“Yes, but—”
“And you’re the one I trust to be honest with me.”
“But it sounds like you already know the truth.”
“I’m guessing. You are the one with the head for numbers. Or so my beautiful wife keeps telling me. Her exact words were, ‘Please don’t try to think. It’s painful to watch. Send the damn things to Ulrich.’ And, as always, she’s absolutely right. Will that be a problem?”
Investigating to see if Ric’s father, Alder Van Holtz, was robbing his own family and Pack of funds for whatever reason he might have? Gee . . . why would that be a problem?
“No, sir.”
“Excellent. Let me know when you have something.”
“Okay.”
The call disconnected, Ric went back to his work, glad that he would be turning over his kitchen to his sous-chef soon because he had guests coming over in a bit. But before he could get lost in the food, his phone went off again.
Dreading that his father had already heard all about it through his spies, Ric went out to the back alley to answer the call.
“This is Ric.”
“Mr. Van Holtz?”
Ric almost sighed in relief when he heard a woman’s voice on the other end. “Yes.”
“This is Detective MacDermot. NYPD.”
He knew her. Mace Llewellyn’s wife. Not exactly the type of woman Ric would expect a lion like Llewellyn to choose for his mate. Not that there was anything wrong with Desiree MacDermot. Far from it. But a Puerto Rican–Irish street cop from the Bronx wasn’t exactly a blue blood, was she? Something that the Llewellyns usually insisted upon.
“Yes, Detective. What can I do for you?”
“My boss was wondering if you could come in tonight for a meeting.”
Ric frowned. “I’m working tonight and have plans, so I’m not sure that’s going to—”
“We have your team, Mr. Van Holtz.”
Ric blew out a breath. Dee-Ann. “I understand. I’m heading right over.”
“Thank you.” She ended the call and Ric slipped the phone back into his sweats. Already irritated, now Ric was extremely annoyed. He glanced at his watch, making sure he had enough time to deal with whatever drama Dee-Ann and her team had gotten into and then get back to meet his friends without being forced to cancel the entire evening. He could do it, even though he might be a little late, but they’d wait for him.
Already thinking of what he’d have to do in his kitchen before he could cut out, Ric gazed down to the end of the alley that led out to the street. That’s when he saw him. Their eyes met and the kid took off.
Ric ran to the end of the alley, looking up and down the busy street, trying to catch sight of him again. Nope. Nothing.
Damn it. This night was simply not getting any better, was it?
Dee sat in the cage, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin resting on her fists. She sat in the cage and waited while the She-tiger in the cage next to her paced back and forth like she was about to be dragged off to the Bronx Zoo tiger display.
“How can you just sit there like that?” Malone finally demanded.
“What do you expect me to do? Pace around like an idiot?”
“I expect you to do something.”
“Don’t see the purpose of gettin’ all upset.”
“When do you ever?”
“That was always your problem, Malone. All emotion, no sense.”
Malone faced her, gripping the bars with her still-bloody knuckles. “At least I give a shit. At least I care about those people they found.”
“That’s real Yankee of ya, Malone. But your big emotions don’t really help nothin’, do they?”
“Cold as your precious daddy, I see.”
That had Dee up off the bench she’d been sitting on, across the cage, her arm through the bars, and her hand wrapping around the back of Malone’s head. She jerked her forward, slamming her forehead into the titanium metal they used for these cages since they were built specifically for shifters.
Malone’s fist came through the bars, punching Dee in the eye.
Fangs bared, the two females held on, trying to drag each other through the bars.
“Dee-Ann!”
Dee stumbled back, the pair releasing each other at the bellow.
Trying to see through her already swelling eye, she blinked in surprise.
Van Holtz . . . er . . . Ric, stood outside the bars, absolutely seething. He was in his black sweats, black Van sneakers, and black T-shirt, but the scent of his busy kitchen still lingered all around him. The predator cops sitting at their desks lifted their heads and tested the air, probably trying to figure out why they were suddenly so hungry.
“Get out here,” Ric ordered and Dee walked forward. She reached through the bars and fussed with the lock that held her for a bit. It opened easy enough, and she heard Malone gasp in surprise behind her. Poor felines. They just didn’t have the same way with locks as wolves and foxes.
“Why didn’t you do that before?” Malone wanted to know.
“Because knowing I can do it is just as good as doing it. Just like knowing that I can cut your throat while you sleep—”
Ric placed a hand over Dee’s mouth and pulled her down the hall. “Bathroom?” he asked Desiree, who was unlocking Malone’s cage.
“At the end of the hallway.”
They found the room and Ric pushed her in.
“What is wrong with you?” he demanded.
And all Dee could do was shrug and admit, “She irritates me.”
Ric opened the first aid kit tacked to the wall and took out some gauze and antibiotic cream. He wet the gauze and began wiping the blood off Dee’s face and her knuckles. Once the blood was gone, however, he still had bruises and cuts to deal with.
“She irritates you? She irritates everyone.”
Dee gazed at him through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “You know Malone?”
“I hired Malone. She plays on the Carnivores.”
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“Have you seen the way that woman plays?”
“I don’t care how she plays, supermodel. She’s with KZS. Did you know that, too?”
He gazed into her eyes and answered with utter honesty, “Of course, I knew.”
Dee shoved him aside. “You’re working with them now?”
“They’re not our enemy, Dee-Ann.”
“Like hell they’re not. Maybe you don’t remember when they tried to move on wolf territory, but I sure do.”
Ric scratched his forehead. “You mean in 1832?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. Smiths really don’t let a grudge go, do they?”
“Not unless we’re contractually obligated to like we were with y’all.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. But we don’t have time for this, Dee.”
“What does that mean?”
“Come on.”
Dee waited while Ric threw out the bloody gauze, slathered some ointment on the worst of her cuts, washed his hands, and took Dee to the main office on the floor: a glass room with a door and a view of the Brooklyn Bridge from the window behind the desk. Sitting at the desk was a black bear sow. Desiree stood next to the desk and Malone sat in a chair beside another feline. A lynx, who seemed way overdressed for this meeting.
“There you are,” the lynx complained, pointing at her watch. “Have date. Not missing. Let’s move this along, people.”
Ric closed the door and, always the gentleman, began introducing everyone to Dee. “You know Detective MacDermott, and this is her boss Lynsey Gentry. She runs this division of the NYPD. And you know Marcella Malone, and this is her boss, Nina Bugliosi. She’s Cella’s supervisor, but speaks for KZS as I speak for the Group.”