Bite Me

by Shelly Laurenston

  Livy, however, went right for Ira’s face. Ira caught the badger’s hands first, shuddering a little when those claws that honey badgers used for digging and killing came so dangerously close.

  “Oh,” Livy said. “Hi, Ira.”

  “Ira?” Vic rubbed his head, wiped his eyes, yawned, then realized he was naked in front of his sister. “Ira! What the hell are you doing in my bedroom? Get out! Out!”

  “You’re not in your bedroom, genius. You’re in the kitchen. Naked. With Olivia.”

  Vic, at a loss, roared. Ira roared back, the windows rattling from the combination of the two powerful sounds. They could have kept it up for a while until Livy screamed, “Cut it out!”

  They both stopped and Livy looked around. “What time is it?” she asked.

  Ira looked at her watch. “Almost eight.”

  “Shit. We should get back.” Livy slid out from under the table and stood. Ira, still crouching, turned a bit so she could see Brittany’s reaction, because yes, Ira was that petty.

  Although Brittany appeared shell-shocked by all this, Livy didn’t seem to notice. She did, however, notice the food.

  “Cool. Honey buns.” She grabbed two off the tray, sniffed them carefully—which did nothing but piss Brittany off—and nodded. “Thanks.”

  Biting into one of the buns, she walked out.

  Vic managed to awkwardly get himself out from under the table, but he grabbed a dish towel and held it over his groin. “Uh . . . hi, Brittany. Um . . . yeah.”

  Growing increasingly red from embarrassment, her brother tried to get out of the kitchen without having to actually deal with anything. Something Ira couldn’t possibly let happen.

  “Vic, don’t you want a honey bun?” she asked her brother, which got Ira a vicious feline glare from her sibling and his neighbor.

  “Mr. Bennett will see you now.”

  Dez stood and walked into the office of Lyle Bennett. He was an older man, with gray hair and bright blue eyes. He smiled when she walked in, standing tall behind his big mahogany desk. He held his hand out and Dez shook it.

  “Detective.”

  “Mr. Bennett. I won’t keep you.”

  “No problem. I’m happy to assist our police department in any way I can.” He gestured to the plush leather chair on the other side of his desk. “Please. Sit. Tell me how I can help.”

  Dez sat down, tried not to groan at how wonderful the office chair felt. She briefly wondered if her perpetually picky mate, Mace, would let her fill the house with these things. They were great!

  “Mr. Bennett, I’m hoping you can give me some information on Frankie Whitlan.”

  Frowning, the man’s head tilted to the side. “Frankie Whitlan?”

  “Yes. The NYPD has been searching for Mr. Whitlan for quite a while now, and I was hoping you might be able to give us some information on him.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can help you.”

  “Really? Huh.” Dez pulled out the reporter’s notebook she kept tucked into the inside pocket of the leather jacket she’d stolen from Mace years ago. Taking her time, she flipped the pad open and sifted through several pages. “Yes. Here. Over the last few years, you’ve sent Whitlan’s daughter, Allison, several gifts through an AME Shipping Company? Isn’t that correct?”

  Bennett smiled even as the blood drained from his face and his bright blue eyes darkened. “Actually, I haven’t. I’m not even sure what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?” She looked at her notes again. Of course, her notes were just some doodles her son had made the night before. Talented little bastard. He did an excellent job of drawing his father’s fangs. “Interesting. So you don’t know Frankie Whitlan? You’ve never given any items to Allison Whitlan?”

  “I’ve worked with Allison on a few charity boards that we’re both on. I’m sure I’ve given her a few thank-you gifts over the years. But . . . that’s about it.”

  “Oh. All right then.” Dez stood, still smiling, and placed her business card on Bennett’s desk. “Well, if you do hear anything or have any information, please feel free to call me. We’re just trying to locate him.”

  “Understood.”

