Beast Behaving Badly (25 page)

Grigori took out another box and opened it, taking out a smaller version of Bo's watch and placing it on Blayne's wrist. “Anytime you're out of the house or away from me and Bo, you wear this, Blayne. You understand? Any problems, you use this button here to open the face and push the button inside to send out an alert. This signal goes directly to the county's police department, so someone will come right for ya. Okay?”

“Where's the one Bo gave me?” she asked.

“It's not going to be easy to fix.”

“That's okay. I just want it back.”

Bo scowled. “So you can have even
more
crap in your apartment?”

“I want it!” she yelled, making all the bears close by jump and look at her. “For sentimental reasons,” she finished softly.

“It's broken. What sentimental reasons could it—ow!” He covered his arm where she'd pinched him. “What was that for?”

“For pissing me off.” She pointed at the new watch. “And exactly how much did this one cost? And don't lie to me.”

“I choose not to say.”

“You choose not to say?”

“Yeah. You don't want me lying, so I'm not going to tell you.”

She turned to Grigori, and he instantly put up his hands. “Watch me not get in the middle of this.”

“Did it cost more than the other one?” she demanded.

“I'm not saying.”

She stomped her foot, getting frustrated with Bo. “The other one cost too much.”

“It saved our lives. I don't know about you, but I can't put a price tag on that.”

“I can't take this.” She tried to get it off, but the clasp wouldn't open. She looked up at Bo and he shrugged.

“It's childproof.”

“It's what?”

“Only cub sizes will fit you, so I told the jeweler to make sure it was childproof. That way cubs can't take them off and lose them during the day when they're out playing with other cubs.”

“I am
not
a cub.”

“No. You're not. But still . . . I'm glad I did it.”

She snarled, but Grigori put his hand on her shoulder. “It's for your protection, Blayne.”

“You might as well have me handcuffed!” she ranted. “I feel trapped! Tagged like a lion in the wild!”

“On that note . . .” Grigori picked up the gift boxes and paper and headed toward the door. “See ya!” Then he was gone.

Blayne held her arms up to the ceiling. “Don't you understand?” she pleaded. “I'm a wolfdog meant to be free! To roam the hills and roads as I see fit. Not to be held down by your expensive timekeeping devices.
I can't live in this kind of
—ooh! Earmuffs.” She walked over to the display and found several really cute pairs that would definitely keep her ears warm. One pair was even made to look like a raccoon head. She put those on first and grinned at Bo. “What do you think?”

When he only let out a frustrated breath and walked away, she shrugged and went back to sorting through the rest.

 

 

Bo watched Blayne jog off down the street. He really hoped that running would manage those wildly swinging emotions of hers. True he enjoyed them, but he wasn't sure every other bear in a two-hundred-mile radius would.

Taking one last look at the hockey display in the window, Bo forced himself to walk away. He was on a break. A vacation. He didn't
need
hockey. He could survive without it. And he would. He walked into the local bookstore and checked out the display, grabbing several things to read. When he realized that only took fifteen minutes of his time, he decided his uncle's house needed some sorting out.

A lot of sorting out. Plus, the extra clothes and things Blayne had purchased would need to be organized and put away, and the kitchen could do with a good scrubbing. Yep.

See? He didn't need hockey. Nope. He was fine without it.

 

 

Marci slammed down her cup of coffee on the counter. “I don't believe any of you.”

“It's true, Marci,” Lorna Harper said, leaning over the counter of her tea and coffee shop and lowering her voice. “They say that girl with Speck killed all those full-humans. With her bare hands.”

“First off, Lorna Harper,” Marci began, trying to control her black bear temper, “stop calling Bold Novikov Speck. And second, trust me when I say that sweet little girl didn't do anything but nearly get killed. It was Bold who came to her rescue.”

“Everyone knows wolfdogs are crazy, Marci Luntz,” Jezebel Simons, spectacled bear and the town's bookkeeper, said in that imperious way she had. “And from what we've heard, she ain't no different. Nearly bit poor Fabi Novikov's face clean off.”

“Actually, it was just his nose,” a voice said behind them, causing the three sows to scream, Marci and Jezebel spinning around with bear claws unleashed.

When Marci saw it was Blayne standing behind them, she quickly put her claws away and bumped Jezebel with her hip. “Blayne, dear. We didn't know you were there.”

“I saw you through the window and wanted to say ‘hi.'” She pointed at her head. “Do you like my new earmuffs?”

They were bright pink—and bunnies. She had bunnies on either side of her head. They were earmuffs Marci had bought her twin granddaughters . . . who were five.

“Adorable.”

She grinned, looking quite pleased. “Thank you.”

Marci, wanting to give the other sows a moment to catch their breaths and for Lorna to stop popping her jaw in warning, observed, “I see you got yourself a whole new wardrobe.”

“Yes. I like to run and Bo wanted me to have the right clothes so I didn't”—she made air quotes with her insulated glove–covered hands and lowered her voice—“ ‘freeze that cute but dumb ass off.'”

Marci, recognizing all the Novikov men in that imitation, laughed and was glad to hear Lorna and Jezebel joining in.

“That boy,” Marci said. “Takes after his uncle.”

“I'm waiting for him to walk home,” Blayne explained, “so I can go back to the sports store.”

“Going to spend a little more of Bold Novikov's money, dear?” Lorna asked, and Marci wanted to slap her.

“Oh, no. Well . . . actually . . . okay, yeah.” When the three sows only stared at her, Blayne added, “What I mean is, I'm going to spend more of his money, but for him. He's on this, ‘I'm on vacation' kick and so he thinks that means he shouldn't play hockey, but I know and you know and the
universe
knows that if that man doesn't get on some skates soon, all hell will break loose. So once I'm sure he's gone, I'm going to have Mr. Blackmon round up his best equipment for Bo and send it over to his uncle's house. Kind of like when trying to entice a reformed alcoholic to start drinking again. You just leave the bottle of scotch lying around until he finds it.”

