Cella tossed her shoes up on the table and caught hold of her daughter’s hands. “Talk to me, Meghan.”

“About what?”

“I mention your dad, you get weird.” Cella tilted her head to the side, studying the beautiful girl she adored. “Is it the wedding?”

“No, of course not.”

“You know this doesn’t change anything between you and your dad. He loves you, Meghan, and so does Rivka.”

“You just like Rivka because she’s another cat killer.”

“You love Rivka and we are not cat killers. Stop calling us that. We are protectors of the cat nation. Like the Marines or—”

“The C.I.A.?”

“Well, you don’t have to get nasty.” Tired of this same damn argument—Meghan, like Cella’s mother, Barb, was not a fan of Cella’s career as a Katzenhaus contractor—Cella released her daughter’s hands and grabbed her shoes. “You know, Meghan, I’m just trying to be helpful and let you know I’m here for you.”

Meghan rolled her eyes. “Ma ... is there anything about me—or you, for that matter—that screams let’s sit down and talk about our feelings?”

“I’m trying a different approach. I’m trying to be ... ya know ... a proper mother. Thoughtful and caring and ... and all that other shit.”

“Ma, being a hockey enforcer for a guy nicknamed the Marauder, killing on order from a thousand yards away, and being the kind of mom I don’t want my male friends around because all they do is stare at your breasts and drool ... these are your strengths. Let’s not stray too far from that. Okay? Great. Now I’m going to make you some waffles. You’ll eat, and then you can go upstairs and shower off that funk of ... of ... ?”

“Bear,” Cella admitted.

“Right. Bear. Yeah, you can go wash that off and you and I will pretend we never had this discussion, okay? Great. Thanks!”

Cella watched her daughter head back into the house they shared with Cella’s parents. Cella had known all those years ago when she headed off to the Marines that she was taking a risk. The risk of losing her daughter. But what was she supposed to do? Raise another Malone She-tiger? So the kid could end up sitting around all day with all the other “aunts,” plotting and planning?

“Just a few more months, Malone,” she reminded herself. Just a few more months and the kid would be out of here and off to college, to do whatever she wanted. Meghan’s whole world was open in front of her with absolutely no limitations. And that’s why Cella had risked everything. Some days she still risked everything. And she’d keep risking everything until her kid had everything she’d ever dreamed of.

Picking up her shoes, Cella headed into the house. Hermother, rushing out the side door attached to the garage to handle some rich full-human’s wedding, quickly kissed her on the cheek.

“I might be late,” she said. “Make sure your father eats.”

“I will.”

Cella came around the corner and met her daughter in the hallway. The two felines stared at each other until Cella said, “I love you, you trifling little heifer.”

“I love you, too, Ma. Even when you’re dressed like a high-priced hooker.”

“I’d have to be high priced to pay for these shoes.”

Crush sat on the bench and waited. He was grateful that MacDermot had gotten him up when she did. Most Sundays during the winter were game days for him and he hated missing even one. He played hockey with a bunch of local Queens and Long Island shifters from different precincts and firehouses because he wasn’t good enough for pro ... or even semipro. He was, to be honest, barely good enough for weekend hockey with his friends and thankfully he’d given up his childhood dream of being one of the “greatest players of all time” long before he reached junior high. He actually left that particular dream to those who had real talent. Instead, Crush played on the weekends with people who didn’t care how bad he was, and the rest of the time he was a diehard fan of the pros, shifter and human.

“So how was MacDermot’s party?” his partner Conway asked.

Crush winced. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“That good, huh? I’m surprised you went.”

“Why?”

“You’re not exactly known for going to parties that don’t end with you arresting everybody at some later date.”

“I know you’ve heard,” Crush accused when Conway fell silent. “About the transfer.”

“Yeah. I have. Although I’ve only heard about it for you. Not for me.”

“Miller has been wanting to get rid of me for years,” Crush complained about his captain.

“You terrify the man, but he has no idea why. You can’t exactly blame him, though.”

“Yes. I can.”

The coyote shook his head. “Look, don’t be an idiot, Crushek. This is your chance to make some real money. Do you know how much that division pays their detectives?”

“I don’t care. God knows I’m not into this shit for the money.”

“You’re into it to be a badass.”

“I am a badass.”

“But you can still be a badass and make money to help you pay the mortgage on your new place. In fact, you get this job and you might actually be able to live in your house rather than in that rat hole you’ve been using for your cover.”