“So what do we do now?” one of Baissier’s men asked.
“Call whoever is next in command,” Crush told him. “Let him or her know about this.”
“The trophies,” Cella said. “We identify those we can, alert the families. The ones we can’t, we give a proper burial.”
Cella called in the cleanup team for assistance since they had to be done before the country club staff made it in for the morning shift. Knowing they were short on time, they all got to work.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
These days Cella didn’t have time to be as exhausted as she felt. Why? Because she was a goddamn bridesmaid. Why? Why did she say yes to being a bridesmaid? Even worse, a maid of honor!
She could be such an idiot.
Between the bachelorette party, the bridal shower, and the never-ending dress fittings, Cella was goddamn burnt out. But she was almost done. Almost.
So, running down the stairs, lifting the hem of her five-thousand-dollar dress—only for a friend would she spend that kind of cash on a stupid dress—Cella yelled out, “Let’s go, Malones! We’ve gotta get a move on!”
“Where’s the kid?” she asked her young cousins, busy getting dressed up for the day.
“In back,” one answered.
“All right. The cars will be here to pick you guys up soon. Do not keep the drivers waiting. And no whore makeup,” she added before running outside.
Meghan and Josie, already dressed, with minimal makeup, and ready to go, sat at one of the tables and ...
Eyes narrowing on her daughter and daughter-by-friendship, Cella demanded, “What is that?”
Meghan held the thing up, her grin wide. “It’s a kitty! Miss Smith brought it over for me and Josie while you were in the hospital.”
Cella studied the black-and-white tabby carefully. A bright red collar with an annoying little bell that kept making this tinkling noise was around its neck and it smelled distinctly of ... well ... of bear sow.
Josie reached over and took the tabby from Meghan’s hands. What always amazed Cella about the pair of them was that they never fought over anything. They shared so easily. Cella would admit she didn’t know any felines who could do that.
“Isn’t she cute?” Josie asked, nuzzling her nose against the cat’s.
“It’s a cat. It’s a house cat.”
“And we’re keeping her,” Meghan told her mother, all haughty about it, too! “She was a gift to us and Grams said we can keep her. So we’re keeping her.”
“Whatever. But I’m not taking care of that thing while you’re off partying with frat boys.”
Her daughter shuddered in disgust. Knowing her kid, she’d spend her college years partying with the chess players’ club or with the geeks who design lasers before returning home for a hot cocoa at eight p.m.
Cella stepped close, scrunching her nose at the cat. “What are you going to name it?”
“It’s a she, and we’re naming her—”
“Mrs. Fuzzybottom!”
“No,” Meghan told Josie in no uncertain terms. “We will not give a cat a stupid name.”
While Josie pouted, Meghan thought a moment and finally offered, “Cleo?”
“Over my dead body,” Cella said quickly. “There will be no cliché cat names. No. Never.”
“Well, since you’re being so picky about it, She Who Will Not Take Care of This Thing, what would you suggest?”
The answer hit her so quickly, she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it before. “Do you know what a really nice gesture would be, girls? Naming the cat Dee-Ann.”
Josie grinned. “You mean in honor of Miss Smith?”
“It was her gift to you guys. I just think it would be a really sweet gesture.”
“I like it.” Josie stood, the cat in her arms. “I’m going to tell Mom. I’ll let her know you’re ready to go, Aunt C.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
Josie walked off to her house and Cella looked at her daughter. “What?”
“How do you live with yourself?”
“Very well,” she told her. “I find myself quite entertaining.”
It wasn’t nearly as painful as Crush thought it would be. He’d never been to a Jewish wedding ceremony held by cats before, so it was new and interesting for him. And now he was back at one of the Kingston Arms’ ballrooms for the reception. Although the ceremony was a little more serious, the couple wanted the reception to be a lot lighter and considering the dancing and laughing he walked in on, he could see they’d already achieved their goal.
“Hey, kid!”
Crush jumped a little, trying not to panic when Nice Guy Malone wrapped his arms around him in a big hug. “Hi, Mr. Malone.”
“Butch, kid. Butch.” He stepped back, grinned. “Did you hear about my girl? What the Carnivores offered her?”
“I heard.” And he’d been bragging about it at the office so much that all his coworkers roared anytime it came up again. Including Dez.
Butch grinned. “My girl.”
Meghan and Josie ran up, both looking beautiful in their bridesmaids’ gowns.
“You came,” Meghan said, going up on her toes to kiss Crush’s cheek, Josie kissing the other one.
“Did you really think your mother was going to let me out of this?”
Meghan laughed. “Nope.” She tugged at her grandfather’s tux. “Grams is looking for you.”
“As my wife or as—”
“Wedding planner.”
“Crap. She wants me to move something.”
“I can do it for you,” Crush offered.
“Nah. She just makes me do it ’cause she likes to see my muscles ripple.” Grinning, Butch walked off.
Meghan shuddered. “Ew.” She jerked her thumb toward one of the doorways. “We better go, too. The bride and groom will be making their entrance soon.”
“See you guys when you’re done.”
Meghan and Josie waved and rushed off. Crush looked around at the tables, debating whether he should go ahead and get seated now or wait a little longer when he realized Novikov stood beside him. Breathing.
He really liked the guy ... but he hated when he did that.
“Hey.”
Novikov nodded.
“Why are you here?” Crush had to ask.
“Blayne finagled an invite because she wanted to see how Barb runs her weddings.”
“Is she happy?”
“Ecstatic. She really likes the cake.”
“The cake?”
“It’s Blayne.”
“How have you liked the wedding?”
“Everything has been on time ... so I love it.”
Crush laughed, stopping when a woman in a full-length dress stopped in front of him and stared at him like she knew him. She seemed out of place because she was one of the few canines in attendance.
“What?” she finally asked.
Crush blinked, recognizing the voice. “Dee-Ann?”
“Who the hell did you think it was?”
“Not you,” Novikov muttered.
“You look great,” Crush told her honestly.
But her eyes narrowed and Crush held his hands up. “Forget I said anything.”
Ric Van Holtz stepped in beside his mate, slipping his arm around her waist and kissing her cheek.
He smiled. “Crushek ...” His smile faded and gave a barely there nod. “Novikov.”
“Asshole.”
The She-wolf snarled in warning.
“Gentlemen and She-wolf,” Crush warned, “it’s a wedding. Let’s all be nice.”
“Is that your cop tone?” Novikov asked.
“That’s my cop tone. Don’t make me bring out my cop fist.”
“So—” Van Holtz began.
“I don’t know anything,” Crush cut in, knowing Van Holtz was about to ask him—again—about whether Cella would take his offer of becoming the Carnivores’ assistant coach.