Bear Meets Girl

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Crush woke up the next morning and decided that he wasn’t going to sit around waiting for Baissier to come at him—or, even worse, fantasizing about a long-legged and heartless feline with an amazing tight ass and right hook. Instead, he was going to do his job and find out why Whitlan was really back in town. And then, he’d take him down. If it turned out Crush could nail Baissier in the process ... well, that would just be a bonus, now wouldn’t it?

So, just before noon, Crush walked into a Yonkers bar. As soon as he opened the door, with the early afternoon sun behind him, those already drinking or “working” looked up to see who was coming in. But as Crush’s shadow grew on the floor and he stepped farther in, they all quickly turned away except the bartender.

“Hey, man.” The bartender laughed. “Dude ... what happened to your hair?”

Cella looked at her vibrating phone again, before quickly sending the call to her voice mail.

“What are you doing?” Rivka asked.

“Avoiding someone.” To be specific, Cella was avoiding Blayne. As the Group’s hybrid kids got older, Cella and Blayne had been eyeing some of them for their respective teams. Although Blayne could give two shits about the males, she wanted Cella to leave the females to her for her precious roller derby team. But after watching Hannah handle herself in that fight with the grizzlies yesterday, Cella knew she wanted the bear hybrid to try out for the Carnivores. Which meant that she would be forced to listen to Blayne Thorpe whine about it.

Before putting her phone back in her pocket, she checked the time.

“Do you have to go?”

“Not yet, but I promised I’d meet some of the guys for training today. But don’t worry, I have time. Your bachelorette party is more important than anything right now.”

“I don’t care about a bachelorette party.”

“Of course, you don’t. You’re in love, blah, blah, blah. But your friends do care and that’s all that matters.” Cella wasn’t lying when she’d told Jai that she adored Rivka. She really did. How could she not? A fellow She-tiger, Rivka always looked so cute and girly with her curly black hair that it was hard to believe she was one of KZS’s Cleaners. Born and raised in Israel, she’d been recruited by KZS when she was twenty and they’d moved her to the States. With minimal equipment, she could dispose of a battalion of bodies in less than six hours. She was also loyal, dependable, and took great care of Cella’s kid. In the end, that was all that mattered to Cella: Were you someone worthy of being around Meghan? The fact that Bri actually loved her, too, was the least of Cella’s concerns.

Returning to her checklist, Cella said, “I’m thinking open bar.”

Rivka put her nearly empty cereal bowl on the side table. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much these feline bitches can drink when it’s on someone else’s tab?”

After debating an open bar, crafting a reasonable guest list and making wardrobe decisions, Cella had just moved on to dinner options when the front door to Rivka and Bri’s extremely high-priced penthouse opened and a voice from the hallway called out, “Where’s my pussy at?”

The two females looked at each other, then back at the living room archway. A few seconds later, Bri came sauntering through with a large deli bag smelling delightfully of fresh pastry and coffee.

He stopped in the archway and stared. “Oh. Cella. You’re here.”

Tilting her head to the side, Cella asked, “Do I count as your pussy, too?”

He scowled. “No, you do not.” Bri walked farther into the room. “And what are you doing here”—he pointed at Cella and Rivka—“canoodling?”

Cella tried to see it from Bri’s point of view. Both females were on the couch, Cella’s back against the armrest and her legs over Rivka’s legs with Rivka toying with Cella’s shoelaces. Okay. The visual might be easy to misinterpret by regular full-humans, but a feline should ... oh, forget it. Bri was still a guy and to him nothing was more frightening than having the mother of his child good friends with his fiancée. And considering how much Cella enjoyed messing with Bri’s mind, she could understand his concern.

“Don’t get paranoid. You always seem to forget, baby’s daddy—”

“Stop calling me that.”

“—that as cats we’re naturally affectionate when we actually like someone. I like Rivka, but that doesn’t mean I want to bone her.” She looked at Rivka. “Do you want to bone me, sweetie?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

And that’s why Cella loved Rivka. How could anyone think Cella had a problem with Rivka marrying Bri? She had a great sense of humor and actually made the man much less uptight accountant guy.

“Do not freak me out before my wedding,” the male warned. “Just do not freak me out.”

“Speaking of which, do you know what’s going on with our kid?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s acting really stressed out. Especially anytime I mention school to her.”

Putting the coffee cups on the table, Bri dismissed Cella’s concern with a wave of his hand. “She’s probably just worried about her decision to stay on Long Island with the family and go to Hofstra. A decision I’m sure you’re not making easy on her.”

Cella stared at the tiger standing in front of her until she finally managed to grind out, “What do you mean her decision to go to Hofstra?”

“Oh.” Bri looked at his fiancée, then back at Cella. “Meghan, uh ... didn’t mention that to you?”

