Bear Meets Girl

CHAPTER THREE

After four solid days of waiting and not wanting to spend another day—or even worse, an entire weekend—anticipating the anvil about to drop on his head, Crush went to his boss’s office and stood silently in the man’s doorway. Miller had his back to him, going through his files, when he suddenly tensed, his entire body going rigid. His reaction didn’t shock Crush, though; the man had the same reaction every time the polar was around.

Slowly, Miller lifted his head and looked over his shoulder, then swallowed. “Crushek.”

“Cap.”

“Uh, yeah ...” He went to his desk, but didn’t sit down. He never sat down around Crush. Instead, he always looked like he was about to make a run for it. Good luck with that. Crush was an incredibly fast runner. Great swimmer, too.

“You’ve been transferred.”

“So I heard.”

“Sorry about the delay. I was just waiting for the final paperwork to come in.” And he’d been working up the guts, too. Wuss.

Already knowing the answer, Crush still asked, “And Conway?”

“Stays here.”

The captain picked up a folder from his desk and handed it over to Crush. His hand shook.

Crush didn’t take the folder, simply looked at it and back at his captain.

“The ... the transfer is effective immediately”—and the man looked relieved by that—“so feel free to, um ... go.”

“I think we should discuss—”

“This isn’t up for discussion, Crushek. It’s from the top. You gotta beef, take it up with them. Just leave your case notes and Conway will take care of the rest.”

The captain sounded tough until Crush growled a little. He couldn’t help it. He was annoyed. Really, truly annoyed.

The captain looked moments from shitting himself right then, but Crush took the folder before he had to see that.

Yet, before walking out, Crush still chuffed. A big one, the power of it sending his ex-boss stumbling back a bit. It was a shit move, but still kind of satisfying.

Cella was doing pull-ups in the gym when her phone went off. She dropped to the ground and pulled it out of the pocket of the hoodie she had lying on the floor. “Yeah?” she said around the panting.

“It’s Smith.”

“Yeah?”

“You busy?”

“Working out. Home game tomorrow night.”

“So is that a yes or a no to my question?”

“What do you want, Smith?”

Dee-Ann Smith was the She-wolf Cella had trained with when she’d joined the shifter-only Marine Unit. And, at the time, she’d hated her. But years later, after they’d been forced to work together—Smith was part of the nationally based Group, an organization that protected all species and breeds—the wolf had managed to grow on her. Still, some days, Smith still got on Cella’s last Irish nerve.

“Meet me in Brooklyn.”

When the wolf didn’t give an address before disconnecting the call, Cella knew that Smith wanted to meet at the NYPD precinct in Brooklyn for the shifter division. Of course, the difficult She-wolf could have just said that.

Cella pulled on her hoodie, zipped it up, and grabbed a towel. She was heading for the stairs to the lower level of the gym, wiping sweat off her face, when a big male stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

Cella looked at the wolf in front of her, waiting for him to say something.

“Darlin’.”

“Hillbilly.”

He grinned. “Cella Malone, are you flirtin’ with me?”

“What d’ya want, Reed?” Reece Lee Reed of the New York Smith Pack had made the hard-won leap from the minors to the majors back when they’d signed Bo Novikov. And the pair had been at each other ever since. Reed, the more personable of the two, had the loyalty of the team. Novikov, the more ruthless, had no problem beating the living shit out of Reed anytime the kid annoyed him. And Reed annoyed Novikov constantly. The grey wolf knew it, too. That was the thing about the Smith Pack wolves. They seemed to enjoy fucking with people as much as the felines did.

“You need to handle him,” he replied.

“Handle him? Novikov?”

“Yeah.”

She glanced around. “Why me?”

“What do you mean why you? You’re the only one on the team who can hold a conversation with the man.”

God, that country accent. So irritating. Not so bad on Dee-Ann Smith, also of the Smith Pack, because she wasn’t wasn’t much of a talker, so Cella didn’t have to hear that annoying accent more than was necessary. Reed, however ... chatty.

“Look—”

“I’m asking you, darlin’, to help us out.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. Us. The rookies.”

“You’ve been on the team a little long to be called a rookie. In fact, you’ve been on longer than I have.”

