“What is wrong with you three?” Gentry sighed.

“—but I noticed something when I was hanging around in the woods across the street. There was already a team watching the place.”

“What team?”

The She-wolf smirked. “BPC.”

BPC, or the Bear Preservation Council, was a Brooklyn-based organization that raised money for the care, research, and protection of full-blood bears worldwide. They were also the cover for the agency that protected shifter bears in the tri-state area. And unlike KZS, the Group, and the NYPD’s shifter division, BPC refused to work with the rest of them on anything. They made it very clear that what happened to other species was not their problem and the bears that had jobs with NYPD and the Group were simply foolish.

Gentry’s hands dropped to her desk. “BPC was watching the place? Are you sure?”

“Recognized one of the team.”

“Recognized him how?” Cella had to know.

“Broke his spine during a fight once.”

And that was why Cella “had to know,” because she knew she’d be entertained!

“Y’all can stop staring at me like that. He’s clearly walkin’ ... now.”

“You gotta wonder why BPC wouldn’t just move on a place like that, too,” MacDermot said, her gaze out the window. “From what I hear, they handle shit the way Cella and Dee do.”

“They do,” Gentry confirmed. “Which makes me very curious about what they’re doing.”

MacDermot looked at her boss. “You want me to put surveillance on it?”

“I do.”

“Okay, but if BPC is already on it, why do we need to get involved?”

“BPC is run by Peg Baissier. And has been for the last twenty years. It’s believed that she’s become a bit of a problem. There are some of us in the bear community that have been looking for a way to ...”

“Force her into retirement?”

“Something like that.”

“Just because you don’t like her?”

“No. Because she’s dangerous to her own.”

“How do you figure that?” Smith asked.

Gentry moved around in her chair, her hands tugging the jacket of her suit down.

MacDermot glanced at Cella and Smith before saying, “Chief?”

The sow cleared her throat. “Besides his stellar record, there’s another reason I had Crushek—the polar bear”—she clarified for Cella and Smith—“pulled into this division as quickly as I could manage without setting off major alarms and a massive investigation by the full-humans of NYPD.”

“What reason?”

“There’s a rumor his cover was blown.”

“By Baissier?”

“Mostlikely.”

“Did you tell his C.O.? Chief of D’s?” MacDermot asked.

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is shifter business and the last thing we need is the NYPD looking into the BPC.” She sighed. “And ...”

“And?” MacDermot pushed. “And what?”

“And ...” Gentry looked at them all before finally admitting, “Peg Baissier was Crushek’s foster mother.”

Sick of hearing Conway laugh at him about having to get his hair cut, Crush slammed his phone down.

He hated change. Change was bad. Change sucked. Change ...

Crush looked around the room, realizing that everyone was staring in his direction, but they weren’t really looking at him.

Slowly, he swiveled his office chair around and looked at Gentry’s office. MacDermot, the She-wolf, and that damn feline were all standing on the other side of that big window. . . watching him. Even worse—they all looked sad. Devastated. What the fuck was going on?

“That’s it.” Crush stood, officially unable to take any more of this. “I’m out of here.”

CHAPTER FOUR

With MacDermot out on Friday, Lynsey had Lou Crushek spend most of the day going through files and acquainting himself with some of the current open cases. When he said he was leaving early because he had something to do in Manhattan, Lynsey called him in. She knew she couldn’t keep hiding the truth about Baissier and what the sow had done or, at the very least, was rumored to have done.

But the polar’s reaction to the news ... not exactly what Lynsey had been expecting.

Crush stared at her, nodded, and replied, “Uh-huh.”

Lynsey blinked and looked around her office, concerned she hadn’t actually said the words out loud. She finally settled her gaze back on him and asked, “I did just tell you that—”

“My cover was blown? Yeah. You just told me.”

“And that it was—”

“My former foster mother? Yeah. Yeah. You told me.”

“Uhhhhh, okay. I ... I guess I just expected more of a panicked, ‘Oh, my God! The guys I was trying to put away are going to come kill me’ kind of thing.”

“Well, they can try.”

“Okay. Uh ... perhaps some devastation at the betrayal of the woman who raised you?”

“Have you met Peg Baissier?” he asked flatly. “I wouldn’t exactly call what she did ‘raising me’ in the traditional sense. Her leaving me alone this long is really surprising. Which kind of makes me wonder why blow my cover now? What’s the benefit? Because she always has a benefit. But other than thinking that, I’m not really shocked.”