  Bennett stood and they shook hands. Dez walked out, smiled at his executive assistant as she passed her, and made her way to the elevator. Once back on the city streets, Dez got into the unmarked vehicle double-parked at the corner. Crush was in the driver’s seat waiting for her. She closed the door and buckled up, and he pulled into traffic and headed to their favorite diner for breakfast.

  Dez hit the speed dial on her phone and waited until Vic’s partner, Shen, picked up on the other end. The panda had called in a favor early this morning, Dez’s phone waking up her very not-a-morning-person mate. Normally, she didn’t take orders that didn’t come directly from her captain, but she still felt tracking Frankie Whitlan down was incredibly important. So if Vic and his friend needed her help, she was more than happy to do what she could.

  “Hey, Shen.”

  “How did it go?”

  “He’s not going to give up any information to cops.”

  “I didn’t think so, but I wanted to try a . . . friendlier option first.”

  “I was very friendly. So was he. Still, he acted like he had no idea who I was talking about.”

  “Okay.”

  “I checked his record, though. He’s very clean. Squeaky. Whitlan likes to have a few of those guys around to help him move in different circles. This guy’s no gangster. Not even close. Just a rich businessman thinking what he’s doing is no worse than cheating on his taxes. My guess is that Bennett is weak. He’ll break if you push him just a little. A push I can’t legally make without evidence. So you guys will have to take it from here.”

  “That’s fine, Dez. Thanks so much for this.”

  “No problem. Call if you need us again.”

  Dez put away her phone, and her partner grumbled, “What do you mean ‘if you need us again’? Why are you involving me in this?”

  “Because I don’t feel like driving today. So suck it up, chuckles.”

  “You’ve been living with that cat too long. You’re getting way rude.”

  Vic pulled the SUV to the curb, and Livy pushed the door open, about to jump down.

  “Hey,” Vic said. “Hey, hey.”

  “What?”

  “Kiss good-bye?”

  “I’m just going to work.”

  “Kiss good-bye?”

  “Are you going to be a needy lover?”

  “Yes.”

  His directness caught her off-guard and Livy laughed. “You’re just so—”

  “Delicious?”

  “Goofy. I was going to say goofy.” She put her arm around his neck and pulled Vic in for a kiss. It went on a little long, but she didn’t mind. The man really knew how to kiss.

  Finally, with some effort, she pulled away. “I have to go.”

  “But will you miss me?”

  Livy shook her head. “I can’t. With you. I can’t.”

  She jumped out of the giant SUV and turned to close the door.

  “I’ll see you tonight at your derby bout.”

  Livy stopped mid-door-close. “My derby bout? How did you hear about that?”

  “Blayne invited me.”

  “Of course she did.” Livy finished closing the door and walked to the Sports Center.

  On her way through, she stopped for coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. She carried those into her office, placing them on the desk beside a wooden box she didn’t recognize.

  “Hi, Livy!”

  Livy glanced up, then back at the box. “Hi, Blayne.”

  “I just stopped by to make sure you’re coming to the bout tonight.”

  “Yeah. I’ll be there. But stop trying to hook me and Vic up.”

  “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . . yeah, okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  Blayne walked over to Livy’s desk. “What’s that box?”

 
; Livy opened the box, looked inside, and said, “I think it’s my father.”

  “Sorry?”

  “This can’t be all of him, though. I’m guessing Mom has the rest.”

  She put the top back on the box and turned to see Blayne staring at her with wide, wet eyes.

  “Are you about to cry?” Livy asked.

  “No. Of course not,” she sobbed.

  Livy moved toward Blayne and the wolfdog opened her arms for a hug. Livy stepped in close so that she could put her hands on Blayne’s waist, but before those long wolfdog arms could wrap around her, Livy pushed Blayne right out of her office and closed the door in the wolfdog’s wet face.

  She walked back to her desk and stared down at the box for several seconds. Didn’t seem like much, did it? After all humans went through to survive on this planet, when it was all said and done, you still ended up in some box on your bitter daughter’s desk. Didn’t really seem fair.

