Ric finally spoke, “Because it’s resting against one of the oven doors.”
Stein stood tall, pulling his head away and shaking it. Good thing the door wasn’t open—he’d probably have fallen in. “Oh. Right.”
Ric glanced at the still-sizzling steaks on that single long plate. “That’s all for Adelle?”
Stein looked at the plate and back up at Ric. “Yeah. Sure. All for Adelle.”
“Then give it to her and get back to work. Those dishes won’t clean themselves.”
“Right. Absolutely.” He put the plate on the counter and scurried back to his sink full of dishes.
Going over the tickets from the lunch run, Adelle shook her head and laughed a little. “You’re being awfully hard on him.”
“I know.” Ric grabbed two forks and two steak knives and maneuvered the plate between them. “You said yourself he deserves worse.”
“From me. You’re the nice one.” She put her paperwork aside and took the fork and knife handed to her. They both cut off a piece of steak and took a bite. They chewed and gazed at each other.
Finally, Adelle announced, “That’s amazing.”
“Ssssh. Don’t tell him.”
“I mean . . . amazing.”
“Keep your voice down. I’m not done with him yet. No matter”—he took another bite of steak and groaned—“how damn good this is.”
They continued to eat in silence for several more minutes until Adelle asked, “So explain to me why you had a naked Dee-Ann Smith running around your apartment this morning?”
Ric somehow managed to swallow his food without choking on it and answered, “Uh . . . no reason?”
“What is it with you and Van and the weird-eyed girls?”
“Dee’s eyes aren’t weird. They gorgeous. I call them canine gold.”
“You always were an odd but self-contained child, Ulrich.”
“I love her,” he admitted. “I have since I met her.”
“I’m not even going to argue with you about this because the Van Holtz men have the most disturbing taste in women since our first known ancestor, Eberulf the Goat Killer married Himiltrud the Hideous. And clearly you’re no different.”
Ric thought on that a moment and then asked, “Our first ancestor was a goat killer?”
“Ulrich . . . the man had to eat.”
Dee spit the liquid back in the bottle and glared at Rory Lee. “What is this?”
“Non-alcoholic beer.”
“You dare give this to me?”
“That’s all they have.” Rory sat back in the booth of the karaoke bar they were in and asked, “Why are you here again?”
“Because my cousin’s torturing me.”
“Sometimes you have to pretend to be part of the Pack, darlin’. So when you’re old and grey, they won’t rip your throat out because you’re toothless.”
“That’s lovely. Thank you.”
He leaned in a bit and sniffed her. “You’ve got strange wolf on you.” His eyes narrowed. “Who you been fuckin’?”
“Rory Lee Reed! You speak to me proper!”
“All right.” He lowered his voice several octaves and said, “Who you been fuckin’?”
Dee grinned. “Ric Van Holtz.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but don’t tell.”
“Why? You ashamed?”
“Nope. Just seems more dirty that way.”
“You and your dirty fetish.”
“Can’t help it . . . turns me on.”
“Ew.”
“Besides,” Dee went on, “you can’t tell anyone because once Ronnie Lee knows everyone will know.”
“Including your daddy.”
“And Ric is just so damn pretty, it would be a right shame to see him all . . .”
“Eviscerated?”
She sighed. “You do know how Daddy likes to eviscerate.”
“He does have a skill.”
“A man has to know his strengths.”
“So do you like him?”
Frowning, “I love Daddy.”
“Not him. Van Holtz. Do you like Van Holtz?”
“Oh.” Dee thought a moment, then answered, “Yep.”
“And?” he pushed.
“And what?”
“Ain’t ya gonna gush about him or somethin’?”
“Gush? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”
“Sorry. For a minute there I thought you were a girl, but then I remembered that you’re just sleeping with one.”
“Don’t be jealous ’cause you don’t look like a supermodel, too. Not everybody can be that pretty.”
They focused on the stage and Dee demanded, “What in hell are we listening to?”
“A lion male singing ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’ ”
“Ya see?” she asked her friend. “Daddy was right.”
And together they said, “Time to start the killin’.”
CHAPTER 13
Ric sat at his kitchen table, working on ideas for the next day’s menu based on what product he knew would be coming into the restaurant that morning and what they had left over that was still fresh. He enjoyed doing this, coming up with new ideas, pulling out old ones, turning them into a cohesive whole that worked with their standard cuts of meat. So focused on his menu, he didn’t know he wasn’t alone until Dee slammed down a plate of angel food cake onto the table and dropped into the chair beside him.
“Hello.”
“Hey,” she replied while . . . well, while pouting.
“Something wrong?”
“Just tired.”
“No more problems with Malone?”
“Not today. Tomorrow, of course, is another story.”
“Make it work, Dee-Ann.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She glanced at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
She snorted. “You’re a bad liar.”
“And you’re not just tired.”
Dee toyed with her dessert plate. “Do you ever wonder sometimes what it would be like to be a nice, solitary cat, without all the Pack fuss?”
“Not really.” Ric picked up her fork and lifted a piece of cake to her mouth. “All those hairballs and obsession with yarn. Plus, I just don’t know how to do that thing they do.”
“What thing?” she asked before opening her mouth so he could feed her the cake.
“That arch look of disdain they all have about absolutely everything. Let’s be honest, Dee. It’s a skill canines simply lack.”
She could tell something was bothering him, but she wouldn’t push him if he didn’t want to talk about it. Nothing irritated her more than people pushing her when she wasn’t in the mood to be pushed. Instead, she ate the cake he fed her.
“I’m glad you came back,” Ric told her, lifting another forkful to her mouth.
“So am I.” She grinned. “Because you’re lookin’ sexy.”
“I’m not a whore, Dee-Ann. You can’t just come here to use and abuse me before going on your merry way. Unless, of course, you’re naked.”
“Still not bored with that yet?”
“Never.”
“Most males are scared off by my scars.”
“Even wolves?”
“There’s a difference between survival scars and ‘I kill for a living’ scars. And wolves with half a brain can tell them apart.” She took the fork from him and proceeded to feed him several pieces of cake.
“Does your father have a lot of scars?” he asked between bites.
“Not as many as mine. Daddy was not one for the close-up kill unless you really pissed him off.”
“But you enjoy more . . . direct engagement?”
“I can kill from a distance like anyone else with my training, but that don’t always feel right to me. I’d rather know when my end is coming. I’d rather look it in the eye. Tell it ‘How do ya do?’ To those who deserve it, I try and do the same thing. For those who don’t . . . they get whatever’s comin’.” She suddenly smirked a little at the expression on his face. “Am I making you nervous, Van Holtz?”