Wolf with Benefits (25 page)

“We can’t just leave her in there.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.” Vic shrugged. “But her mangled body should be tossed out here anytime now.”

Ricky gawked at the man. “Not. Helping.”

 

Toni was aware that hands were grabbing for her as she moved around unbelievably large men to reach her goal. But she was fast and she was scrappy, so she ignored those hands until she’d gotten to the front of the group and jumped in front of Ivan Zubachev.

She stopped and held out her arm, palm out. “Hold it just a second, Poppa Bear.”

Zubachev did stop walking, but his expression suggested he wouldn’t wait for long.

“You’d do well to move from my way, little, tiny dog.”

“I thought I was here to talk business.”

“That cat bitch was supposed to come. And yet she is not here, but you are. I don’t talk to dog.”

He started to move forward so Toni took several steps back, her arm still held out. “You don’t want to talk to dogs? Do you think I want to talk to you? Do you think I’m comfortable around human beings
this
large? I’m not. But I have a job to do, so I sucked it up and I came here. And now you won’t even talk to me. How is that acceptable?”

“I don’t talk to dog,” he repeated, and Toni knew he was serious. He was not going to talk to her simply because she was canine.

So if the bear was going to be as difficult as all stubborn bears could be, then Toni was going to be as difficult as all dogs could be.

“Leave by door,” the bear said, walking around her with the others following. She watched them all lumber by and, once they were a healthy distance away, Toni yipped. Several times.

The bears stopped. Zubachev covered his ears, spun to face her.

“What is that noise?”
he bellowed.

“That’s how jackals talk. I’m a jackal, not a dog. Dogs bark. Jackals yip.”

“Well, stop it!”

Toni shook her head. “No.”

She yipped again.

Zubachev dropped his hands to his sides and took an angry stepped forward. “Stop it,” he ordered. “Or we make you stop.”

“You’d have to catch me first, and I can assure you . . . jackals are way faster than bears. Because we have to be. And this place you have”—she raised her arms and spun in a circle—“has wonderful acoustics. I can hide all over the place and just make this noise all . . . day . . .
long.
”

Then she began yipping and yipping and yipping.

 

Ricky and Vic pulled away from the door.

“Good God, what is that noise?” the hybrid demanded.

“That’s the soothing sounds of your local jackal.”

“Are they cries for help?”

“Nope.” Ricky shook his head. “Just her saying ‘hi.’ ”

Vic’s eyes narrowed. “It makes me want to kill.”

And that’s what was worrying Ricky. Especially when he heard the distinctive angry roar of bears coming from inside the building.

“She’s going to get herself killed,” Vic warned.

Ricky stepped back and studied the front of the building. “Come on. We’ve gotta find a way in.”

 

“Make her stop!” a polar screamed at Zubachev in Russian. She knew what he was saying only because he used phrases that one of Coop’s piano teachers, a great player from Moscow, had used. Usually just before the man whacked her brother’s hand with the riding crop he kept on him at all times. Toni had let that go the first time it happened, but the second time he’d done it, she’d decked the prick and that had been the end of her brother’s relationship with that particular piano teacher.

Zubachev tried to grab Toni, but she was, as she’d said, too fast for him. Plus, unlike many canines, she’d taught herself to climb when she was eight because a rich cub from the Pride near their home had told her dogs couldn’t climb. Toni had felt it was her duty to prove all cats wrong.

So she now stood comfortably on top of one of the big statues lining the marble hallway.

“You know how to stop me, Ivan.”

The grizzly glowered up at her.

“You know how to stop me,” she repeated. When he still didn’t reply, she began to howl for her siblings. It was a sound that her family always found soothing. It meant that someone was there to watch out for you, to care for you. Others, though—like bears, lions, hyenas, cheetahs, leopards, et al.—found the sound so painfully annoying that they couldn’t get away from jackals fast enough.

“Fine!”
Zubachev roared, and she could tell saying that clearly pained him. Which, Toni would privately admit, she kind of enjoyed.

She stopped howling, and Zubachev said, “I will talk to Yuri about meeting with you about bastard freak.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“But you will not make that noise again.”

“Okay.”

“Because it annoys.”

“I know. It is annoying.” Then again, so were bears being bigots.

Ivan pointed at a black bear. Toni felt kind of bad for that bear. Height-wise he was considerably smaller than the grizzlies and polars. But width-wise . . . he was built like a mountain. “Help the canine down.”

“I can do it.” And she did, moving expertly down the statue until she was on the ground.

She stared up at the bear. “So what’s next?”

“This way, little dog.”

“Or you could just call me Toni.”

“Could. Won’t.”

Deciding not to argue the point, she followed the group down the giant hall. It reminded her of Versailles in France with its stately marble floors and floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining the entire hallway. Everything was ornate but a little too much for her taste. But as they began walking, Ricky and Barinov came charging out of one of the large rooms, their weapons drawn.

The room the two males emerged from was on the other side of the house, so they must have run around the very wide palace to get to it so quickly.

“Are you all right?” Ricky asked her. For once she didn’t see a smirk on his face but true concern.

“I’m fine.” But just as she said that, her phone vibrated. Another text. Sighing, Toni dug her phone out of the back of her jeans. It was from her mother.

Toni didn’t even know what the hell that meant. And why was her mother asking that question so late at night? Late for New York time anyway because it wasn’t even four in the morning there. And what the hell was going on back there? Why were they all being so ridiculous?

