Bear Meets Girl

CHAPTER FOUR

With MacDermot out on Friday, Lynsey had Lou Crushek spend most of the day going through files and acquainting himself with some of the current open cases. When he said he was leaving early because he had something to do in Manhattan, Lynsey called him in. She knew she couldn’t keep hiding the truth about Baissier and what the sow had done or, at the very least, was rumored to have done.

But the polar’s reaction to the news ... not exactly what Lynsey had been expecting.

Crush stared at her, nodded, and replied, “Uh-huh.”

Lynsey blinked and looked around her office, concerned she hadn’t actually said the words out loud. She finally settled her gaze back on him and asked, “I did just tell you that—”

“My cover was blown? Yeah. You just told me.”

“And that it was—”

“My former foster mother? Yeah. Yeah. You told me.”

“Uhhhhh, okay. I ... I guess I just expected more of a panicked, ‘Oh, my God! The guys I was trying to put away are going to come kill me’ kind of thing.”

“Well, they can try.”

“Okay. Uh ... perhaps some devastation at the betrayal of the woman who raised you?”

“Have you met Peg Baissier?” he asked flatly. “I wouldn’t exactly call what she did ‘raising me’ in the traditional sense. Her leaving me alone this long is really surprising. Which kind of makes me wonder why blow my cover now? What’s the benefit? Because she always has a benefit. But other than thinking that, I’m not really shocked.”

“All right then.”

“If it helps, I’m kind of pissed she ruined my career.”

“Well, she didn’t ruin your career. I mean, you’re out of undercover, but you’re still a cop. And now that you’re with my division, you’ll be making more money and have great people to work with. So, ya know, all good. Right?”

“Sure. Why not?” He glanced around, shrugged, and asked, “Anything else?”

“Not really.”

“Okay. Well, like I said this morning, I’m leaving early.”

“Okay. Have a good weekend.”

“Yeah. Thanks. You, too.”

She watched him walk out. Jesus, what had Peg Baissier done to the boy Lou Crushek once was? Hearing the news, it was like he’d just shut down, and honestly, she had to wonder ... if what she had just told him didn’t get a reaction out of him, what exactly would?

Crush scrambled out of the barber’s chair, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

Conway, who’d dragged him to this shifter-friendly barbershop, laughed. “I can’t believe what a baby you’re being. Just get the damn haircut.”

At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Late lunch with his old partner and then he could head over to the Sports Center for tonight’s game. But Crush had had no idea that Conway would get such a bug up his ass about Crush getting a goddamn haircut. A haircut he didn’t even want!

“No way. MacDermot will just have to deal with my long hair.” He tugged at the strands. “This is polar hair. It’s not like everyone else’s. It just can’t be randomly butchered.” And, to be honest, Crush kind of knew he would never look good with a buzz cut, which was apparently all this particular barber could handle. In fact, Crush was pretty certain that with a buzz cut, he’d go from looking like a lowlife biker to looking just like a serial killer. Especially with what a full-human date once called his “soulless black eyes.” He didn’t think they were soulless, but his eyes were black. Like most polar bears’ eyes.

The sun bear barber let out a sigh. “Get your ass in the seat.”

“No way. You’re not just cutting it off.”

“All done!” a cheerful voice chirped. And from a back room, a pretty black woman walked out. She was definitely canine, but Crush couldn’t tell if she was wolf, wild dog, coyote, or some other canine, which made him think she was a mutt. “Hybrid” being the less offensive term. “I cleaned out your pipes and they should be flowing just perfect now.”

Crush and Conway looked at each other, trying not to laugh. To them, “cleaning out your pipes” usually meant a blow job, but since she was dressed in grimy khaki pants and a Philadelphia Eagles football jersey while carrying a tool bag in her hand and had a tool belt around her waist, Crush would guess she was actually a plumber.

“You’re a lifesaver, Blayne,” the barber said. “And I appreciate you coming over here so fast.”

“No problem, Mr. P. Anyway, I gotta go. I got practice in a couple of hours. Gotta meet Gwenie.”

“How much do I owe ya, sweetie?”

“We’ll bill you. But don’t forget you get the neighbor discount.” She suddenly focused on Crush and Conway, grinned, waved, and said with an alarming amount of cheer, “Hi!”

