Bite Me

CHAPTER 7

Livy woke up the next morning still under Vic’s bed, but now with a six-year-old cub staring at her.

“Yes?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as not to wake up Vic.

“Why are you under my uncle’s bed?”

“It’s comfortable.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Livy and Igor continued to stare at each other for a few more minutes before Livy asked, “Hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Pancakes work?”

“Is there honey?”

“I think I left at least ajar or two in the cabinets.”

“African?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Okay.”

Livy followed the little boy out from under the bed and out of the room, carefully closing the door behind her so she didn’t wake up Vic.

Together, the pair moved through the house full of sleeping hybrids and a panda until they reached the kitchen.

Livy split the work with Igor, letting him carry things from the refrigerator and pour things she’d measured out into the bowl. Once Livy added the eggs herself—she couldn’t risk shells getting into the batter—she placed Igor on the kitchen table and put the bowl in his lap. She gave him a wooden spoon and taught him how to stir the batter without getting it all over himself and her.

She didn’t really think much about what she was doing because she’d seen Toni’s mom do it with her own kids so often over the years. At the time, it had just seemed logical to get the kids to help because it cut down on their fighting. But now, as Livy looked into Igor’s glowing face, she realized it had more to do with letting the kids feel involved and less with creating baby slave labor.

When the batter was pretty well mixed, Livy released Igor’s hand so he could continue on for a little bit longer. As he did, a wide grin on his cute face, he glanced over his shoulder and crowed, “Look, Uncle Vic! I’m cooking!”

“I can see that.”

Vic stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, as he leaned against the frame and watched them. How long he’d been standing there, Livy didn’t know. Nor did she ask.

Still wearing his black sweatpants, Vic had also pulled on a plain white T-shirt that appeared kind of old and worn. It was also a little tight, so that Livy could make out Vic’s muscular arms and chest pretty well. And she had to admit . . . those muscles were damn impressive.

“You ready for tonight?” he asked Livy.

“Yes.”

“What’s tonight?” Igor asked.

“None of your bus—”

Livy cut Vic off with, “I get to do what I learned when I was your age.”

“Make batter?”

“Pick locks.”

Vic immediately pushed himself away from the door frame and clapped his hands together. “Okay! Let’s get you in the shower, kid.”

As Vic was reaching for his nephew, Livy heard keys in the back door and a few seconds later, an enormous grizzly came storming into the kitchen.

Vic stared at the bear for a moment before saying, “Hi, Dan.”

“I’m here for my wife,” the grizzly announced . . . loudly. He pointed at Igor. “Go get your mother, son. I’m taking her home!”

“Okay, Dad!”

Livy removed the bowl from Igor’s lap, and the boy jumped off the table and ran off to find his mother.

Once the boy was gone, Dan whispered, “How did that sound, Vic? Pretty tough?”

Gawking at his brother-in-law, Vic slowly nodded his head. “Uh . . . yeah. Sure. Tough.”

“Great.” He looked at Livy. “Hey, Livy.”

“Hi, Dan.”

“Were you in the cabinets again?”

“Pretty much.”

The bear leaned over a bit. “Are you making pancakes?”

“And bacon. Plus my honey–maple syrup mix. The ultimate in delicious decadence.”

“Oh man. That sounds really good.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Vic offered.

“Yeah, but I should really drag your sister home by her hair.” He blew out a breath, glanced up at the ceiling. “But I really want pancakes with that syrup.”

“Then tell her she has to stay,” Livy suggested. “Until you’re done eating.”

“Oh. Good idea. Thanks, Livy!” The bear grinned at her and walked off to order his wife to stay until he finished his breakfast.

Livy looked at Vic. “Are they happy like that?” she asked.

“Very.”

She shrugged and walked to the stove. “Then that’s all that matters.”

Shen parked the windowless black van two blocks away from their target and turned off the engine. He looked back at them and announced, “I’ll go recon the area.”

The driver’s door closed behind him and Livy asked, “He’s going to recon the area?”

Vic shrugged. “He never really left the geek room, as I called it. He and his geek coworkers used technology and their obsessive natures to track down targets, and the rest of us took it from there. It’s a relationship that’s worked well for me in the past.”

Livy, dressed in skintight black clothes, replied, “Huh.”

Vic watched her slip on black gloves and cover her black-and-white hair with a black knit cap.

“You got everything you need?” he asked.

“What do I need?”

“Livy . . .”

She chuckled. “I’ve got everything.”

“Good. Now she’s supposed to be out of the apartment the entire night, but—”

“Would you stop worrying? I know what I’m doing. I learned to do this while I was in the womb.”

“And it’s my job to worry. That’s what I do.”

Livy tucked her hair under the cap. “And you’re surprisingly good at it.”

“I’m just asking that you be careful.”

“I will. Promise.”

The van door opened and Shen said, “It’s clear, Livy.”

“Thanks.”

