Beast Behaving Badly (16 page)

“Ric knows?
Already?
Who the hell told him?”

“Got me. But I got the feeling he knew I'd spent the night at your apartment last night.”

“Of course he knows,” she said, relaxing. “He probably heard about it from Dee-Ann.”

“And she'd know because . . .”

“I'm pretty sure he hired her to follow me.”

Now Bo stood straight. “What do you mean he's following you?”

“Ric's not following me. Dee-Ann is. I'm just sure Ric hired her.”

“Blayne,” he said, oh-so-calmly, “it's not normal for a man to follow or have you followed. It's called stalking and you need a restraining order.”

“Ric Van Holtz is not stalking me,” she said, unable to envision her favorite wolf stalking anyone, much less her. “Besides, he's in love with Dee-Ann.”

“Which one is Dee-Ann?”

“The She-wolf I screamed at in the club the other night.”

“Still have no clue.”

“It doesn't matter. Ric thinks he's protecting me.”

“From what?”

“Pit fights.”

“I have to say it's never boring talking to you.”

“You've heard about what's going on with hybrids, haven't you?” When he shrugged, she said, “They're snatching hybrids off the streets and using us like pit bulls and rotties. They've been finding bodies all over the city and Jersey.”

“We're not even worth hunting now?”

“Nope. They're still going to the pure breeds for that.”

“Great. Something else I have to worry about.”

“I'm guessing it wouldn't be easy to take you down.”

“Since only hockey players have ever tried, I have no answer for you. Then again, you did pretty well for yourself.”

“True, but that's from Daddy-given skills. Few have those.”

Bo looked at his watch. “It's late. I'll take you home.”

Blayne snorted. “What for?”

“You tell me there's someone out to get you and you ask me that?”

“I didn't tell you that. What I said was that Ric was trying to protect me
and
that hybrids were being grabbed. That does not translate into Blayne has a bounty on her head. Ric's just being ‘overprotective but I have lots of money so I can be' guy. Trust me, if I were in any danger, someone would have told me by now.”

“I don't like it.”

“I don't care.” She grabbed his arm and looked at his watch. “Okay. I've gotta get back to practice.”

“Yeah, but—”

“See ya!”

And she heard the frustration in his voice when he yelled after her, “And I can't believe you're still wearing that useless goddamn watch!”

CHAPTER 14

W
aiting in the diner across from the sports center, Lock watched his best friend not eat. Instead he gazed out the window.

“This isn't about Novikov, is it?”

Ric frowned. “Novikov?”

“And Blayne? The reason you were hanging thirty or so feet from the ground?”

“Oh! Right.” Ric picked up a fry. “What about them now?”

“What is going on with you?” Lock demanded. God, he hoped Ric wasn't still mooning over Dee. That She-wolf was so out of reach for Ric, she could be on Mars.

“Nothing. Why?”

“Why? Because you're getting into fights with guys four times your size. When did you turn into your brother?”

“I don't want him taking advantage of Blayne.”

“Blayne can handle herself.”

Ric shrugged and again gazed out the window. “I guess.”

“Are you sure there's nothing else bothering you? You seem kind of . . . anxious.”

Ric looked at Lock again. “What now?”

Blayne dragged her backpack onto her shoulders. She was feeling really good right now. She was doing better. Everyone was saying so. The training from Bo was definitely paying off. Now, if she could manage to keep him off her back and out of her social calendar until the championships, she'd be golden.

“Night, guys!” she said, waving.

“Night, Blayne!”

Gwen met her at the door. “You sure you don't want to come to the diner with me?”

“Nah. It's been a long day. I'm exhausted.”

“The fight with Mitch took a lot out of you?”

Blayne growled and pushed the locker room door open. “He's lucky I didn't yank his nuts off.” Blayne froze right outside the hallway. “What are you doing here?”

Bo leaned back against the opposite wall. He'd showered and changed into black jeans, a blue T-shirt, and work boots. His duffel bag was nowhere to be found and she knew he'd been waiting for her.

“I'm here to take you home.”

She rolled her eyes. “I already told you—”

“Wait. I'm here to take you home after I take you out. To dinner. Tonight.”

“I am
not
going out with you.” Especially when he had that tone.

“You want to save my life, don't you?”

“What?”

“You've got lion males trying to kill me.”

“I said maybe. They
may
be trying to kill you.”

“Right. But if we're going out, if we're
dating,
I can't be taking advantage of you. Isn't that right, Gwen?”

“Absolutely!”

Blayne shoved Gwen back into the locker room with one good push, and Bo nodded his head in approval. “Nice.”

“This,” Blayne said after closing the locker room door, “is bullshit.”

“Why? What's a little date and a drive home between two people who've already slept together?”

Even though Blayne knew what Bo meant, she still snarled when she heard that collective, “Ooooooooooooooh!” Followed by several “Told ya so” and “Ride it, Blaynie!” tossed in to really make her crazy.

To show her annoyance, Blayne brought her foot back against the door and heard several barks of pain.

“She mule-kicked the door!” someone yelled.

“I don't get what's going on,” she told him. “I don't know what you're doing.”

Bo stepped closer until he towered over her. “I'm backing you in a corner, blocking you in, trapping you. But it's your fault I'm doing that.”

“
My
fault?”

“Because you've put me in danger, I have no choice. Poor little me against all those big scary Irish male lions.” He placed his hands against the door on either side of her head. “And, yeah, it's all your fault.”

“How do you live with yourself?”