Crush jumped a little. Wow. She sure was perky. “Hi.”

“What’s going on? Everyone looks very tense. Like this.” She made a frown that had Conway chuckling.

“This wuss”—the sun bear motioned to Crush—“won’t let me cut off his hair.”

“Because it’s cool!” She walked over and took a closer look. “Wow. So very cool!” Then she sniffed him. “Are you a polar?”

“Uh—”

“How cool!”

“You need the cut, dude,” Conway reminded him. “There’s no getting around it. He needs it for work,” Conway explained to the hybrid. Although why he felt that was necessary ...

“Well, there’s a cut,” the canine explained to them, “and then there’s butchering.” She shrugged at the sun bear. “Sorry, Mr. Peterson, but you’re kind of a butcher. You should come with me,” she told Crush.

“Why?”

“I know someone who can cut your hair but give you, like, a great cut. That way you’ll look more handsome bear and less ...”

She dropped her tool kit on the floor, dragged a chair over, and stood on the seat. Then she put her hands into his hair and pushed the strands off his face. Why did women keep touching him? Was he releasing pheromones or something?

“Oh, God. Yeah,” she said. “You lose all this hair it’s totally serial killer time.” She frowned, leaned back a little. “You’re not, though, right? A serial killer?”

What an odd question ... “No. I’m not.”

Her grin was blindingly bright. “Cool! Then come with me. I’m heading back to the office anyway. We’ll totally get you fixed up.”

“Well—”

But she was dragging him out of the barbershop and down the street, Conway laughing and following them.

Cella cut through the training rink to get to the team’s locker room. She’d spent most of the afternoon with her KZS bosses. She was afraid they wouldn’t want anything to do with BPC, considering KZS’s history with that organization, but it seemed that like Gentry and the Group chief, Niles Van Holtz, out of Washington state, they wanted Baissier out. Now. So Cella would be again working with MacDermot and Smith. Although what anyone really expected to find at a damn taxidermist’s storefront, Cella didn’t know. But she was well aware that she was the muscle to their little team. She left the obsessing over every little detail to the canine and the canine-lover.

Of course, none of that mattered right now. She had a game tonight and just enough time to get in a warm-up. She had to be ready. Her father would be meeting up with his old buddies and watching the game from the owner’s box. She had to make sure that, at the very least, she didn’t embarrass herself in front of him.

Cella reached for the rink entrance door, but she heard the sounds coming through it. Knew what those sounds meant. Growling, she snatched the door open and rushed through.

“Unbelievable.” She dropped her bag and charged across the rink and right into the middle of the brawl, pushing the males back and away from Novikov. Because, as always, he was at the center of the fight. But what surprised Cella was that the one fighting him was Ulrich Van Holtz, the wolf the entire league referred to as “The Gentleman.” He was also the Carnivore team’s captain, goalie, and goddamn owner.

“I control this team!” Van Holtz shouted at Novikov. “Not you! Not ever!”

Blue eyes shifting to gold, the longest fangs she’d ever seen exploding from his gums, the hybrid roared, “Then you can take your goddamn team and—”

Cella punched Novikov, her fist slamming into his nose, shutting him up. Shocked and bleeding, he stumbled back, gawking down at her.

She pointed a finger at him. “Do not say anything you’re going to regret.” She spun, pointed that same finger at Van Holtz. “You either.” Cella looked around at the rest of her teammates. Well, at least the male ones. The females were sitting in the bleachers, eating popcorn. Useless. These people were useless!

“We have a game in less than two hours,” she reminded them. “Let’s get ready.”

The males skated out, leaving Cella with Van Holtz and Novikov. She motioned to the three females watching them from the bleachers. But they only motioned back. Realizing it would be a waste of time to try to force those bitches to do anything, she walked over to Van Holtz first. “I’ll meet you in your office in about ten. Okay?”

When Van Holtz just stood there, scowling at Novikov, Cella turned him and shoved. “Ten minutes.”

She went back to Novikov and grabbed his arm, yanking him across the ice toward one of the exits. Without saying a word, she led him to Jai’s office.

“Maybe I could just—”

“Trust me!” the hybrid promised, practically skipping down the street like a little kid, but holding on to Crush like a linebacker while Conway followed behind them. Still laughing.

