Deciding to follow the wolf’s suggestion, Crush filled up his plate and found an empty table. He dropped into a seat and Van Holtz sat down next to him. In silence, they ate until the table began to fill up with Cella’s aunts. They mostly ignored the two males, eating their own food, and talking shit about some of the other party attendees.
When Crush was nearly done, Cella’s Aunt Karen leaned over and asked Kathleen, “No one thinks it’s strange that them two are friends?”
The entire table looked over at Cella and Dee-Ann Smith, both of them laughing.
“It is surprising,” Kathleen admitted. “Considering the past.”
Crush wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You mean when Cella was in the Marines?”
Kathleen and her sisters laughed. “God, no. I’m talking long before that. When we hexed them.”
Crush looked at Van Holtz. They both frowned at each other before Crush asked, “You hexed the Smiths?”
“Not me personally. Our ancestors. But the Smiths deserved it. They were eating us.”
The bison was sticking in his throat, but Crush was a cop. There were just some things he simply couldn’t walk away from.
“Wolves were eating tigers?”
“They weren’t wolves then. They were cannibals.”
Van Holtz leaned around Crush to see Kathleen. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t know that? You’re living with one of them.”
“She’s not a cannibal.”
“And I don’t raise horses. But my ancestors used to.”
“I’m still unclear—”
Kathleen cut Crush off. “Some time in the sixteen or seventeen hundreds, I forget which, the Malones were once again forced out of Ireland.”
“Once again?”
She fluttered her hands. “Anyway, they were traveling through England and there was this area they were warned not to go through, but they went anyway because, ya know ... tigers. Figured they could handle anything, but what they didn’t know was that the Smiths were lying in wait.”
“Lying in wait to ... eat you?”
“And rob. That’s what they did. Most of the Malones got away, but the Smiths actually caught a few.”
“And ate them?”
“Among other things. The matriarch of the Malones at the time, she got really pissed and she said if they were going to be as low as dogs, they should be dogs. Then they hexed them.”
Crush finished off his hot dog and, after chewing thoughtfully, finally said, “I’m not sure turning violent, vicious, cannibal killers into actual predators was the best idea your ancestors had.”
“In their defense, though, at the time there was a lot of wolf hunting in England, so they probably thought the Smiths would be destroyed, but who knew the inbreeding cannibals had their own witches? A spell here, a spell there, and they were able to shift back and forth just like us. From what I understand, my relatives were sorely disappointed by all this.”
“You mean because now the Smiths didn’t have to track down any weapons ... because they had become weapons?”
“Yeah,” Kathleen sighed. “They clearly hadn’t thought long term.” She patted Crush’s leg. “But we all have stories like that, right? Mr. Van Holtz here is descended from German barbarians.”
“It’s true,” Van Holtz admitted. “We’re the real reason Julius Caesar charged back across the Rhine and burned the bridge his troops had built before we could cross it.”
“What about you, dear?” Kathleen asked Crush.
“Well, my parents died when I was really young, but when I was older I managed to get a little information about my great-great-great-grandfather, who liked polar bears and used to sit around thinking about how much he’d like to be a polar bear. Then one day he woke up and he was a polar bear.” Crush thought about that a minute and added, “In retrospect, not nearly as interesting as barbarians fighting Julius Caesar.”“No. But not a story you have to hide, either.”
“She’s got a point.” Van Holtz blew out a breath. “It’s not like I’ve heard any of the Smiths running around talking about their cannibal days.”
“Exactly.” Kathleen patted Crush’s leg again. “I’m sure your ancestor was a very nice man.”
“He was kind of a cop. You know, for his time. Well ...” Crush thought back, remembering what he’d found out. “Kind of a cop slash executioner. He had a real thing for injustice—”
“There you go!”
“—and witches. Used to burn them at the stake unless he drowned them or piled rocks on them first.”
“Oh.”
The group went silent until Crush finally stated, “Still liking the barbarians against Roman forces story better.”