Crush knocked on the door in the back of the bar and it slowly opened. The man protecting the door looked him over, then asked, “Let him in?”

“Of course.”

Crush walked into the room. He could tell from the general funk that an all-night poker game had been going on. But as soon as he stepped in, most of the players picked up their winnings and headed out the door into the alley behind the bar.

Dave “Charming” Lepke smiled at Crush. “Come on in.”

Crush walked in, making sure to check the dark corners and behind the door before moving across the room to stand in front of the well-known gambler turned bookie. In his late sixties, with a full head of white hair, Charming still had the imposing build and attitude of a man who used to break guys’ arms for being late paying back their gambling debts.

“I was hoping to buy in,” Crush told him, holding up a wad of money. “But everybody ran away.”

“You should be used to that.”

“I never really get used to it.”

“Your money’s no good here and you know it.”

“I know. And yet I’m here. Don’t you wonder why?”

Charming studied him for a bit before he motioned his man out. Looking at Crush and back at his boss, the bodyguard asked, “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

With a warning glare at Crush, he walked out, the door closing behind him.

“How could you not tell me?” Cella yelled at her daughter’s father while pacing in front of him. “How long have you been keeping this from me?”

“Calm down.”

Cella stepped into him and gritted out between clenched teeth, “Tell me to calm down again.”

“That’s it.” Rivka pushed her arms between the two, forcing them apart. “Bri, why don’t you put the food in the kitchen?”

He walked out and Rivka faced Cella.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Cella asked.

“Because she wants to stay. She wants to stay with the Malones.”

And Cella asked with all honesty, “But why?”

Rivka started laughing, her hand covering her mouth.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Cella, she’s not trying to hurt you.”

“No. She just hates me.”

Rivka put her hands on her hips. “You just leap, don’t you? From the tallest building of stupidity.”

Cella shrugged. “It’s a skill.”

“So,” Crush asked, “should I expect any visits from your associates?”

“Not from mine. They’re terrified of you, kid. And you being a cop doesn’t change that.” Charming lifted his chin. “What’d ya come here for?”

“I had questions.”

“About?”

“Frankie Whitlan. Heard he’s back.”

Charming laughed. “Is back? Frankie Whitlan’s been back. For years. I wouldn’t say right under everybody’s nose, but he hasn’t exactly been hiding, either. But he is protected.”

“By who?”

“Everybody. Feds. Your people. Everybody he’s ever worked with, he’s got dirt on. Not your typical bullshit, guy-cheating-on-his-wife dirt, either, but put-you-under-the-jail dirt. He goes down, a lot of people go down with him.”

“Then why hasn’t anyone taken him out?”

“Because he makes a lot of people a lot of money. And Whitlan’s smart. Very smart.” Charming leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “And I’ll give you this, because I’m such a great guy, and because I’ll never hear from you again after today ... Whitlan has an office on Staten Island.”

“An office? What does he need an office for?”

“Outwardly, he’s gone legit. Has rich friends, lives a rich life. But he hasn’t changed. You want to find him, start there.” Charming tapped the table. “But be careful. The man likes to kill.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, people I’ve heard of, not me, of course, or those I know personally, but others ... they kill because they have to. Because someone’s stealing their money, damaging their merchandise”—Charming eyed him—“or is just a rat. But Whitlan kills because he likes to. Heard a story a few years back that he used to round up his friends, hire a couple of hookers for the night, go to some desolate part of Jersey or upstate, and then send the hookers out.”

“Out to do what?”

“To run. He and his friends would hunt them down. First it was just about fucking them, then he started killing them. Had to stop, though, when the ones running the girls got a little fed up at losing perfectly good merchandise every week.”

The door opened and Charming’s man walked into the room. “They’re here.”

“You better go,” Charming told Crush. “And good luck, kid.”

“Did you know?” Cella demanded of Jai, one skate tapping against the floor of Jai’s Sports Center office.

“Did I know what?”

“That my Meghan was going to goddamn Hofstra?”

Jai leaned back in her ten grand, ergonomically perfected chair, arms crossing over her insubstantial chest. “What’s wrong with Hofstra? My daughter’s going there.”

“We’re not talking about her or you. We’re talking about me.”

“I thought we were talking about Meghan.”

“Yeah. Her, too.”

“No. I didn’t know she was planning to attend Hofstra in the fall.”

“But you’re not surprised, either, are you?”

“No. The girls want to stay together. Why not let them?”

“But if she stays, she’ll be trapped here. Forever.”

“Okay.” Jai sat forward, placing her arms on the desk. “Let’s analyze that statement, shall we?”

“Let’s not.”

