“No thanks. I’m actually here to let Dee know . . . wait. There’s honey soda?”

“Y’all!”

“Sorry. Sorry. We found Whitlan.”

Ric closed the refrigerator and faced Barinov. “You found him?”

“He’s being protected. Heavily.”

Dee-Ann shrugged. “Don’t care if he’s being protected by Satan himself, where is he?”

“Russia.”

“Oh, you can’t go there,” Ric immediately replied.

“Van Holtz—”

“Don’t even, Dee-Ann. You can’t go to Russia.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna stop me.”

“Since the prime minister still so lovingly refers to you as The Murdering Twat, I think we need to come up with another option. And who, exactly, is protecting Whitlan in Russia?” he asked Barinov.

“Rostislav Chumakov.”

Ric’s mouth dropped open, and he took a step back. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. We have a plan to lure him to New York, but we need someone to deal with Whitlan in Russia. We could use one of our Russian contacts, but considering who Chumakov is . . .”

“He’s on the BPC board.”

“Plus, he’s a powerful mobster. I don’t know many shifters willing to take on bears. Especially connected bears like Chumakov.”

“I do,” Dee-Ann said. “I know someone who’d be more than happy to do this job.”

“Dee-Ann,” Ric reminded her, “you can’t go.”

“Not me. But it is someone I’d trust with my life. And all yours.” Dee-Ann grinned, and both men backed away from her.

Barinov shuddered. “No offense, but I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”

Livy looked over the unbelievably meticulous drawing of the wedding venue that Bo Novikov had created.

“This is very . . . precise,” she noted.

“I knew you probably couldn’t come to see it until the day of the wedding.”

“Very true. Did you study architecture in college?”

“Never went to college. Figure if I want to know something, you can always find books to read about the subject.”

“I see.” No wonder Toni knew how to handle Novikov so well. He was just another freaking prodigy. Brilliant while emotionally stunted.

“You will be at the wedding, though . . . won’t you, Livy?” Blayne asked.

She could have tormented Blayne, like she did most days. But Livy just didn’t have the heart. Not when the wedding clearly meant so much to her.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Russian bears with guns wouldn’t keep you away?”

They all looked across the table at Gwen. She shrugged and admitted, “It sounded much funnier in my head. Then when it actually came out of mymouth . . .”

Lock took Gwen’s hand. “I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘too soon.’ ”

Livy shrugged. “There’s no ‘too soon’ with the Kowalskis.”

“You know what really sucks,” Blayne pointed out. “You can’t come to the bachelor-bachelorette party we’ve planned. No strippers.”

“Although my mother did beg,” Gwen sighed.

“My mother did, too,” Lock added. “But only out of intellectual curiosity.”

“Yeah, right,” Livy snorted. But when the grizzly glared at her, she choked back her laughter. “Just kidding.

“You know what?” Blayne jumped up from her chair and began to pace around the table. “We should move the party here.”

“You’re unfamiliar with the concept of being in hiding, aren’t you?” Livy asked.

“We’ll just invite a few friends. That way you don’t have to miss anything!”

“That sounds like a great idea!”

Snarling, Livy turned toward her nosy cousin. “No, Jake.”

“Come on! Everybody loves a party.”

“I was very clear to you about how you’re going to treat this house. No parties. No snakes. No stealing.”

Novikov tugged on Livy’s sweatshirt. “I find detailed lists about what they can and cannot do . . . very helpful. They may not stick to it, but you do have proof that you told them.”

“You guys are forgetting something,” Blayne stated. “This is my house. A wedding gift from my future husband. And if I want a fucking party here, I’m going to have a party.”

Lock pointed at Livy. “Your eye is twitching uncontrollably.”

“We in the family,” Jake said, his hand landing on Livy’s shoulder, “call that Livy’s tell.”

Livy spun and rammed her fist into her cousin’s stomach. He didn’t drop, but his knees looked ready to buckle and his face blanched.

“Did I tell you that?” Livy asked.

“You want me to help who get into my country?” Grigori Volkov demanded.

Vic held up his hands. “No, no. I can get him into the country. I need your Pack to lead him to Chumakov’s territory through yours.”

“Oh! Well then!” Grigori’s voice boomed around the room. “Is that all?”

“Grigori—”

“You come to me, bringing your stuffed panda with you—”

Shen looked away from the e-mails on his phone. “Hey! What did I do?”

“—and you dare,” Grigori yelled, getting in Vic’s face—one of the few men who actually could—“ask me to lead this . . . mangy sobaka into the territories of my people?”