  Picking up the box, she started to put it away in one of her many desk or file drawers, but at the last second, she couldn’t do it. After looking around, she finally placed her father by the art award she’d received when she’d lived in France for those two years after high school.

  Livy smiled, though, as she settled down to work, because she couldn’t help but remember how much her father had always hated the French.

  Vic found Livy’s uncle Balt in the kitchen drinking coffee and trying to recover from what looked to be a magnificent hangover.

  “How did it go?” he asked, sitting at the table across from the older man.

  “We have name,” Bart grumbled. “Lyle Bennett.”

  “Good. I’ll start looking—”

  “No. We had your giant panda friend track him down. He wanted to try nice way first, so I let him. But that did not work. So now my cousin and his sons are handling it.” Balt rubbed his forehead. “My cousin will do good job. He is smart, like me.”

  “And as modest?”

  Balt snorted. “Why be modest when you already know you are amazing?”

  Since Vic didn’t know how to argue with that logic, he didn’t bother to try.

  “Where is my little Olivia?” Balt asked.

  “I dropped her off at work.”

  “Good. She needs to work. It will get her mind off things.” Balt raised bloodshot eyes. “And you seem to be helping with that, as well, feline.”

  “Actually I’m bear and feline.”

  “Do not care.”

  “Yeah,” Vic sighed. “Didn’t think you did.”

  “My little Olivia is not like other girls, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “She is smart like me. Devious like her mother. And short on patience like her father. But she is good girl. Has big heart. So you do not break that heart because you get bored like most felines.”

  “I’m really more bear than—”

  “Do not care.”

  “Right. Forgot.”

  “And just so there are no complaints later, if you two have baby—”

  “Baby?”

  “It will be honey badger.”

  Vic paused in his panic over Balt assuming he and Livy would be having children to say, “Well, actually, any children we had would be a mix of—”

  “No. There will be no mix. Just badger.”

  “That might true be with full-humans.” A shifter with a full-human mate created shifter babies, and that was one of the many reasons why shifters were very careful about whom they settled down with to create a family. Because a full-human who couldn’t handle what their mates truly were definitely couldn’t handle the shifter offspring they would eventually have. “But shifters of different species or breeds create hybrids.”

  “You mate with badger, feline, you will only get badger.”

  “How is that possible?”

  Balt shrugged. “I do not know. Maybe honey badger cells too mean to let others live. But you will need to prepare. Badger children start throwing things in anger before they can walk.”

  “Balt, Livy and I aren’t really at the point where we’re considering children. Or anything else along those lines.”

  “Maybe my little Olivia is not . . . but you are. I see it in your big, dumb cat eyes.”

  “Well, that was unnecessarily mean.”

  “So understand what you get into now rather than later, yes? So you do not complain. I hate when felines complain.”

  “I’m really more bear than—”

  “I still do not care, feline.”

  “I know, I know. I guess I’m just so dumb I keep forgetting.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “Honey, are you okay?” Lyle Bennett’s much younger wife asked him once he’d turned off the car and his three kids had jumped out and run into their house.

  “I’m fine,” he lied. “Just thinking about work.”

  It had been hard not to panic and start making calls about the police showing up at his office today. But he knew better. They were probably tapping his phones, waiting for him to call, so they could not only trace the call but somehow connect him to Whitlan.

  Lyle had never thought the police would show up at his office door asking about Frankie Whitlan, of all people. There had been many layers between Lyle and Frankie since the man had gone on the run, and since Lyle did nothing to attract attention, he never thought anyone would link them together.

  In the end, though, it was Lyle’s fault. He never should have agreed to make sure those packages from Whitlan made it to Allison. But he had, even though Allison had wanted nothing to do with her father. A man who’d abandoned her before she’d even begun to crawl.