“Exactly. And yet you’re considered one of the gang by Lordship Pain in the Ass, and the rest of us are considered worthless scum.”

“That’s not true. I’m sure that, um ... did you know you’re bleeding from the head?”

“I can feel it drippin’. Do you know why I’m bleeding from the head?”

“Because you were hit there?”

“With a row of bleachers from the training rink.”

“A row of ... you mean actual bleachers?”

“Yeah. Actual bleachers. That homicidal maniac”—and that could only be Novikov—“pried actual bleachers from their steel moorings and threw them at us.”

“Did he perhaps give you a reason why he thought that was okay?”

“I was minding my own business, gettin’ ready for tomorrow night’s game.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But Hammond, that new kid, decided to rally the boys and go to Novikov to ask for some tips so they could perform at their best and not let him down.”

Cella cringed, easily imagining exactly what happened because she knew all the idiot males involved so well. “Uh-huh.”

“So Novikov starts yellin’ at ’em, but Hammond wouldn’t back down. Kept pushin’, kept nippin’, as them little foxes are wont to do, which is why they’re not allowed on Smith territory.”

“And?” she pushed.

“I tried to get Hammond to let it go. Move on. He wouldn’t. Next thing I know, I hear metal being ripped away from concrete and by the time I look up, bleachers are flying at my head!”

“Okay, okay. Calm down. Take a breath.” Cella patted his shoulder. “I’ll talk to Novikov.”

“Do something, Cella, because I’m this close to callin’ in all the Reeds to come here and start kicking some mutt ass.”

“Now, now. Let’s not get nasty. That’s my job.” She reached up and touched Reed’s forehead, the wolf shying away from her. “Go see Jai about that. She should be in her office.”

“It’ll heal.”

“If that gets infected, you’ll get the fever, and she’ll pull you from tomorrow’s game and then Novikov has more ammo against you. Don’t give it to him.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” He smirked, his anger slipping away, the cute, flirty wolf quickly returning. “Think Dr. D. will let me cuddle if I ask her nice?”

“No.”

“What about you? Wanna cuddle? Help me heeeeal?”

Rolling her eyes, Cella turned and headed to the stairs.

“That ain’t real friendly, Malone,” Reed called after her.

Division director, unit commander, and black bear sow Lynsey Gentry looked up from the files on her desk and smiled at the polar bear taking up a lot of her doorway. Although, thankfully, this building had been created with shifters in mind, so the doorways were taller and wider and the chairs sturdier.

She motioned to one of those sturdy chairs in front of her desk. “Sit.”

With a heavy sigh, the polar walked into her office.

“Well, I’d like to say welcome,” she began once he’d dropped down across from her, but when Crushek only scowled—more—and kind of grunted, she knew the man wouldn’t be making this easy on her. He was one of the few shifters on the force who’d never asked for a transfer into her “Division with No Name” as Dez MacDermot liked to call it. The man loved what he did, but things had changed and he would have to roll with it. Especially now.

“Let’s lay this on the table,” Lynsey said, deciding to cut straight through the bullshit. “You didn’t ask to be here. I know that. I know you like working undercover. I get it. But you’re needed here. There’s no getting around that. So, and I say this with kindness, suck it up and get over it already.”

The scowl worsened, only now it was tinged with confusion. “How is that with kindness?”

“When you get to know me, you’ll realize that it really is.” She briefly tossed up her hands. “I demanded your transfer, because you’re needed here.”

“Needed for what? I don’t kill on order.”

“Neither do we.” When he scoffed, she added, “I don’t speak for The Group or KZS. They have their own agendas.”

“Then why do you work with them?”

“Because they get shit done while we keep order.”

“Keep order? Don’t you mean we cover their tracks?”

“If necessary.”

“I’m not a trashman, Captain. I don’t clean up after killers.”

“It’s Chief Gentry.” Lynsey leaned back. “And are you comfortable up there on your high horse, Crushek?”

“I just mean—”

“You sit there in your safe little world—”

“With drug dealers and gun-running biker gangs?”

“—and you’re completely unaware of what’s going on with your own.”

Crushek nodded. “Right. We’re being hunted. But we’re always being hunted.”

