Crush locked his eyes on the leopard. “What’s so fucking funny?” he demanded.
The leopard pointed behind him. “That.”
Looking over his shoulder at Gentry’s office, he saw the feline standing by the big glass window—staring at him. She breathed on the glass and drew a heart in the condensation, then placed a kiss inside the heart. She winked at him, scrunched up her nose, and mouthed “later” before turning away.
Gritting his teeth, Crush faced forward again.
“Dude—” the leopard began.
“I won’t discuss it!”
Cella sat down on the other side of Gentry’s desk and laughed so hard she had to rest her head against it.
“Don’t pick on Crushek,” Gentry told her.
Lifting her head and wiping the tears, Cella explained, “I’m not picking on him. I’m trying to get him to loosen up. He’s so damn uptight.”
“He’s also—should it work out—MacDermot’s new partner, so give him respect.”
“Yet another partner, eh, MacDermot?” Cella teased.
“Don’t blame me. It’s you two. You guys get involved and my partners can’t run from me fast enough.” MacDermot pointed at Cella. “And you’re doing it again!”
“It was your Jell-O shots, lady!”
“No one told you or Crushek to suck down a vat of them! And who gets naked and crawls into bed with some guy she doesn’t even know?”
Smith raised her hand, only lowering it when they all gawked at her. “Well, I don’t do it anymore.”
“Wow, talk about a coyote ugly morning for some poor guy,” Cella laughed, but no one else joined in, so she stopped.
“Mighta been funny,” Smith muttered, “if I’d been an actual coyote.”
“Like there’s a difference.”
“Can we discuss why you’re all here?” Gentry snapped.
“Why are we all here?” Cella asked, pulling out a pack of gum from her sweatshirt pocket.
Smith took a piece of paper from her back pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Cella.
Cella looked at the one-page ad, MacDermot leaning over to see as well.
Finally, Cella had to know, “Wouldn’t cremation be a better idea? I mean would your mate want you stuffed and just standing around his house when you die?”
“It’s not for me,” the She-wolf snarled.
“The Group thinks,” Gentry cut in, “and I think I agree, that this taxidermist is stuffing our kind and turning us into trophies after we’ve been hunted down. Although the real problem is, of course, that he’s completely aware that he’s stuffing shifters.”
“Oh. Okay.” Cella took hold of MacDermot’s arm and turned it so she could see the giant Breitling man’s wristwatch the woman always wore. It was a real one, too. She could tell, because as a great-aunt once told Cella, “Gotta know the real ones if you’re going to sell the fake.”
She checked the hour and said, “I’ve got time tonight. I can take him out.”
“Or,” Gentry suggested, “rather than you killing anyone you just don’t like, you could let me finish.”
“See,” Cella shot back, “that’s a ridiculous thing to say because I don’t even know this guy or whether I like him or not. I was just going to kill him.”
When the women all stared at her, Cella pointed an accusing finger at Smith. “I was just going to kill him because of her. It’s the dog’s fault!”
Gentry leaned back in her chair, fingers to her temples.
“Am I causing one of your headaches again?” Cella asked.
“Yes.”
“Why are we having this meeting?” MacDermot asked. “As much as I love to see you guys, I have to kind of agree with Cella here. Other than just taking this guy out, I don’t know what we need to discuss. And I’m off tomorrow, so that better not be changing,” she also felt the need to add.
“When I found out about this place,” Smith said, “I was just going to go on in there, cut the guy’s throat, and leave—”
“What is wrong with you three?” Gentry sighed.
“—but I noticed something when I was hanging around in the woods across the street. There was already a team watching the place.”
“What team?”
The She-wolf smirked. “BPC.”
BPC, or the Bear Preservation Council, was a Brooklyn-based organization that raised money for the care, research, and protection of full-blood bears worldwide. They were also the cover for the agency that protected shifter bears in the tri-state area. And unlike KZS, the Group, and the NYPD’s shifter division, BPC refused to work with the rest of them on anything. They made it very clear that what happened to other species was not their problem and the bears that had jobs with NYPD and the Group were simply foolish.
Gentry’s hands dropped to her desk. “BPC was watching the place? Are you sure?”
“Recognized one of the team.”
“Recognized him how?” Cella had to know.
“Broke his spine during a fight once.”
And that was why Cella “had to know,” because she knew she’d be entertained!
“Y’all can stop staring at me like that. He’s clearly walkin’ ... now.”
“You gotta wonder why BPC wouldn’t just move on a place like that, too,” MacDermot said, her gaze out the window. “From what I hear, they handle shit the way Cella and Dee do.”
“They do,” Gentry confirmed. “Which makes me very curious about what they’re doing.”
MacDermot looked at her boss. “You want me to put surveillance on it?”
“I do.”
“Okay, but if BPC is already on it, why do we need to get involved?”
“BPC is run by Peg Baissier. And has been for the last twenty years. It’s believed that she’s become a bit of a problem. There are some of us in the bear community that have been looking for a way to ...”
“Force her into retirement?”
“Something like that.”
“Just because you don’t like her?”
“No. Because she’s dangerous to her own.”
“How do you figure that?” Smith asked.
Gentry moved around in her chair, her hands tugging the jacket of her suit down.
MacDermot glanced at Cella and Smith before saying, “Chief?”
The sow cleared her throat. “Besides his stellar record, there’s another reason I had Crushek—the polar bear”—she clarified for Cella and Smith—“pulled into this division as quickly as I could manage without setting off major alarms and a massive investigation by the full-humans of NYPD.”
“What reason?”
“There’s a rumor his cover was blown.”
“By Baissier?”
“Most likely.”
“Did you tell his C.O.? Chief of D’s?” MacDermot asked.
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is shifter business and the last thing we need is the NYPD looking into the BPC.” She sighed. “And ...”
“And?” MacDermot pushed. “And what?”
“And ...” Gentry looked at them all before finally admitting, “Peg Baissier was Crushek’s foster mother.”
Sick of hearing Conway laugh at him about having to get his hair cut, Crush slammed his phone down.
He hated change. Change was bad. Change sucked. Change ...
Crush looked around the room, realizing that everyone was staring in his direction, but they weren’t really looking at him.
Slowly, he swiveled his office chair around and looked at Gentry’s office. MacDermot, the She-wolf, and that damn feline were all standing on the other side of that big window. . . watching him. Even worse—they all looked sad. Devastated. What the fuck was going on?