She dragged him into an office building, past the front desk, around a pillar, and into a small office. A feline sat at the desk, frowning when she saw what her friend was dragging in.

“We need your help, Gwenie.”

“Another stray, Blayne?”

“No.”

“Really?” She sat back in her desk chair. “What’s his name?”

The canine chewed on her bottom lip, finally eking out, “Big handsome bear?”

Shaking her head, the friend began to turn away but the canine quickly explained, “He needs your help, Gwenie. He was at Mr. Peterson’s about to get a buzz cut!”

The feline turned back around, her frown worsening as she looked Crush over. “He’ll look like a mass murderer.”

“I was thinking more serial killer.” The canine looked up at him. “There’s actually a difference.”

“Yes, I know,” Crush responded. “Look, I can just go to one of those Quick Cut places—”

“Bite your tongue,” the one called Blayne gasped. “We don’t discuss those places here.”

The feline rolled her eyes. “I swear. The drama with you sometimes, Blayne.”

“Come on, Gwenie. Please? Help a bear-brother out.”

Finally laughing, a smile lighting up that pretty face, the feline stood. “All right, all right.” She pointed at herself. “Hi. Gwen O’Neill.”

“Oh! And I’m Blayne Thorpe. Sorry.”

Now it was Crush’s turn to frown. “Why do I know that name?” His frown deepened. “You’re not a criminal, are you?”

“Here or in Philadelphia?”

Confused and a little alarmed, Crush asked, “Does that matter?”

“Yes,” both females answered at the same time.

“Hey.” Conway, who’d been lounging against the doorway, enjoying every moment of Crush’s nightmare, stood straight, pointed at framed pictures on the office wall, and asked, “Do you guys know him?”

Crush stepped forward and leaned in to study the pictures, shock ripping through his system. “Holy ... do you know him?”

“Hockey fan?” the one named Gwen asked, grinning.

“Hockey stalker, more like it,” Conway joked.

“I don’t stalk. I just attend every home game. Religiously. Without question. Which is why I can’t worry about fancy cuts right now. Gotta get to the Sports Center. Game tonight.” The New York Carnivores, his home team, against the Alabama Slammers.

Still, Crush had to know ... “So do you guys really know Bo Novikov?”

The canine grinned. “A little.”

Hhhhm. Probably a hockey groupie. But her name still sounded familiar; Crush just couldn’t remember why.

“Where are you sitting?” Blayne asked.

“Nosebleed seats. But they’re my nosebleed seats.”

“You didn’t invite me to the game,” Conway complained.

“I didn’t think your mate let you out of the house after dark.”

The feline took a handful of Crush’s hair and examined it closely. “Weird.”

“Do you mind not calling my hair weird? It gives me a complex.”

“It’s like hair, but different.”

“I’m leaving.” Crush started to walk out, but the feline hybrid yanked him back.

“Calm down. It was just an observation.” She dismissed all that with a wave of her hand. “Come on.” She grabbed a case from beside her desk. “Let me get to work. This might take some time.”

“Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.”

“Maybe.” She smirked. “But just a little.”

Jai Davis smiled at the e-mail her daughter had sent her. She had no idea how on God’s green earth she and Cella Malone had managed to have the sweetest, most reliable daughters on the planet, but somehow they had. Maybe the old adage “it takes a village to raise a child” was true. Because the Malones were definitely a village. In the beginning, the big cats had scared Jai. There were so many of them, all with their black hair and gold eyes and Irish names. And then there were the campers and RVs. When Jai met Cella, Butch Malone was still playing hockey and when he traveled, the entire family went with him. They’d all pack up their RVs and off they’d go.

It seemed so strange to Jai, so far outside what she considered normal life for a mountain lion from a very small family. Except for the fact that they could shift into another species, the Davises were very average. Nothing exciting about them at all. But the Malones ... well, excitement seemed to follow them around.

And, if things had been different, Jai probably wouldn’t have been friends with Cella, the overwhelming She-tiger with the mean right hook. She was loud; Jai tried not to be. Cella was wild; Jai didn’t know how to be. But the day she’d met Cella at the doctor’s office, both of them eight months pregnant and miserable, Jai was completely alone except for her parents. Her “friends” had spent more time talking shit about her and her pregnancy than actually supporting her.