Livy slipped a tiny black backpack on and stepped out of the van. “I’ll be back,” she said, before she disappeared into the darkness.

Shen got into the van, closed the door, and sat down on the floor. He pulled out his laptop and began accessing their target’s security system.

Smiling, Shen pulled out one of his cut bamboo stalks and began his infernal chewing while he worked.

“So,” he said around the stalk, his eyes locked on his computer screen, “she looks mighty good in that little outfit, doesn’t she?”

“Shut up.” And Vic forced himself not to throttle the panda laughing at him.

Livy slipped into the alley beside the building. As soon as she did, she felt . . . at home. In the darkness, moving through the shadows. It was in her blood. Both sides of her family, for centuries, were thieves. Honey badger thieves. Their targets ranged from art to silver, gold, banks, and crown jewels. What the family didn’t tolerate were tacky home invasions of any kind, targeting the poor, or stealing from their own family. A Kowalski never stole from another Kowalski. A Yang never stole from another Yang. Not without repercussions. And honey badger repercussions could be . . . painful.

The funny thing was, Livy had done all she could to pull herself away from this part of her life. She was an artist, a phrase that offended her mother on a visceral level. “We’re not artists,” she’d drunkenly snarled during a Thanksgiving dinner many years ago, “we steal from artists. You never get that right.”

But her mother’s constant pushing and her father’s indifference just made Livy more resolute. She was an artist, a photographer. At least that was what she’d always thought . . . until she’d run out of ideas, creativity . . . desire. When it came to art, desire was a big part of it. Not sexual desire, but the desire to create, to produce, to explore the world around oneself. Without the desire . . . an artist had nothing.

And right now, Livy had nothing.

So she fell back on what she knew: breaking and entering.

Although, for Livy, breaking and entering wasn’t the challenge it was for most. She didn’t need fancy equipment to get at a target. All she needed was an idea of a building’s layout and the cover of darkness, both of which she currently had.

So, using her claws, Livy began climbing the building’s wall, sure that Shen had already dealt with the security cameras surrounding the area.

She moved quietly and quickly as she was trained to do. It wasn’t an easy climb, but at least she didn’t have to go all the way up to the penthouse floor this way. She could do it, but it would be a drag and an excessive amount of work.

Finally, Livy reached the air duct near the twenty-third floor. Holding on with one claw and the balls of her feet, she used her free hand and a small screwdriver to remove the bottom screws from the metal screen. Once done, she lifted it and pulled her body inside. The space was small but Livy could maneuver her way through almost any space. Yes. Even with her broad shoulders. Of course, sometimes she was forced to dislocate her shoulder, which she hated doing. It was not pleasant and just because she was a honey badger didn’t mean she was into pain. Because she wasn’t.

Dislocation unnecessary, Livy quickly made her way down the air ducts and into the back stairwell until she was at the emergency door that led up one flight of stairs to Allison Whitlan’s apartment. Livy eased that door open and crept up the stairs until she reached another emergency door. She checked for alarm wires, found them, and disabled them. Then she went in, through a small hallway until she reached a service entrance.

According to Vic’s contacts, tonight was the staff’s night off, and the mistress of the house was at some charity event with other rich people like herself. But Livy still listened at the door for a moment before getting out her tools and picking the lock.

She waited another breath before opening the door and taking a step inside the dark hallway. She waited again, heard nothing; so she slowly closed the door, and began moving through the apartment.

The place was enormous. Had to cost several million. A place where Livy would love to crash some night when she needed a new temporary burrow.

Livy checked her watch. She had time, so she moved through the apartment carefully, looking for any signs that the woman was in touch with her father. With the infamous Frankie “The Rat” Whitlan. A man Livy could not care less about. But how could she turn Barinov down when he’d filled her office with all those baskets?

Livy stopped in front of a Picasso. She leaned in, studied the signature. Nodded. It was a real one. Not a Kowalski replica that most art experts would be hard pressed to prove wasn’t a real Picasso.

Livy checked the bedrooms first. The apartment had nine. She took the most time in the woman’s office. She found tons of information about Allison Whitlan’s finances and her charity work, plus lots of handwritten notes on Post-its, but nothing that screamed, “My daddy, Frankie Whitlan, is at the corner of Fifth and Broadway!”

Checking her watch again, Livy realized she was running out of time, so she did a quick sweep of all the bathrooms, and then the giant kitchen.

Livy’s last stop was the TV room and the living room. She did the living room first, sweeping through quickly, before walking toward the exit to head to the TV room.

Livy stepped into the hallway, but stopped, blinking slowly, her mind processing.

After nearly a minute, she slowly backed up into the living room, stopped again. Waited another moment, took a breath, and turned.

Livy stared, studied what she saw, her mouth slowly dropping open, her heart racing hard.

Then, after several minutes of studying the stuffed animal carcass standing hideously beside Allison Whitlan’s fireplace, Livy said a word she hadn’t said since she was a toddler . . .

“Daddy?”