  Still, Allison would never talk to the police, so there must have been another way they’d found out. Had Lindow’s business finally been busted by the police? Had he turned rat in order to protect himself? Lyle didn’t know, and he was afraid to look into it. Afraid the cops would be able to make a case against him based solely on his actions. What did his lawyer call it . . . evidence of a guilty mind?

  But Lyle wouldn’t tell any of that to his wife. His time as an associate of Whitlan’s was done now that the police had showed up at his office door, and he wasn’t about to involve her.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.” His wife smiled, and together they got out of the car and headed into their spacious home.

  Lyle went to the kitchen, in desperate need of a scotch. He was just pouring it when he heard his wife call out, “Lyle!”

  Setting his drink down, Lyle rushed down the hall. He found his wife standing in the laundry room and staring.

  “What is it?” he asked, coming up next to her.

  “Look at that.” She pointed at a hole chewed into the wall. “Rats?” she whispered. “Do we have rats?”

  Lyle crouched by the hole. It was huge, bigger than a rat would make. But it could be a raccoon or some other pest.

  “Hopefully not, but—”

  “Here’s another.” His gaze followed where his wife pointed. And yes, there was another hole.

  “Were these here yesterday?”

  “No. Besides, Lilah would have said something.” Lilah was their maid, but she was off today. “She was doing laundry all day yesterday.”

  Lyle stood and decided to walk through the house. As he and his wife looked, they found more holes. In the living room, the kitchen, the playroom, the closets, the bathrooms. Not only low in the wall but in the ceilings.

  “What the—”

  “Dad!” one of his children screamed out. “Dad!”

  Terrified his children had stumbled into a rat’s nest, Lyle ran up the stairs, only to crash into his children running down. They didn’t even stop. They just charged past him, screaming and moving faster than he’d ever seen.

  Lyle, once he’d steadied himself, continued walking up the stairs until he reached the top. That was where he stopped, his mouth dropping open, as a six-foot-long snake slithered from his eldest daughter’s room and right into his son
’s. The snake hissed as it moved by, but then Lyle realized that he was hearing more than one hiss. He was hearing . . . several.

  He began backing up as several snakes fell from a hole in the ceiling and plopped onto the floor in a slithering, hissing ball of scales.

  He screamed in horror and charged down the stairs, hustling his terrified wife out the door. He got his family into the car and raced down their driveway.

  Once away from the house and checked into a nice, local hotel, Lyle used his cell phone to contact the only exterminator in their small upper-class town. The woman who answered the phone promised to have someone out to his house the next day, but Lyle demanded “now” and promised to pay double the usual fee.

  Leaving his family in the safety of the hotel, Lyle went back to the house and waited inside his car.

  Several men showed up. Short, powerfully built men. The oldest-looking one walked over.

  “You have snakes, yes?” An accent. Russian, maybe? Definitely Eastern European.

  “Yes. I need you to do whatever you have to and get them out of there. All of them.”

  “Won’t be cheap. Snake removal very expensive.”

  Immigrants, Lyle thought. Always looking to shake that last buck from people who shouldn’t have to worry about getting snakes cleaned out of their homes.

  “Yes. Whatever. Just do it.”

  “But first you pay.”

  Lyle was no fool. He wasn’t about to play this game with these people. “I’ll pay when you clean this up.”

  “We clean this up when you tell us how we find Frankie Whitlan.”

  Lyle blinked, took a step back. “What?”

  “Frankie Whitlan. You contact him yourself? Or he only contacts you?”

  Lyle took another step back, but one of the other burly men was now standing behind him. Somehow they’d managed to surround him.

  “I don’t under—”

  “Do you talk to him yourself? Or does he call you?”

  “I don’t know any Frankie Whitlan.”

  “Don’t lie, rich man. You get gifts from Whitlan and have them delivered to Whitlan’s pretty little daughter?”

  “Look, I don’t know who you people are, but—”