“That's an interesting . . . comparison,” Marci said, working hard not to cringe.

“Anyway, I just came in to say ‘hi.'” Blayne waved at them and said, “Hi!”

Marci and the other two sows jumped but all managed to remain calm. Perhaps because their cubs weren't in the room.

Blayne started to walk out but she stopped and faced them again. “I just want you all to know, I'm not here to cause any problems or bring problems or anything. I know I should have probably just gone home with Ric and Lock and Mr. Van Holtz but . . .” she focused on the floor. “I really don't know who to trust right now. Except Bo. He saved my life, and I want to do what I can to make sure he's happy while he's here.” She looked off, bit her lip, and said softly, “He's been so wonderful to me. I don't know what I would have done . . .”

Before Marci could move, Jezebel had her arms around Blayne, hugging her tight against her.

“Now don't cry. There's no reason to cry.”

“I don't know what's wrong with me.” Blayne stepped back, wiping her eyes with her hand. “I'm not usually this emotional.”

“You've been through so much, sweetheart. Is it any wonder you're a bit upset over the little things?”

Lorna, one of the more tightfisted bears, came around the counter and handed Blayne a cinnamon pastry stick. She knew well enough that Blayne had no money on her, but the thought that Lorna would give anything for free had Marci dazzled.

“You take this, dear heart. You'll need the extra energy if you're going running.”

Blayne took the treat and smiled at Lorna. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“Now none of that ma'am business. We're not that old! I'm Lorna. And this is Jezebel Simons. Now you need anything, you just let us know, all right?”

“Thank you so much.” She gave them a watery smile while enjoying her pastry and walked out the door.

“That poor thing,” Lorna said once Blayne was gone.

“I know!” Jezebel agreed, their tones completely changing in the five minutes the girl was in the shop. “I hope that Grigori Novikov is taking good care of her.”

“He better be,” Lorna said, walking back around her counter. “Or he'll have to answer to me!”

 

 

Blayne walked to the end of the street and turned the corner, her knees almost melting from the delicious taste of the pastry in her hand.

“How did it go?” Grigori asked her, leaning up against the building, reminding Blayne of the man's nephew.

“Just as you said.”

“You got the tears, too?”

“I told Gwen working on that tenth-grade production of
Romeo and Juliet
would totally pay off one day.”

He grinned. “Good kid. Have a good run.” He walked past her and rubbed her head, reminding her she needed to do something with her hair. She'd checked out what Grigori had in his three bathrooms before heading into town, and those two-in-one shampoo-conditioners were considered Satan's plaything among the O'Neill Pride. She'd have to find something better.

“I know I saw a drugstore,” she mumbled around the pastry. She did see one. About a block away. She started down the street but froze, slowly turning and facing the store she stood in front of.

After a moment, she walked inside and almost fell to her knees.

“What do you want?” a grizzly sow snapped at her from behind the counter, and Blayne knew she was being rude to her, but she didn't care.

She pointed at the rows and rows of shampoos and conditioners, all—according to the signs out front—made from honey. “Your products . . .”

“What about them?”

“All natural?”

“Of course.” And the sow sounded mighty insulted. “No silicones, parabens, sulfates, or anything else you shouldn't be putting on your hair.”

Blayne dropped to her knees, real tears this time streaming down her face as she looked up at the suspicious sow. “I've been searching for you all my life!”

 

 

When Dee walked into the Van Holtz restaurant, she knew something was off. The waiters were all lingering outside in the main dining room, getting ready for their lunch service. Probably not strange to anyone else, but every time Dee had come in around this time previously, the wait staff was usually hanging out in the kitchen. It seemed like a very laid back place until the crowds stampeded the door and then everyone got serious and got to work. But for all of them to be out in the dining room . . .

As she walked through, heading to the kitchen, she noticed that everyone watched her. She also took that as a bad sign. Of course, Smiths were all about “bad signs.”

“It's a wonder you and your daddy ever leave the house, the way y'all keep seein' such bad signs,” her momma was known to complain once or twice over the years.

Yet Dee was rarely wrong when it came to these things, so she trusted her instincts and enjoyed the feel of the holstered .45 she had attached to the back of her jeans.

She pushed the kitchen door open and strode inside. Only one person was in there, and that, too, was rare. Usually Ric had a whole staff of chefs and assistant chefs and sous chefs and whatevers a place like this particular restaurant needed. Yet he was all by his lonesome, hacking up some zebra into pieces.

Her lip curled a little. She never could stand the taste of zebra. To her it was an acquired taste . . . like squirrel.

Deciding it was wise to keep the big island where Van Holtz and his staff did most of their prep work between them, Dee rested her arms on the marble and leaned in.

“How did it go?”

“Oh, it went fine,” Van Holtz replied back. “Just fine.”

When he didn't say anything further, she shrugged and turned toward the door. “Okay,” she said, heading out.

True, he could have thrown the meat cleaver he'd been using at her, but he opted for part of that zebra, the hoof slamming into the door with a force and skill she'd had no idea the rich wolf possessed.

She faced him and could see how angry he was by the lack of expression on his face.

“Problem, hoss?”

“You microchipped her?”

Dang. She'd hoped that wouldn't be found out.

“It was an easier way to track her. I did it through my phone. How d'ya think I found her so quick after they took her?”

He glowered at her, long and hard, and she knew what he wanted. Dee sighed and said, “Tell me where she is and I'll apologize to your teacup poodle.”

“You can't. Because she's not here.”