middle, the pair ramming into each other, before air-kissing and twirling around each other with their arms spread wide.

  It was quite the display. But nothing Charlie hadn’t seen before. Over and over and over again. But at least Max had friends. Annoying friends, but friends.

  Charlie turned to go back to the house and get something else she could give to the Dunns. Maybe the cinnamon rolls would be a good choice. But a
banging door had her looking over her shoulder to see the Dunns’ front screen door on the ground and a wet, small bear charging across the street.

  A few seconds later, Berg Dunn came running after it, his arms and T-shirt dripping wet and covered with soapsuds.

  “Get back here! Bastard!”

  The bear leaped over Charlie’s low fence and disappeared around the back of the house. Berg stumbled to a stop beside Charlie.

  “It’s legal to have full-blood bears in this town?” she asked.

  Berg’s head cocked to the side, brows pulling low in confusion. “That wasn’t a bear. That’s my dog.”

  “That thing was a dog?”

  “Yes,” he replied, sounding indignant. “A Caucasian Shepherd Dog. My parents breed them.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “They’re from Russia. They’re trained to protect livestock from bears, wolves, and jackals.” After a moment of silence, he added, “He doesn’t like getting a bath. But he smelled.”

  “Now you both do.”

  Berg nodded toward a laughing Max and Dutch. “Who’s the dude?”

  “That’s Dutch. Max’s friend.”

  He sniffed the air. Sniffed it again. Leaned in and sniffed again.

  “He’s a wolverine,” she told him when she couldn’t stand that noise another second.

  “Oh.” Berg blinked. “Wow. Really? I’ve never met one.”

  “They mostly live their lives among full-humans. Fewer fights. Speaking of which, I was going to bring you a cake.”

  “You were?”

  “I had to give it to Tiny. He was about to get into a fight with Dutch, and that wouldn’t have ended well for either of them.”

  “Well . . . thanks anyway.”

  “I have some other stuff. You want to check it out?”

  “Sure.”

  “We better get you in there before Dutch sees it.” She opened the front gate. “He can put away more food than seems humanly possible. He’s like a vacuum.”

  The front door to the house slammed open and, screaming, Stevie ran down the porch stairs, across the yard, and over the fence without even a pause.

  Shocked, Charlie yelled after her, “It was just a dog!” But her reasoning didn’t stop an already panicked Stevie. She focused on Max. “Well, go get her!”