“Yeah,” they all agreed.
The sun went down, the snow began to steadily fall, and nearly everybody was out on the dance floor dancing to Mungo Jerry’s “In the Summertime.” The hotties, of course, had on what some would call ski gear, but even they couldn’t stay in the hot tent. It had been a great party.
She knew that Crush was having a good time, too, dancing with her, a little blood still in his hair from his earlier seal hunt with Novikov. He didn’t even seem to mind that she could only currently look at him through one eye since the other one was swollen shut from the fistfight. Smith offered to “cut you like in the Rocky movies,” but as Cella told the She-wolf when she’d offered, she’d rather wait until the swelling went down on its own.
A slower Motown classic came on and Cella immediately went into Crush’s arms, the two grinning at each other while swaying to the music. Like most bears, the man had some nice rhythm considering his size.
“You and the girls need a lift home?” he asked.
“No. I’m going back with the girls, and some of my cousins. We’ll be making brownies at Jai’s place and talking boys all night. But thanks for the offer.”
“No problem.”
“Glad you came to the party?” she asked.
“Very.”
“You coming back next year?”
He gazed down at her. “Maybe.”
She chuckled. “Oooh, ‘maybe.’ That’s promising.”
He laughed, his arms tightening around her waist. Cella rested her head against his chest. And that’s when she knew—she was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tuesday morning, Ric Van Holtz dragged himself out of bed and made his way to his kitchen to get the coffee started. He ground the beans, pulled down a coffee mug, and waited while his fourteen-cup coffeemaker did its work.
And when that hand slipped across his naked hip, he didn’t jump ... anymore. It took some getting used to, living with the sneakiest of wolves, but Ric wouldn’t change it for the world. Eyes still closed, he turned his head and soft lips pressed against his.
“Glad you’re home,” he murmured, nuzzling the She-wolf who pressed her long body next to his. “What’s going on?”
“The bear’s information was right. Found Whitlan’s office. And he’s in it.”
Ric opened his eyes, and nodded. “Take it down. Tonight. Bring him in alive, Dee-Ann.”
She grinned, kissed his neck. “You’ve got it.”
Crush’s phone woke him that morning from the most erotic dream he’d had in a while, involving a She-tiger in hockey pants, and he wasn’t happy about it.
He swiped the cell phone off his nightstand. “What?”
“It’s MacDermot.”
“What?”
“Meet me at the office at six.”
Crush glared over at his bedside clock. “It’s six-thirty.”
“No. I meant six tonight.”
“Why?”
“Group and KZS are taking down Whitlan. Tonight.”
“Wait. They found him? How did they even know—”
“God, you’re like my kid. Asking ten thousand questions.”
“I’m a bear. That’s what we do. And this is our case.”
“Flexibility is key for this job, Crushek. Get used to it. Besides, I’ve just accepted the fact that Dee-Ann Smith has contacts you and I just ain’t got. And if she wants to find you—she’ll find you. Now, I’ll see you at six.”
“But—”
“If it makes you feel better, your girlfriend will be there.”
“My—”
“Also heard you’re a hell of a kisser.”
Crush sat up. “What?”
Cella packed up her duffel bag, throwing in a few extra clips for good measure, and zipped it up. She looked around, made sure she had everything. She did, and what she didn’t have, KZS would provide.
Pulling on a light denim jacket, she picked up her bag and rushed down the stairs, through the kitchen, waving at her mother and father, then around the side of the house. Meghan and Josie were already heading to the Jeep, schoolbooks in hand, discussing something in whispers.
“I’m working tonight, babe,” Cella called out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Cella tossed her bag into one of her brothers’ cars. She didn’t know which one.
“That’s fine. I’m babysitting Deena’s kids tonight. But can we talk tomorrow, Ma?”
Cella, about to get into her car, stopped and looked over at her daughter. “Talk? Oh, you mean about you heading to Hofstra in the fall? Sure ... we can talk about that.”