“You can only be trapped somewhere if you’re not allowed to leave. But if you want to stay, then I don’t see how you can be trapped. And Meghan wants to stay. Also, you left, so how trapped can she be?”

“And you saw how hard it was for me to make that happen.”

“I know. Terribly hard.” Jai placed the tips of her fingers against her chin. “Let’s see if I can remember how it all went down. Ahhh, yes. You walked into your parents’ kitchen, said, ‘I joined the Marines. Did anyone feed the baby?’ And walked out. Other than your mother’s quiet sobbing, I don’t remember much about you being caged for such a decision.”

“Some days, you know ... I just really fucking hate you.”

“Do yourself a favor, Cella. Let your daughter make her own decisions, so you don’t lose her to your aunts. Because, let’s face it, that’s what really has you worried.”

“It—” Cella began, but a knock at the office door cut her off.

“Come in.”

When Cella saw Blayne walk in, she rolled her eyes and walked out. She was in no mood for a fight over Hannah.

“You can’t avoid me forever, heifer!” Blayne yelled from the safety of Jai’s office.

Cella spun around and yelled back, “Get in my way, Thorpe, and I’ll claw your entire face off!”

Feeling her point had been made, Cella faced forward but stopped short when she found Reed standing there.

“Are you done tormenting the wolfdog?” he asked.

“At the moment.”

“Then can we get started? Everybody’s waiting for you.”

“Everybody?”

“They’ve multiplied since the last time.”

“No pressure though.”

“You can stop acting like a victim, feline. I just watched you happily threaten the sweetest being on the planet.”

“It wasn’t happily.” When he only stared at her, she insisted, “It wasn’t! Just necessary.”

“You going to be all right?” MacDermot asked as she finished the last of her fries. They sat in the booth at the back of the diner near the Sports Center, her Yankees cap pulled low to hide her swollen face. Of course, it didn’t hide much of anything and everyone kept looking at him like he was the one who’d actually hit her. Although their reaction told him a lot about full-human society.

“I’m fine.”

“You seem fine, which I find a little weird.” She finished her soda. “Gentry still wants to put a security detail on your house.”

“Why?”

“I think she cares if you die.”

“Why?”

“And we’re done.” She slipped out of the booth, reaching back to grab her jacket.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing. You’re just kind of weirding me out. I don’t know how you just accept all this.”

“What am I supposed to do? Cry?”

“Don’t irritate me, Crushek. I’ve had enough of males whose reactions I don’t understand.”

Crush smirked. “When you got home, did Llewellyn roar a lot in disapproval over your dangerous life as NYPD that led to your face looking like that or did he just lick your bruises?”

“Both. But what really freaked me out was ...”

“You really liked the licking?”

She shrugged. “It was comforting.”

“Don’t worry. We all like the licking.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She pulled the hood of her parka over her head since it was another day of close to zero temps outside. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

After MacDermot left, Crush sat at the table a little while longer. He knew he should feel something about all this, but he just ... didn’t. What did that say about him as a person?

Deciding to pay the tab and go before he thought too long about that particular question, Crush pulled out his wallet and took out a couple of bills. He was just throwing them on the table when he realized that the other side of the booth was no longer empty.

He looked up, blinked, then looked around, convinced someone was playing a joke on him.

“Um ...” He shook his head, confused about what he should say to the man sitting across from him. “Do ... do you need something, Mr. Novikov?”

“Peace. And. Quiet.” Bo Novikov looked up from the menu he was studying. “If I have to listen to one more rookie whine about me shoving the Zamboni at him when he wouldn’t get out of my way, I’m going to go off. And you can call me Bo or just Novikov. Calling me Mr. Novikov makes me feel like your dad.”

“But then wouldn’t you be Mr. Crushek? Or I’d be Mr. Novikov?”

The pair stared at each other until Novikov said, “That was a really bear moment.”

“Yeah. It really was. Sorry.” Unable not to ask the question, though ... “So you shoved a Zamboni at your teammate?” Crush had no idea how much those things weighed, but they were motor vehicles designed to keep the ice on a rink smooth. And since there were few motorized work vehicles that were light, he’d guess there was much poundage involved.

“He annoyed me.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal, but then your girlfriend told Blayne.”

“My ... my what?”

“Malone. Your girlfriend, right?”

“She’s not—”

“She always goes for the jugular, that female. She’s lucky she’s a good player.”

“Or you’d throw a Zamboni at her?”

“Nah. Wouldn’t be right. She’s a woman. I was raised better than that.” There was silence for several moments while Novikov finished looking over the menu and placed it on the table. “I did, however, toss her out a five-story window once into a Dumpster, but she’s feline. She cleared the Dumpster and totally landed on her feet. So you wanna stay and have lunch with me or what?”