Desperate to be away from her disapproving mother’s glare, which she’d have to see if she were to return home after her ob/gyn appointment, Jai had accepted Cella’s offer to hit Friendly’s Restaurant for a plate of fries and a chocolate shake. Of course, the timing had been perfect as Jai’s ex-boyfriend, Frost, had walked in with what Jai thought was her best friend. Even worse? They’d come over to say “hi” like that was somehow completely normal. At first, Cella had just sat there, observing. Then, before the new and awfully affectionate full-human couple had walked away, Cella had asked, “Is this the guy who knocked you up?”

“And my best friend,” Jai had replied, so angry she wasn’t really thinking clearly. And not really expecting that particular information to set Cella Malone off. But man, did it set the girl off. Cella Malone had hauled her sizable bulk out of the seat and proceeded to yell in Laura’s face about loyalty and how she was a “whore bitch” for betraying her friend for some piece of cock. That’s around the time the shoving match started and Frost, always kind of stupid, had gotten between the two women. When Cella wouldn’t back down at his command, he’d pushed her. Just once. But it was enough for a Malone. Especially a pregnant Malone. Cella had laid out the all-star fullback with one punch.

“Come on, Jai,” Cella had said casually, picking up the giant Chanel purse that she’d been proud to get for practically nothing off the back of a truck. “We’ll go to my house and hang out.”

Although Frost had some involvement in Josie’s life now, he still hated Cella, wouldn’t speak to her or about her. But Jai would eternally adore Marcella Malone because up until then no one but her parents had ever fought for her like that.

Even better, Jai and Cella’s daughters were best friends, watching each other’s backs and supporting each other over the years. They’d turned out to be lovely, amazing young women who Jai had no doubt would do well in the world.

So, yeah, Jai was a single mom in a world where that was never easy, but she wasn’t alone. She had the Malones.

Jai e-mailed her daughter back and had just hit send when there was a knock at the door and Cella walked in with a bleeding Bo Novikov.

“What happened?” Jai asked, coming around her desk. Although she could guess. Another team fight.

“She broke my nose,” Novikov accused.

Jai stopped, surprised by that answer because Cella was always the one trying to stop the fights between her teammates. “You did?”

“He was fighting again.” Cella pushed the hybrid into a chair. “And he wouldn’t back off. What did you expect me to do?”

Jai grabbed the leather satchel where she kept emergency supplies. She could take Novikov downstairs to be treated by one of her technicians, but that would only cause more problems than it would solve since all the techs were afraid of Novikov. “You’ll have to cut her some slack, Bo. Cella only knows how to handle her brothers and uncles one way. And she hits them.”

“The Malone Bare Knuckle champ five years straight,” Cella bragged. It was an honest brag. There were several breeds and species of shifter Travellers who roamed the states and Cella had been named champ at their annual summer get-together five years in a row.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Novikov complained, snarling a little when Jai began to examine his nose with her fingers. “I was just trying to help.”

“And how did you do that?” Cella asked.

“I told Van Holtz who he needs to fire and provided a helpful list.”

“Oh, really? Let me see.” He pulled the list out of his sock and handed it to Cella. Without looking at it, Cella ripped the sheet of paper into pieces and threw it in Novikov’s face.

He stared at her before calmly saying, “I made several copies.”

Jai stood back with a laugh and asked, “Why?”

“Blayne,” he said, speaking of his fiancée.

“What about her?”

“She does the same thing to my lists, so I always make multiple copies.”

Wow, Jai mouthed at Cella before she went to get a towel to help control and clean up the bleeding.

“I tried to help,” Bo insisted, “and once again Van Holtz was being an asshole.”

“I personally think you’re both fighting for that title,” Cella shot back.

“He’s unreasonable.”

“And you’re a dick. You know you’re a dick. And you wear your dickness proudly.”

“I know. But we’re not going to make the play-offs this year if—”

“Play-offs are out. I know that.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“It’s not going to keep me up nights. I’m definitely not making lists because the play-offs are out.”

Jai frowned at Cella’s statement, glancing at her friend. She’d admit she didn’t actually follow sports beyond the health and welfare of her patients. The money was great and she didn’t have to worry about her less-than-acceptable bedside manner—apparently she could be cold and standoffish. But she’d thought the team was doing well this year.

