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Dee glanced at her watch again, shoveled the rest of the food into her mouth, followed by a few gulps of scalding hot coffee.

“All right. Gotta go.”

“See ya.”

Dee left her friend’s hotel room and headed out. She wasn’t looking forward to this day, but the faster she could get it over with, the quicker she could be done with Marcella Malone.

Ric was on his computer, playing with his money in his home office, when Mrs. M. walked in. She’d been Ric’s housekeeper for years and she always took good care of him. She was older now, though, and only worked three days a week, but that was okay with Ric. When one found good staff, especially staff that made the best soda bread and brisket this side of Ireland, one remained flexible.

“Your mother’s here.”

Ric looked up from his financial reports and he knew he was frowning.

“Are you too busy?” she asked.

“No. No, of course not. Just give me a minute.”

“Of course.”

Ric piled together all the paperwork and put it away in his big safe. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his mother, but if she was coming to see him, unannounced, it most likely involved his father. And Ric would rather that she didn’t see anything his father would feel the need to drag out of her. His mother was not a very good liar and his father always knew when she was hiding something.

He was back at his desk when Jennifer Van Holtz walked in.

“Ulrich.”

“Mom.” He came around his desk and kissed both her cheeks. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

He held a seat for her and she sat down. Rather than return to his own chair, he rested his backside against his desk and smiled at her. “So what brings you here?”

When she twisted her hands in her lap and looked away, Ric answered for her. “Dad?”

“Well,” she began, “you two have never gotten along and he thought it might be better coming from me.”

“What might be better?”

“You know your father has always wanted to try his hand at something a little different.”

“Like being a coroner?”

First she looked stern, then she gave a little laugh. “I meant with his restaurants.”

“That’s down to Uncle Van.” But why Alder Van Holtz would want to change the theme of their restaurants when they were doing so well, Ric didn’t know. To quote Dee-Ann, “If it ain’t broke, leave it the hell alone.”

“He knows that. But nothing can stop him from doing something on his own.”

“Absolutely.”

Ric did all sorts of things on his own and Uncle Van never once complained, which he appreciated.

“And he has some backers already who are more than willing to invest in a new restaurant.”

“A new restaurant? Now?” In this economy? Ric was just grateful the Van Holtz Steak House and Fine Dining chain was doing so well despite everything else that was going on. But shifters did like their “natural” foods, as they called it. Polars wanted their seal blubber, lions wanted their gazelle legs, wolves wanted their deer marrow. . . .

“I know it sounds very challenging. He understands that, but he’s really got some great ideas and plans—”

“But?”

“He could use another backer.”

“Preferably his son, who he probably won’t bother paying back because he wants to believe that my money is his money?”

“Ulrich—”

“Mom.” He crouched in front of her and took her small hands into his own. “I know you want to help him, and maybe he’s got the best idea for a new restaurant chain that will make him a ton of money. And maybe it would be something I’d love to invest in . . . if I trusted him. I don’t trust him.”

“He’s your father.”

“He hates me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Mom.” Ric laughed. “Come on. You sent me to Uncle Van’s every summer rather than risk me spending days home alone with just him and Wendell while you were out. Probably because you were afraid of what he’d do while you were gone.”

She snatched her hands back from his and stood, stepping away from her son. “Ulrich Van Holtz! That is a horrible thing to say about your own father.”

Ric stood, shrugged. “But not exactly inaccurate.”

Dee walked into the Group offices cafeteria and immediately noticed how quickly all conversation stopped.

“What now?” she asked the room.

One of the coyote weapons technicians, with his legs up on one of the tables, grinned at her and asked, “You’re working with KZS?”

“Yeah. And?”

“You? You?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I work with the worthless, lazy evil felines around here all the time. It don’t make me no nevermind.”

“Perhaps,” one of the cheetahs sweetly suggested, “referring to felines as lazy and evil—”

“Don’t forget worthless,” Dee reminded her with a smile.

“Right. Perhaps . . . that might suggest that you, of all beings on this planet, shouldn’t be working with the pro-feline, noncanine-fan Katzenhaft members.”

“But why? When I’m willing to overlook y’all’s flaws and annoying feline habits?”

“This isn’t just some feline,” a sloth bear pointed out over canine laughter. “This is Bare Knuckles Malone. She used to play with the Nevada Slammers before she came out here. She ranks third in all-time penalty minutes behind The Marauder and that polar bear who tore off a hyena’s jaw with his teeth.”

Dee sweetly crossed her hands over her upper chest. “Are y’all worried about me?”

“No,” the entire room kicked back, making Dee laugh until that hand slammed down on her shoulder, nearly ripping it out of her socket.

“Smith,” Malone said, smiling.

“Malone.” Dee glanced at the hand gripping her shoulder. “You wanna keep those fingers, feline?”

“You wanna take your best shot, backwoods?”

“Wait, wait,” a male wolf injected. “Don’t do this . . .” He stood. “Until we pull the tables back.”

Blayne Thorpe wiggled her cute little butt out from under the restaurant’s kitchen sink. “All done!”

Ric finished up the eggs, bacon, and toast, and placed it on the counter where Blayne would have her late breakfast.

“Thanks for getting here so quick,” he said, before wiping down his pans. “We’re completely booked for lunch and dinner, so a backed-up sink would have killed us.”

“No problem.” Blayne scrubbed her hands clean before hopping up on a stool and enjoying her food while watching Ric’s crew get ready for their lunch service. She managed to light up the room without being intrusive. It was definitely a gift, especially in a busy restaurant kitchen.

“So,” she asked, “are you going to give your dad the money?”

Ric rested his elbows on the counter and his chin on his raised fists. “No, which is going to irritate him.”

“But don’t you have to give him what he wants when he asks for it? Isn’t that Pack rules or something?”

“Not unless you no longer want to have a Pack.” Although Blayne was half wolf, her father hadn’t been part of the Pack since she’d been born. The Magnus Pack Alphas—like most wolf Packs at the time and some still today—refused to let him stay if he insisted on keeping Blayne. So she had little experience with Pack law. She did, however, have a great father. Moody, a tad terse, but he loved his daughter. Ric briefly wondered what that was like—to know your father loved you. “Due to the opposable-thumb flaw all shifters have, you take a huge risk that they might leave the Pack if you attempt to abscond with their money.”

“Aaaah. I forgot about the opposable-thumb flaw.” She held up her hands, wiggled her thumbs. “Damn these thumbs. Damn them!”