“A little business. I can’t stay long.”

“That’s fine. Probably for the best. I heard you’ve been making some enemies lately.” Ben-Zeev shook her head. “Badgers? You’re pissing off badgers now?”

“I didn’t know the BPC involved itself in a bear’s personal business.”

“We don’t . . . unless it threatens what we have. When you told me I could use my people for more important work because you had a handle on the Whitlan situation”—she shrugged—“I took you at your word. A bear’s word is very important to me, Rostislav.”

“And I do have a handle on it. My men will track him down any day now.”

She dramatically winced. “You may be too late on that.”

“I do not understand.”

“It’s my understanding they may have found him. Whitlan, that is. In fact, I think things are already on the move.” She pushed away from the limo, pressed her hand against Rostislav’s expensive suit. “If I were you, I’d let things play out . . . and just let it go.”

“What?”

“Let it go, Rostislav. For your own good and the good of your family. Let it go.” Bayla stepped away. “Safe trip back, old friend. Safe trip back.”

They watched the She-bear walk to the corner, get in her own limo, and drive away.

“I wouldn’t worry, Papa,” his eldest sneered after Bayla. “I’m sure everything at home is—”

Rostislav focused on his son. “If you say the word ‘fine,’ I will beat you to death in this street.” His boy said nothing else, which was good. “Now get me home,” he ordered. Even though Rostislav already knew he was too late.

CHAPTER 37

Boris Krupin was bored. But his boss was a powerful bear who paid his people well. So if Rostislav Chumakov wanted them to protect a full-human, that was what they would do.

Still, Boris was happy when he heard the first wolf howl. Normally, a wolf howl this close to Chumakov territory just pissed Boris off. But tonight it did nothing but excite him. He relished the thought of slapping around some wolves.

Boris looked at his fellow bears and they all nodded, shifted, and went after those infiltrating wolves, leaving behind three bears to keep an eye on the useless full-human.

Frankie Whitlan heard the howling ring out and pulled his .357 Magnum. He went to the window and stared down at the front of the house. He watched several of the guards shift to bear and run off into the night. They were chasing wolves? Really?

These fools were here to protect him, not chase after local wolves like the filthy animals they were. These idiots were supposed to be smarter than their non-shifter counterparts. And yet they seemed just as stupid and worthless.

He decided to get them back so they could dotheir goddamn jobs. Frankie spun away from the window toward the study door but stopped short when cold yellow eyes, like a dog’s, stared at him.

“Hi, Frankie,” a voice growled from behind a massive beard and thick black hair.

Frankie immediately raised his weapon, but a big hand caught his and held the gun off. Then he saw a flash, and a blade rammed into Frankie’s neck, instantly cutting off his ability to scream and breathe.

But that wasn’t enough for the man killing him. He twisted the knife, forcing Frankie to the floor.

“That,” the beard and black hair growled out as everything went dark for Frankie, “is for making me bring my hillbilly ass all the way to goddamn Russia just to kill you.”

Eggie Smith of the Tennessee Smith Pack watched Frankie “The Rat” Whitlan die. The full-human tried not to, but the one real skill Eggie had was knowing how to kill a man. When the breathing and the heart stopped, Eggie knew he could leave.

He’d only do a job like this for his little girl. But she’d only ask him if it was real important. She knew that Eggie didn’t like leaving his Darla unless he really had to.

Eggie walked out of a surprisingly tasteful study—considering the tackiness of the rest of the home—and into the hallway. That was where he found three bears waiting for him. They were armed but hadn’t pulled their weapons yet. Probably figured they didn’t have to for just one wolf.

One of the younger bears said something in Russian and started toward Eggie. But the older bear, a grizzly with lots of silver in his hair, pulled the boy back.

He said something to Eggie but, again, it was in Russian.

“What?”

The older bear’s head tipped to the side. Very slowly, in thickly accented English, the older bear asked, “Who are you, doggie?”

“Name’s Eggie Smith. Nice to meet’cha.”

Color drained from the older bear’s face and he pulled the younger bear back by his T-shirt.

The younger bear didn’t like that, arguing the point. But it was all in Russian, and Eggie didn’t understand a dang word. So he patiently waited.

Got a little heated after a time, but then the older bear must have said something real pointed because the boy stopped and pointed at Eggie. “Smith?” he asked.

“Da. Smith,” the older bear said.

All three bears looked over at Eggie—and Eggie smiled.

The bears jerked away like he’d thrown fire at them and stepped back so Eggie could walk by.

He did, but as Eggie passed he stopped because he felt the need to say, “And y’all should be ashamed of protecting that man. Ashamed,” he repeated. When they only stared at him, appearing confused, he added, “Look it up.”