“I can tell you that over dinner or we can stand here arguing the same damn point for the next ten thousand hours with your entire team listening at the door. Choose which is worse.”

“Fine. Dinner and you take me home. And then you are never to speak to me again.”

“Let's move that particular threat until after the championships, Blayne!” Gwen yelled through the door.

“Shut up!”

Bo hauled himself into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and started his truck. He put on the heat, trying not to look too embarrassed when it sputtered to life since he never used the heat in his truck, even in the middle of the coldest winter. But Blayne was too busy seething at him to notice or care.

Yet Bo had learned a lot about Blayne in the last couple of weeks, and if there was one thing he now knew, it was easy to distract her from nearly anything. Normally that aspect of her personality drove him nuts, but now he needed it.

Reaching into the back of his truck, he pulled out the small bag.

“I bought you something,” he said. He took the box out of the bag and placed it in her lap. She didn't even look at it, so Bo opened the box for her—and waited.

It took about thirty seconds for her curiosity to get the better of her, and she glanced down at the box. Two seconds later, angry brown eyes locked onto him.

“A watch?” she demanded. “You bought me a watch?”

“Don't get mad,” he said. “This is just something to help you manage your time before you drive me to drink.”

“Because I keep looking at your watch when I need the time, or because I was a few minutes late a couple of times?”

“
Fifteen
minutes late. Fifteen is not a few.” He raised his finger. “Don't throw it.” He grabbed the box back and pulled the watch out. “Let's see how it looks on you.”

“I can't take this watch.”

“Why not?” He pulled off the stupid, useless watch on her wrist, flinging it into the very back of his truck while ignoring her outraged gasp, and placed the new one he'd picked up that evening from a bear-run jeweler a few blocks from the sports center.

“Bo, it's too expensive.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You want me to believe that you got this from some street vendor?” Instead of answering, Bo stared at her until Blayne blinked and looked back down at the watch. “You got this from a street vendor?” He kept staring since it worked the first time. “For how much?”

“Fifty,” he said vaguely.

“Fifty? For this?” She gave a little snort. “I would have haggled them down to thirty-five bucks at least. It's not even a name knockoff. Meirston? What's that a play on?”

“I have no idea.” Actually it was the brand name of a very old and very powerful bear dynasty that had been creating and selling jewelry since the time of Moses. At least that's what it said on its marketing materials. “It's nice though, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“It can take a lot of abuse.”

Her lips pursed. “Which means what, exactly?”

“Do you really want me to spell out your clumsiness?”

“No. That won't be necessary.”

“Good.” He rested his hand on the gearshift. “You still mad?”

“Livid.” But then she smiled at him. “But I'm thinking I can get over it if the meal's good.”

“It'll be the best,” he said, pulling out of his spot. “I promise.”

 

 

“There she is,” the kid next to him said, pointing at the truck pulling out of the parking lot. “She's with—”

“Don't care.” He patted the shoulder of the driver. “Keep close, but don't spook 'em.” The van followed after the couple, and he walked back to be with the rest of his team. He'd only been doing this job for six months, but it paid better than what he used to do for twenty years. Mercenary work was unstable and ten times more dangerous. Yet once a man acknowledged that he was dealing with animals, not humans, the rest of this gig was easy.

He lit a cigarette and gripped one of the poles so he could keep standing.

“Are we ready?” he asked the tech who handled the tranquilizers.

“Yep.” He handed over the gun that was used to tranq elephants. That would be for the hybrid's boyfriend. They had a second, smaller tranq rifle for the hybrid, but they'd be better off nailing her up close with the syringe instead, and grabbing her at the same time. Of all the hybrids they'd taken down, the wolfdogs were the hardest. None of them seemed to have the same internal systems. Put in too much medication and they could die on you. Put in too little . . .

He scratched the wounds on his neck.

But they'd been watching the energetic little wolfdog for months now. Their tranq tech positive she had the right dosage for someone of the freak's size and weight.

Still, he knew better than to count on that. Once the team got her in the van, they'd chain her up and keep her that way until they made the trip up north to what everyone called the Fight Farm. So even if the tranq wasn't enough for her, no problem. The wolfdogs, although tough to manage, were still dogs. Once he learned how to handle a female with actual claws, the rest was a walk in the park. Because unlike real dogs and cats, the humans knew what that gun to the head or knife to the throat actually meant.

Making his job so much easier.

They were in Brooklyn, sitting at a stoplight, when Bo realized that little Miss Short Attention Span was playing with her watch. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she said, her head down and her finger pushing at the different buttons.

Bo glanced back at the four-hundred-thirty page user's guide that came with that particular series of Meirston watches. A version sized for the cubs. Besides wanting to help her manage her time, he wanted her to have a level of protection that even average shifters didn't have. Bear protection.

Normally, Bo would hand over the directions at the same time he gave Blayne the watch, but he knew if he gave her the directions now, she'd figure out it was the real deal and had cost him a hell of a lot more than fifty bucks. But still . . . if she hit the wrong button, he'd be paying that hundred-grand tab that came from accidental alerts because he knew from Blayne's tiny apartment she couldn't handle that financial hit.

“Uh”—he scrambled—“you know what's cool about this watch?”

“What?”

“There's an emergency beacon.”

“An emergency beacon? In a knockoff?”

“It's a really good knockoff.”
Or whatever.

“What's the beacon supposed to do?”

Bo stopped at another light and leaned over, grasping her wrist. “When you're in trouble, you pop this open and pull this little piece out, and press this button. It will send out a beacon signal that can be traced by certain military types.”