Page 50 of Bears Behaving Badly
Dev said they were siblings. Impossible, but they’re almost certainly friends. Or at least friendly. Maybe Dev wasn’t kidding when he said Caro needed him.
Annette tore herself away from one of the most adorable things she’d ever seen to address one of the hottest things she’d ever seen. “Let’s get those wounds cleaned up—yours, too, Pat—and figure out another terrible plan. As for you”—she stepped forward and gave Pat a hug—“thank you. Above and beyond, as always. And I’m so sorry you landed in the middle of this.”
“Stop that.” But he returned the hug and even blushed a little, which she would never, ever tell him, not even if she was buried alive or starved. “You knew I had it covered.”
“So you did.”I knew you’d die with your enemies’ blood in your mouth. I knew you’d never quit. I just didn’t know if you were in a fight you could win.“Hey! You two! Enough!”
Werefox and werewolf froze in mid-melee. One of Dev’s comically large ears was in Caro’s mouth. Dev twitched the other ear, then jabbed Caro with a black paw.
“Are you kidding, Dev? I’m standing right here, and I can literally see you ignoring me! ‘Enough’ means shift back, we have to talk. Well. Most of us have to talk. Caro can take notes. And Pat—”
“Don’t worry, we can all cover up. I have eight other aprons.”
“Such a relief.”
Chapter 20
Twenty minutes later
No cops. No backup. No choice. Well, two choices.
“Run or dig in?”
“Runanddig in,” Annette replied.
“I didn’t know that was an option.” David had no idea why Annette sounded so confident, but what the hell, he’d stick. He’d been along for the ride since the second she found his Jolly Ranchers and laughed her ass off, which got him going, and that’s when he knew: the sound of their mingled laughter was the nicest sound he’d ever heard.
And her mouth. Her ripe, sweet mouth.Jesus.
Bad idea, his mother said dolefully.Think of the cubs you’ll force her to ruin.
(PLEASE shut up, Mom. Go find Dad. Or something.)
“Are you all right?”
He blinked. “Why?”
Annette was studying him. “You’ve got an odd look on your face, did you know?”
“How would I know that?”
“Oh. Touché.”
The warwolves had no ID in their clothes, no distinguishing marks (except for the wounds showing the horrific and richly deserved manner in which they died), no visible pack affiliation, no jewelry—not a wedding ring or piercing among them—and absolutely nothing anyone could use to ID them.
“Pros. Likely sent by pros.”
“How do you know that?” Dev asked, skeptical but attentive.
“Go hire a professional assassin,” David ordered.
“Huh?”
“Right now. How hard can it be? There’s probably an app for that. So. Go get yourself a professional killer, one you know is experienced and won’t burn you if he’s caught. Oh, and money. You’ll need loads of it. But you can get your hands on six figures in untraceable funds anytime you want, right?”
“Well, notsixfigures…” Dev nodded. “Okay, I get you.”
“You know a disturbing amount about gainfully employing random hit men, David,” Pat commented. “I should be more alarmed. And I hate this thing. It itches like crazy.”