“That shit’s only part of it, and that’s really what The Group and KZS are for. They handle the big-game hunters and the lowlife dogfighters. Sometimes we step in and clean up to protect ourselves, and other times—”

“And other times what?’

“And other times we’ve got our own troubles among our own kind.”

“You want me to arrest—”

“When they’re doing something illegal, yes, I want you to arrest our own kind. Let’s face it. Our kind can get away with a lot of shit because they’re big, mean, and will eat the witnesses. Or, at the very least, get the hyenas to eat the witnesses.” She picked up a stack of folders she hadn’t managed to go through yet. “We’ve got meth dealers, bookies, hitters, leg breakers.” She dropped the folders. “And do you think we can really send in a bunch of full-humans to take down a hyena-run meth ring? Or bear-run bookmakers?”

“We’ve never got in their way before.”

“Of course we have, but in this day and age, it’s harder to protect all our kind unless we can get there first. Unless we deal with it first.”

The polar, agitated, folded his arms over his chest. “So you didn’t hire me to ...”

“To what?”

Crush shook his head. “Nothing. What do you need me for exactly?”

“I brought you here because of your stellar record. You’re good, Crushek. And I was tired of waiting for you to get off your ass and see it was time for you to move to the next level. Okay?”

“Yeah.” The polar’s big arms loosened and he gazed directly at her. “So ... who am I going to be partnered with now?”

“Well ... you get along with MacDermot, don’t you?”

Cella met Smith at the front door of the Brooklyn precinct. As always, being cat and dog, they sized each other up.

“My, my, someone looks casual,” Smith remarked, looking over Cella’s seen-better-days sweats.

“And I thought Levi stopped making that particular style of jeans in 1976,” she shot back.

Grinning, they walked into the precinct and Chuck, the guard manning the front desk, glared at both of them. “No fighting on the elevator,” he warned them.

“Who? Us?” Cella asked before the doors closed.

And once the doors closed ... ?

Cella swung first, connecting with Smith’s shoulder. The She-wolf growled and swung back. The pair quickly put each other in headlocks and stayed that way until the elevator stopped at the eighth floor. The doors slid open and Dez MacDermot was there with a cardboard box in her hands.

She gave an annoyed sigh. “Both of you cut it out!”

She stepped into the elevator, forcing her way between the pair. “Honestly. Can’t take you bitches anywhere.”

“The dog started it,” Cella quickly stated.

MacDermot stared at her. “Really? Chuck?” she called out.

“It was the feline,” the guard said over the elevator’s speaker.

Smith laughed and Cella rolled her eyes. “Everybody’s a goddamn rat... .”

The elevator doors opened again and the trio stepped out on the ninth floor. On each floor of this building the cops handled different crimes or research, mostly specific to shifters. But the ninth floor housed the elite team members and detectives. MacDermot had proved she belonged on this floor a long time ago.

“What’s all that?” Smith asked MacDermot, gesturing to what she held in her hands.

“Just some research. I’m not finished yet, but Gentry wanted me in her office. Figured I could drop these off at my desk.” MacDermot gave Cella a once-over. “You look very ... casual.”

“I’ve got a game tomorrow.”

“Okay, if you feel that’s really a good enough excuse.”

“Both of you are such bitches.”

MacDermot walked to her desk, dropping the papers and folders off there, before smiling and winking at the male now sitting at the desk across from hers.

Cella barely glanced at the man, noticing the surprise on his face when she passed, but he looked away so quickly that she didn’t think much about it. Until she stepped into Gentry’s office and stopped.

“What?” Smith asked her when Cella went stiff.

Lifting her head, Cella sniffed the air. “Hey ... hey! Isn’t that ... ?”

“Leave it alone, Malone,” MacDermot warned her.

“Come on, Desiree.” Smith shook her head. “You must know her by now.”

Jesus Christ, what was she doing here? Of course, if she’d been at MacDermot’s party, they must be friends, but there was no way that woman was a cop. In fact, Crush had just assumed she was some rich feline that MacDermot had met through her husband. The Llewellyn Pride were very wealthy lions and knew lots of other wealthy cats. But no self-respecting rich New York feline would be caught dead in those sweat clothes with those rips, holes, and bleach stains; or those battered sneakers, no makeup, and her hair in a sloppy ponytail at the top of her head. Yeah, okay, she’d come from the gym, but she didn’t have time for a quick shower either? Instead, she was offending everyone with her overwhelming scent. The scent that part of him wanted to roll around in until he was completely saturated with it.

