Zubachev tried for a casual shrug. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll make sure he plays ‘Flight of the Bumblebee.’ ”

A few of the players gasped and then they were all whispering to Zubachev in Russian.

Ricky crouched down next to her. “ ‘Flight of the Bumblebee? ’ Heard that one was hard.”

“Yeah, it is. Written by a Russian composer.” She glanced at Ricky and said out of the corner of her mouth, “Coop mastered it when he was three.”

Ricky snorted just as Zubachev looked over at them.

“It is deal, little doggie.” The grizzly grinned. “You negotiate like Russian sow.”

“Awww,” Toni said, her returning smile warm. “Thank you! That is so sweet.”

Only to other shifters, maybe, but that worked for now.

“Now we toast!” Zubachev announced. “Aleksai! Get the vodka!”

Vic tapped Ricky’s shoulder and motioned him over to a corner with a tilt of his head. His gaze still on Toni while she winced and cringed her way through a shot of homemade Russian bear vodka, Ricky stepped next to Vic.

“What is it?”

“I’m coming back with you.”

“Why?”

“Orders from Dee-Ann. Plus she wants us to keep an even tighter watch on Antonella.”

“But she knows The Coop,” he said dryly.

Vic chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the problem. She said we’ll find out everything when we get back. I’ve already notified the airline we’re coming. Okay?”

Ricky eyed the hybrid closely. “You sure you don’t know any more than that?”

“If I’d spoken to someone else, I might be lying. But you know Dee-Ann. Do you really think we had a long, meaningful conversation about issues?”

“Well, we all know what a chatty little love bug she is.”

Shaking his head, Vic walked away and Ricky faced Toni, who was currently being bear-hugged off her feet by Ivan Zubachev. She didn’t seem too happy about that, but for her job . . . she was putting up with it.

He let out a breath and forced a smile. The last thing he wanted to do was freak her out before they got her home. Not because she’d be worried about herself. She wouldn’t be. He knew that now. But if her family was in trouble . . . ? Well, to quote Ricky’s fellow New Yorkers, Oy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Dee-Ann unlocked the front door and walked into the rental house the jackals were living in. She made it halfway down the hall before any adult jackal came out. It was Jackie Jean-Louis. She nodded at Dee as she rushed by and headed up the stairs.

“Morning, Dee,” she called down from the top stairs. “There’s Danish in the kitchen and dining room if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you kindly,” Dee called back, disturbed that no one seemed to notice a near-stranger in their home. No wonder shady government types were wandering around the house, undetected.

Dee walked a few more feet, and that’s when Cooper came out of the dining room. Like his mother, he appeared completely distracted as he walked, ate a raspberry-filled Danish, and stared down at the floor.

“Mornin’ to you, Cooper.”

The jackal stopped, blinked several times as if trying to bring her into focus. “Oh. Morning, Dee-Ann.”

“Everything all right here?”

“Define all right?”

“Pardon?”

The swinging kitchen door at the end of the hallway flew open and Dee and Cooper came face to face with Jeff Stewart, a security specialist who worked at Bobby Ray’s company, and a lion male currently covered in flour. Seemed kind of pissed off, too.

“We have a problem,” the feline announced.

“What problem?”

“We thought we were protecting older kids, Smith. No one said anything about toddlers.”

“What? You can’t handle a few toddlers?”

“I’m a lion male.”

“You feelin’ the need to kill the toddlers so that their mother will go back in heat?”

Gold eyes narrowed. “No. But I’m a professional. I don’t handle toddlers.”

“How bad can they be?”

Stewart turned, a shower of flour hitting Dee and Cooper in the face.

Coughing and brushing the flour aside, they followed Stewart back to the kitchen.

Flour, ground coffee, coffee beans, sugar, cocoa, and gobs of peanut butter were everywhere. Absolutely everywhere.

Dee shook her head, disgusted. “You couldn’t get control of two little girls before they did all this?”

“They’re not little girls,” Stewart snapped back. “They’re demon spawn!” He pointed at the two girls. They calmly sat on the counter, both clean except for their hands, which had lots of peanut butter . . . oh, and jelly. Their little feet swung back and forth, kicking the wood doors of the counter with their heels.

“Bonne journée,” said one.

“Guten tag,” said the other.

Then they both smiled.

“I’m out of here,” the lion told them.

Cooper raised his hand. “Wait. I’m sure we can figure out something so you don’t have to worry about them.” When the lion’s eyes narrowed . . . “I promise.”

The lion pushed the swinging kitchen door open. “Whatever.”

“I love cats.” Dee smiled at the shocked expression on Cooper’s face. “They’re all so dang moody.”