“Too many new guys,” Cella explained at Jai’s unspoken question about the play-offs. “Not enough focus. We’ve been all over the place this season.”

“And I’m trying to help,” Bo insisted.

“By throwing bleachers at Reed?”

Jai quickly looked down at her bag as the hybrid growled, “I hate that guy.”

“Because you don’t think he can play or because he flirts with Blayne?”

Bo scratched the back of his neck. “Both. But,” he quickly added, “Reed needs to work harder.”

“I agree with that, but when he asks for help for him or the guys, you throw things at him!”

“I’m here to play and to win, not handhold. That’s Coach’s job, but he’s weak. So I went to Van Holtz with my suggestions, since he fucking owns the team, and he hit me.”

“All right. All right.” Cella pressed her hands to her eyes. “Let me deal with Reed and the rookies.”

“Why? So Reed can hit on you more than he already does?”

“Reed is a whore,” Cella admitted—and boy, was he—there was not a pussy that man didn’t seem to take an interest in. “We know that, we’ve all accepted it. Besides, I’m beautiful. Everyone hits on me. They can’t help themselves.” Cella smiled, then winked at Jai. “I’m captivating. How’s his nose?”

Jai carefully wiped up the blood. It was beginning to clot. “It’ll be fine. It’s not broken. Just bloody.”

“It’s not broken?” Cella looked at her knuckles. “I’m losing my touch.” Apparently deciding to worry about it later, Cella said, “Novikov, you worry about you. I’ll take care of everybody else.”

“Do you want my list?”

“If you give me any more lists, I will beat you to death with a baseball bat. Or a two-by-four. Whatever’s handy.”

Bo stared at Cella. “That seems unreasonable to me.” And Jai loved how he said that with almost a professorial air, like he was observing bacteria developing in a petri dish.

Cella clenched her fists, definitely trying to control her annoyance, and faced Jai. “Clean him up and have him ready for the game.”

“You got it.”

Cella walked to the office door. She had it open when Bo said, “Malone?”

She looked at him over her shoulder, but he just stared at her. Jai, having spent many hours cleaning up Bo Novikov and his victims, knew what he wanted to say and knew how much it would help at the moment. So Jai pushed his shoulder, urging him on. Finally, after a few seconds, he muttered, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cella said with a smile. “But will you still love me in the morning?” Then she walked out, closing the door behind her.

“I never know what she’s talking about,” Bo admitted.

“It’s all right,” Jai promised. “I can assure you it’s rarely anything very serious.”

After “styling” Crush’s hair—okay, he’d admit it, it didn’t look too bad; at least he didn’t look like a serial killer—the two females insisted on walking with him to the Sports Center while Conway headed on home.

“So you’re both going to the game, too?” he asked.

“Later. We’ve got practice first.”

“Practice?”

“Derby!” the wolfdog cheered.

Yeah, he’d seen that picture of the Carnivores with what he was now guessing was Blayne’s derby team. That explained how the two women knew Bo Novikov and Crush’s other favorite players from the current roster. At least, that’s what he hoped. He’d heard about Novikov’s reputation with women and he’d hate to think the man was using these two. They were just so damn sweet.

They arrived at the Sports Center and Crush headed for the front doors, but Blayne caught his hand. “This way,” she said, pulling him.

“Yeah, but—”

“With us.”

Blayne dragged him into the restricted, underground parking area of the center and to a set of elevator doors. They stepped into one and went down several levels. Although all of the shifter activities took place underground, Crush knew the floor they were heading to wasn’t the one he used to get to his season ticket holders’ nosebleed seats.

“Uh ... Blayne?”

The doors opened. “Come on.” She dragged him out, the feline following—and grinning.

“You might as well just go along,” Gwen told him.

“That sounds wrong.”

Blayne pulled him down a long hallway filled with shifters on the move, getting ready for the upcoming game.

Blayne suddenly stopped. “Wait here.”

“Yeah, but—” Blayne was gone so he looked at the feline. “I should grab my seat. The lines are usually long.”

“I promise it’ll be worth the wait. And”—she looked him over—“I did an amazing job with your hair. You need to show off your sexy new look.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.” Christ, it was just a haircut. From what he could tell he still looked like your average biker meth dealer. Only now it was like he was heading to the funeral of an aged relative.