Dammit! That was not what he meant!

See? This was the problem. The woman was completely throwing him off. Damn her.

And who the hell was she exactly and why was she here in what Crush now considered “his” house?

Calm down, he told himself. She hadn’t even recognized him. Mother of the Year had barely glanced at him, so it was nothing. Apparently, she woke up with a lot of naked men she didn’t know, so how could she remember just one? So he wouldn’t even think about it. Nope. He wouldn’t think about it ... or her. It was not a big deal that feline was here. He wasn’t sure why he was freaking out at all.

Calmer, Crush sat back and, wondering if they had a soda machine somewhere on this floor, heard feet running just before the feline leaped into his lap with her ratty sweats and delicious scent.

“Hi!” she chirped loudly, her arms loose around Crush’s neck, her tight butt wiggling on his cock. “So how’s my boyfriend? My cute, adorable boyfriend.”

Boyfriend? Crush stared at the woman. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember Sunday morning? You. Me.” Her voice dropped lower. “Alone?”

“Yes. I remember. I’m also trying to forget.”

“You are so cute. Just as cute as ... something.” She paused a moment, glancing off. “Hhmmh. What is worthy of your level of cuteness?”

“I am not cute.”

“You are cute.” She pinched his cheek. “Just adorable with that vicious scowl. Bet you scare all the bad guys.”

“Now you’re being condescending.”

“Can’t help it. It’s in my DNA. Like my stripes.”

A She-wolf with cold yellow eyes stepped up to the desk. “Ain’t ya gonna introduce us?” she asked the feline, and what backwoods did they dig this chick up from?

The feline wrapped her arms around his chest and snuggled close, making him want to toss her off and pull her closer. Should he be having two emotions at once? That didn’t seem normal or a good idea. At all.

“Can’t introduce ya,” the feline admitted.

“Why not?”

“Don’t know his name.”

“Snuggling up to a man y’all don’t know. My momma was right. Yankees are whores.”

“Well, I know him,” MacDermot volunteered.

The She-wolf stared at her. “So?”

“You said y’all.”

“I didn’t say ‘all y’all.’ So I wasn’t talking to you.”

“I don’t understand your country-speak,” MacDermot complained, dropping into the desk chair across from Crush.

“Can you get off me now?” Crush asked the feline, trying not to flip out completely. Not easy with his cock beginning to twitch. How dare it twitch! He controlled every organ on his body, but especially that one!

“But I’m comfortable.” The feline stuck her nose against his neck and he felt that touch all the way to his toes. “You smell nice,” she murmured.

The She-wolf snorted and MacDermot cringed.

“So”—the feline leaned back and gazed up into his face—“when are we going out?”

Now? “Never. Never’s a good time to go out.”

She rolled her eyes, annoyed. “Well, I can’t marry you until we go out. Duh.”

Duh? Did she just say “duh” during the course of an adult conversation?

“We are not going—”

“Because we both know you adore me.”

“I don’t adore anyone. And I blame you for this, MacDermot.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“You married that goddamn cat who gave me those goddamn Jello-O shots.”

“You didn’t have to take them.”

“But they were tasty,” the feline confirmed. “Especially the black cherry one.”

“Well, well,” the She-wolf said. “I can’t believe me and Ric missed those fancy Jell-O shots.”

“You don’t come to my party,” MacDermot snapped, “and then you make fun of it?”

“Yep.”

“Would someone,” Crush barked, when the feline began to rub her nose against his neck, “remove this feline?”

“Just toss her off,” MacDermot suggested.

Appalled, he said, “I can’t just throw off a woman.”

“Awww,” all three females sighed, which made Crush snarl.

“Isn’t he cute when he snarls and scowls like that?” the She-tiger asked the others. “I think he is just so adorable!”

“Not really,” the She-wolf answered. “Looks kinda mean . . . and angry.”