“Toni?”

She looked up at Ricky. “What?”

“Your neck is getting all red.”

Toni rubbed her hand across her throat. “Oh. That. Yeah. That happens sometimes.”

“Can I help?”

“No one can help.” She shoved her phone back into her jeans. “Let’s just get this done.”

Maybe, just maybe, if she could get through this negotiation quickly, she could catch a flight later tonight and get home before her entire family imploded.

Yes. Excellent plan.

Toni faced Zubachev. “Let’s get this going, Mr. Zubachev.”

He nodded and again headed off down the hall. They all followed until he reached a room. He stepped inside and waited for Toni, Ricky, and Barinov to follow. Once they were in the room, he said, “Wait here.”

Zubachev walked out, closing the door behind him. The three of them stared at each other until, with a shrug, they all took seats on the available chairs and couch. And they sat in that room for nearly three hours before Zubachev returned.

He looked at Toni. “Come back tomorrow. Nine in morning.”

Then he walked out.

Shocked, Toni stared at where the bear had been, but Barinov stood up and asked them, “Hungry? Because I’m starving.”

“Wait. Is that it?”

“Until tomorrow.”

“I don’t understand. Why am I not meeting Asanov today?”

“Could be lots of reasons.” Barinov thought a moment. “But chances are they’re just making you wait.”

He headed toward the door, and Toni scrambled out of the chair. “But they’ll see me tomorrow, right?”

Barinov faced her. Shrugged. “Probably. Maybe. It’s possible.”

Ricky gazed down at her. “Darlin’, your neck’s gettin’ red again.”

In the early morning, the sun barely up, Bo Novikov stood in the backyard of the jackal family’s rental home.

It was a really nice place. Good for kids. Well, good for most kids. Not these kids. These kids were demons from the pits of hell.

Bo liked them.

Especially Kyle. That kid had a great future as an amazing artist . . . or he would one day be poisoned by a mate. Either one was possible.

Still, Bo had not done what he’d set out to do. Not yet. He hadn’t gotten the schedule for these kids set up. He had to admit, he’d thought it would be easy. Blayne had tried to warn him. She said it would be like working with ten little Bos. As always . . . she’d been right. Well, actually nine little Bos. One of the pups, the eighteen-year-old that everyone got quiet around whenever she breezed through the room, didn’t need a schedule. She said she had classes but doing what or with whom, Bo had no idea and he didn’t really care.

But the others . . . the others
all
had classes. Even the three-year-olds. The twins would be going to Berlitz next week to learn
more
languages. They’d already cursed at Bo in German, Russian, and Cantonese. Three languages he knew a bit because he’d been cursed at in those languages by players he’d gone up against over the years. In fact, Bo could curse in almost all languages for that simple reason.

Yet negotiating the busy schedules of nine pups with one extremely busy parent and one not-so-busy parent was a lot harder than he’d thought it would be, exactly because those nine kids had Bo’s drive. They didn’t want to give an inch. They didn’t care that if they went to a later-in-the-day advanced class in whatever their specialty was, their siblings could easily go to their earlier-in-the-day advanced class. They didn’t care that if they gave a little, the entire family would be better off. All they cared about was having time to do what they loved and what they were good at.

Yeah. Bo admired that, but it sure did make things harder. Too bad for the brats that Bo had made a commitment, and once he made a commitment, that was all that mattered to
him.
So he wasn’t giving up, no matter when Toni came back. Although Toni’s mother, Jackie, had heard from her daughter and it looked as if her trip would take a little longer than Toni had planned. Maybe Bo should have warned her that negotiating with Russians was one of the harder—and more entertaining—things one could do in life. Bear or full-human, Russians were tough negotiators.

Bo heard rustling from nearby bushes. He turned in time to see one of the Parker kids crawl out. Hands, face, and the knees of his jeans covered in dirt, the little boy stood up but froze when he saw Bo standing there.

“What were you doing?” Bo asked the boy.

“Um . . . digging?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

The boy stepped closer. “It depends if you’ll tell on me.”

“Where you burying a body?”

Eyes wide, the boy shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Then there’s nothing to tell.”

A huge smile now on his face, the boy said, “I’m Freddy.”

“The seven-year-old.”

“Right.”

“Did you bury something important, Freddy?”

“Important to me.”

“That’s all that matters.”

“I only bury things that are important to me.”

“Why?”

“I believe it has a lot to do with my canine ancestry.”

“Like when a dog buries a bone?”

“Exactly! Toni doesn’t like that example but it seems the most accurate scientifically.”

Jeez. Bo kept forgetting exactly how smart these kids were because it never occurred to him to analyze the fact that he liked walrus blubber jerky or that he had to constantly fight his desire to sleep all day until Blayne brought him dinner.

The boy studied him for a moment, then asked, “Don’t you mind being here?”

“No.”

“Is that because you’re a lot like Kyle?”

That made Bo smirk. “No.”

Freddy walked over to Bo until he stood only a few inches away and gazed up at him. Then he waited. At least that’s what it felt like. As if the kid were waiting for something. Bo didn’t know what but it felt weird just standing there, so he said, “You’re up kind of early.”

“Not for me.”

After that statement, the kid said nothing else but continued to stare. Finally, Bo couldn’t take it anymore.

“Is there something you want to ask me, Freddy?”

“Can I stand on your shoulders?”

“What?”

“Can I stand on your shoulders? Just for a minute or so.”