“While we’re waiting for Bo to come back with the kids,” Blayne went on, “would you like to go get some coffee or—”

Irene suddenly took hold of Blayne’s forearm, gripping her tight. Like Paul, Irene knew how to read Jack like a book. It helped them work together to keep her calm. “Come with me,” Irene ordered.

“Where to?” Blayne innocently asked.

“Any place where we can intelligently discuss why your fiancé is so freakishly large and inhuman looking. Was he subject to radiation while in his mother’s womb?”

Jackie snorted a laugh and quickly buried her face against Paul’s neck while Paul bit the inside of his cheek hard so he didn’t laugh.

Blayne stopped walking right outside the living room and frowned at Irene. “Wait . . . what?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nothing like a nearly fourteen-hour flight to make a girl miserable.

Even though flying on Madra Airlines meant that Toni and the wolf could stretch their legs out since the plane was designed with Russian and Alaskan bears in mind. They also got to choose between entrees like cow, gazelle, buffalo, zebra; and for the polars, whale and seal blubber.

Other than that, it was still the same, excruciatingly long flight it always was whether a shifter-run flight or full-human.

Dropping her bag to the ground, Toni took a long, much-needed stretch, then did an allover shake.

Once done with that, Toni pulled out the itinerary from the back pocket of her jeans.

“Okay. Now we need to get to . . .” Toni’s words faded out when she sensed someone standing in front of her. Slowly, she raised her gaze up and up and up some more to the male standing in front of her.

“Hi ya,” he said, and smiled at her.

“Hello.”

“I’m Vic Barinov.”

“Hey, Vic,” Ricky said, holding out his hand and shaking.

“Ricky Lee. Long time.” He motioned with his head. “Let’s go. I’ve got a car waiting for us. It’ll take us to a private airstrip.”

Toni looked down at the itinerary. “But we’re taking the Trans Siberian Ex—”

“That’s changed,” Barinov told them. “You don’t want to be caught on a train if there’s a problem.”

Toni, completely confused, shook her head. “I don’t . . . I mean . . .” She looked at the two males watching her. “What I’m trying to say is . . . you both know I’m only going to negotiate a deal between our hockey team and the Russians’, right? It’s not like I’m Double O-Seven, trying to set up an arms deal.”

A low rumble rolled out of Barinov while Ricky just grinned at her.

“Ain’t she cute?” the wolf asked.

“Very. Let’s go.”

Great. Another male ignoring her.

“Who is thatguy?” she asked Ricky.

“That’s Vic Barinov.”

“I know his name, Ricky Lee. Who, and for that matter, what is he? Because he’s not just some security guy.”

“He’s a former Marine or Navy SEAL. Something like that. Born and raised in the States, but his parents were born and raised here in Russia. His daddy’s Kamchatka grizzly and his momma’s Siberian tiger.”

“He’s our protection.”

“Trust me, darlin’”—Ricky laughed, putting his arm around her shoulders—“that boy ain’t gonna cause any problems if it means he’ll have to deal with Dee-Ann Smith for even two seconds.”

Toni thought about that as they headed toward the exit, pushing past tourists and locals rushing to their flights. And Toni realized . . . Ricky was absolutely right. No one wanted to deal with Dee-Ann if they didn’t have to.

Devon “Junior” Barton had been on Iowa’s Death Row for more than ten years. He’d started out with life, but after killing a couple of fellow inmates, he earned a cell on death row. Not that he cared. Junior didn’t care about much. He hadn’t cared about the addicts he’d sold drugs to. He hadn’t cared about the dealers he’d hired that, when they’d cheated him, he’d beaten to death with pipes. He definitely hadn’t cared when he’d strangled the life out of his third wife or that his daughter had been watching when he’d done it.

Junior Barton didn’t care about much. What was the point? He did get bored a lot, but there were always those who wanted to save him. The religious ones who wanted to save his soul—they were always fun to torment. And the ones who just wanted to save his life because they thought the death penalty was wrong. And, when he was really bored, he could write his daughter and with just a few well-placed words, turn her life into a flashback nightmare that sent her screaming to her therapist.

It really didn’t matter to him; it was all just a game.

So when that really big C.O. suddenly appeared at his cell and told him he had visitors at one in the morning . . . Junior didn’t really care. He’d assumed it was time for a beating from the guards, but this particular guard—a big black guy named Gowan—didn’t spend much time around the others. He didn’t speak much in general and most of the other inmates gave him a wide berth. The crazy ones never threw shit at him when they flipped out, and the dangerous ones never tried to cut him or gouge out an eye. There were other big, black guards at this prison, but this particular one . . . he was different.

So when Gowan kept walking until they reached the same room where Junior had met that priest he knew he could easily make fall in love with him, he began to wonder what was going on. And he wondered if it would be something fun.