“No,” the feline argued. “That’s grizzlies. Grizzlies are mean and angry. He’s a polar. They mostly look placid ... and adorable!” She nodded. “We’re dating!”

“We are not dating.”

“He’s just shy.”

“I am not shy.”

MacDermot shook her head. “He ain’t shy.”

“You three get back in here!” Gentry yelled from her office. “And leave the new polar alone!”

“But I’m comfortable,” the feline whined.

Thankfully the She-wolf took pity on him and grabbed the feline by the hair, yanking her off Crush’s lap. The feline roared and swung her fist, hitting the She-wolf in the chest. The She-wolf hit her back and Crush could tell by the sounds of contact that these two females were not, in any way, holding back with each other. And something about the mini-brawl looked familiar to him, but he didn’t know why and was too annoyed to even bother thinking about it.

The pair fought their way back to Gentry’s office and MacDermot stopped by his side. “Don’t mind Cella. That was the one on your lap. Dee-Ann was the one with the accent.”

“MacDermot, I don’t care.”

“Whatever. I’m out tomorrow, so we’ll start working together on Monday.” She started to walk off but stopped. “And are you really going to keep going with that biker look?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not working vice anymore, Crushek. You have to look a little less ... terrifying. You don’t have to wear a suit or anything but ...” She picked up a handful of his hair, running it through her fingers. “At least get this mess cut.”

When Crush growled, she held her hands up, palms out. “Not a buzz cut or anything. Just look a little less threatening.”

“I don’t want to cut my hair.”

“We’re not in a rock band, chico,” she snapped. “Cut your hair.”

Yeah, he’d completely forgotten what a ball-busting female MacDermot could be when you had to work with her.

She walked off and Crush stared at his desk. He was so miserable at the moment, his cock easily settled back down. “A haircut,” he muttered, making the detective sitting at the desk near him chuckle.

Crush locked his eyes on the leopard. “What’s so fucking funny?” he demanded.

The leopard pointed behind him. “That.”

Looking over his shoulder at Gentry’s office, he saw the feline standing by the big glass window—staring at him. She breathed on the glass and drew a heart in the condensation, then placed a kiss inside the heart. She winked at him, scrunched up her nose, and mouthed “later” before turning away.

Gritting his teeth, Crush faced forward again.

“Dude—” the leopard began.

“I won’t discuss it!”

Cella sat down on the other side of Gentry’s desk and laughed so hard she had to rest her head against it.

“Don’t pick on Crushek,” Gentry told her.

Lifting her head and wiping the tears, Cella explained, “I’m not picking on him. I’m trying to get him to loosen up. He’s so damn uptight.”

“He’s also—should it work out—MacDermot’s new partner, so give him respect.”

“Yet another partner, eh, MacDermot?” Cella teased.

“Don’t blame me. It’s you two. You guys get involved and my partners can’t run from me fast enough.” MacDermot pointed at Cella. “And you’re doing it again!”

“It was your Jell-O shots, lady!”

“No one told you or Crushek to suck down a vat of them! And who gets naked and crawls into bed with some guy she doesn’t even know?”

Smith raised her hand, only lowering it when they all gawked at her. “Well, I don’t do it anymore.”

“Wow, talk about a coyote ugly morning for some poor guy,” Cella laughed, but no one else joined in, so she stopped.

“Mighta been funny,” Smith muttered, “if I’d been an actual coyote.”

“Like there’s a difference.”

“Can we discuss why you’re all here?” Gentry snapped.

“Why are we all here?” Cella asked, pulling out a pack of gum from her sweatshirt pocket.

Smith took a piece of paper from her back pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Cella.

Cella looked at the one-page ad, MacDermot leaning over to see as well.

Finally, Cella had to know, “Wouldn’t cremation be a better idea? I mean would your mate want you stuffed and just standing around his house when you die?”

“It’s not for me,” the She-wolf snarled.

“The Group thinks,” Gentry cut in, “and I think I agree, that this taxidermist is stuffing our kind and turning us into trophies after we’ve been hunted down. Although the real problem is, of course, that he’s completely aware that he’s stuffing shifters.”