Cella walked down the hall that held all the owners’ offices until she reached Van Holtz’s. Like his office with the Group, it was big but sparse. Except for occasional meetings, Van Holtz wasn’t big on using offices. He loved working in his kitchen, at home or at his restaurant. That was always the best place to talk to him. But today, Cella didn’t have that kind of time.

The wolf sat in his chair, his head on his desk, his eyes staring out the window. She hated seeing him so miserable. Although, she must admit, she preferred this to the time she’d walked in and found Smith under the desk giving him a hummer. But hey, they were in love. Cella couldn’t argue with anyone being in love.

“He drives me nuts, Cella,” Van Holtz admitted before she’d even said a word. “Just the sight of him makes me want to smash his face in.”

“Just out of curiosity ... how come?”

“He’s just so sure he’s right.” Van Holtz lifted his head, planted his elbows on the desk, and rested his chin on his raised fists. “He never listens to anyone else.” Pretty brown eyes narrowed on her. Actually, all of the man was pretty. Just damn pretty. “Except you. He listens to you.”

“Only because he finds me completely nonthreatening.”

“No. He respects you.”

“Wrong. He respects my dad. Everyone respects Nice Guy Malone.”

“I want him to quit. I want him out.”

Cella had been afraid this was coming. There was only so far a man’s unbeatable talent could go to make up for his annoying OCD tendencies, and few shifters had patience for OCD anything.

“I know you do. But ... let me handle him.”

“You? Why would you want to do that?”

“It’s like you said. He listens to me. He trusts me. I’m his enforcer. He knows I have his back on the ice and off. And you know I have the team’s back.”

“I can’t ask you—”

“Yes, you can.” She closed his door and stepped farther into the office. “I do this shit all the time with my own family. The Malones band together against outsiders, but inside, they fight constantly. My father alone has eighteen siblings.”

Van Holtz sat up straight. “Not with the same ...”

“Oh, God, no.” Cella laughed. “No way. It took my grandmother ages to settle down with one male.”

The wolf’s eyes grew wide. “Wait ... are you saying that all your father’s siblings are from the same—”

“Mother. Yeah. Grammy Malone. The Malones are matriarchal and the females only settle down when we’re ready to or when the women of the family feel it’s ‘time,’ ” Cella said with air quotes. “Although, they don’t do much matchmaking these days. Thank God.”

Van Holtz shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t let it go. Your grandmother had—”

“Eighteen children. Yes. Happily, too. She loves her kids.”

“She’s still around?”

“Yeah. She retired from KZS about—”

“She was in KZS?”

“Who do you think taught me to be a sniper?”

“The Marines.”

“Nah. It was Grammy Malone.”

“But when did she have time?”

“She made time. Plus, she had the entire Malone family to help raise her kids. And the last eight were all with Gramps anyway. But we all help each other raise each other’s kids. When I was in the Marines or on the road with the teams I was on, the Malones raised my kid. When Jai was doing twenty-four-hour stints as a resident or during finals in med school, Malones raised Josie. And now that our schedules are more manageable, we help raise my cousins’ kids. That’s how it works for us. That’s what we do.”

Cella reached across the desk and patted Van Holtz’s hand. “So as you can see ... I’m totally qualified to handle a Bo Novikov.”

“Yeah ...” Van Holtz admitted, gazing at her, “I’m really starting to see that.”

Crush looked at his watch again. Then he checked his phone. He had several text messages from a possible dealer he’d been hoping to use as a CI. Of course, now that was all dead in the water. A reminder that made Crush begin to feel angry again about being pulled out of the work he loved so much. All because of that vicious sow, Baissier. To think, after all these years, she still hated him. Then again, he really hated her.

Deciding it was time to get to his seat, he filed the messages and—

“Hey, Crush. Crush!”

He bit back a sigh, regretting he’d told the hybrid his nickname because now she wouldn’t stop using it, and prepared himself to tell the sweetest girl he’d ever met he had to go.

“I’d like you to meet my fiancé,” she said, skipping up to him. “Bo Novikov.”

Crush’s head snapped up and he looked directly—well, almost because the man was four inches taller—into the eyes of the meanest player ever in shifter sports history and Lou Crushek’s personal hero.

Then Crush stared—and he kept staring.