“Oh. Okay.” Cella took hold of MacDermot’s arm and turned it so she could see the giant Breitling man’s wristwatch the woman always wore. It was a real one, too. She could tell, because as a great-aunt once told Cella, “Gotta know the real ones if you’re going to sell the fake.”

She checked the hour and said, “I’ve got time tonight. I can take him out.”

“Or,” Gentry suggested, “rather than you killing anyone you just don’t like, you could let me finish.”

“See,” Cella shot back, “that’s a ridiculous thing to say because I don’t even know this guy or whether I like him or not. I was just going to kill him.”

When the women all stared at her, Cella pointed an accusing finger at Smith. “I was just going to kill him because of her. It’s the dog’s fault!”

Gentry leaned back in her chair, fingers to her temples.

“Am I causing one of your headaches again?” Cella asked.

“Yes.”

“Why are we having this meeting?” MacDermot asked. “As much as I love to see you guys, I have to kind of agree with Cella here. Other than just taking this guy out, I don’t know what we need to discuss. And I’m off tomorrow, so that better not be changing,” she also felt the need to add.

“When I found out about this place,” Smith said, “I was just going to go on in there, cut the guy’s throat, and leave—”

“What is wrong with you three?” Gentry sighed.

“—but I noticed something when I was hanging around in the woods across the street. There was already a team watching the place.”

“What team?”

The She-wolf smirked. “BPC.”

BPC, or the Bear Preservation Council, was a Brooklyn-based organization that raised money for the care, research, and protection of full-blood bears worldwide. They were also the cover for the agency that protected shifter bears in the tri-state area. And unlike KZS, the Group, and the NYPD’s shifter division, BPC refused to work with the rest of them on anything. They made it very clear that what happened to other species was not their problem and the bears that had jobs with NYPD and the Group were simply foolish.

Gentry’s hands dropped to her desk. “BPC was watching the place? Are you sure?”

“Recognized one of the team.”

“Recognized him how?” Cella had to know.

“Broke his spine during a fight once.”

And that was why Cella “had to know,” because she knew she’d be entertained!

“Y’all can stop staring at me like that. He’s clearly walkin’ ... now.”

“You gotta wonder why BPC wouldn’t just move on a place like that, too,” MacDermot said, her gaze out the window. “From what I hear, they handle shit the way Cella and Dee do.”

“They do,” Gentry confirmed. “Which makes me very curious about what they’re doing.”

MacDermot looked at her boss. “You want me to put surveillance on it?”

“I do.”

“Okay, but if BPC is already on it, why do we need to get involved?”

“BPC is run by Peg Baissier. And has been for the last twenty years. It’s believed that she’s become a bit of a problem. There are some of us in the bear community that have been looking for a way to ...”

“Force her into retirement?”

“Something like that.”

“Just because you don’t like her?”

“No. Because she’s dangerous to her own.”

“How do you figure that?” Smith asked.

Gentry moved around in her chair, her hands tugging the jacket of her suit down.

MacDermot glanced at Cella and Smith before saying, “Chief?”

The sow cleared her throat. “Besides his stellar record, there’s another reason I had Crushek—the polar bear”—she clarified for Cella and Smith—“pulled into this division as quickly as I could manage without setting off major alarms and a massive investigation by the full-humans of NYPD.”

“What reason?”

“There’s a rumor his cover was blown.”

“By Baissier?”

“Most likely.”

“Did you tell his C.O.? Chief of D’s?” MacDermot asked.

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is shifter business and the last thing we need is the NYPD looking into the BPC.” She sighed. “And ...”

“And?” MacDermot pushed. “And what?”

“And ...” Gentry looked at them all before finally admitting, “Peg Baissier was Crushek’s foster mother.”

Sick of hearing Conway laugh at him about having to get his hair cut, Crush slammed his phone down.

He hated change. Change was bad. Change sucked. Change ...

Crush looked around the room, realizing that everyone was staring in his direction, but they weren’t really looking at him.

Slowly, he swiveled his office chair around and looked at Gentry’s office. MacDermot, the She-wolf, and that damn feline were all standing on the other side of that big window. . . watching him. Even worse—they all looked sad. Devastated. What the fuck was going on?

“That’s it.” Crush stood, officially unable to take any more of this. “I’m out of here.”