The pair fought their way back to Gentry’s office and MacDermot stopped by his side. “Don’t mind Cella. That was the one on your lap. Dee-Ann was the one with the accent.”

“MacDermot, I don’t care.”

“Whatever. I’m out tomorrow, so we’ll start working together on Monday.” She started to walk off but stopped. “And are you really going to keep going with that biker look?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not working vice anymore, Crushek. You have to look a little less ... terrifying. You don’t have to wear a suit or anything but ...” She picked up a handful of his hair, running it through her fingers. “At least get this mess cut.”

When Crush growled, she held her hands up, palms out. “Not a buzz cut or anything. Just look a little less threatening.”

“I don’t want to cut my hair.”

“We’re not in a rock band, chico,” she snapped. “Cut your hair.”

Yeah, he’d completely forgotten what a ball-busting female MacDermot could be when you had to work with her.

She walked off and Crush stared at his desk. He was so miserable at the moment, his cock easily settled back down. “A haircut,” he muttered, making the detective sitting at the desk near him chuckle.

Crush locked his eyes on the leopard. “What’s so fucking funny?” he demanded.

The leopard pointed behind him. “That.”

Looking over his shoulder at Gentry’s office, he saw the feline standing by the big glass window—staring at him. She breathed on the glass and drew a heart in the condensation, then placed a kiss inside the heart. She winked at him, scrunched up her nose, and mouthed “later” before turning away.

Gritting his teeth, Crush faced forward again.

“Dude—” the leopard began.

“I won’t discuss it!”

Cella sat down on the other side of Gentry’s desk and laughed so hard she had to rest her head against it.

“Don’t pick on Crushek,” Gentry told her.

Lifting her head and wiping the tears, Cella explained, “I’m not picking on him. I’m trying to get him to loosen up. He’s so damn uptight.”

“He’s also—should it work out—MacDermot’s new partner, so give him respect.”

“Yet another partner, eh, MacDermot?” Cella teased.

“Don’t blame me. It’s you two. You guys get involved and my partners can’t run from me fast enough.” MacDermot pointed at Cella. “And you’re doing it again!”

“It was your Jell-O shots, lady!”

“No one told you or Crushek to suck down a vat of them! And who gets naked and crawls into bed with some guy she doesn’t evenknow?”

Smith raised her hand, only lowering it when they all gawked at her. “Well, I don’t do it anymore.”

“Wow, talk about a coyote ugly morning for some poor guy,” Cella laughed, but no one else joined in, so she stopped.

“Mighta been funny,” Smith muttered, “if I’d been an actual coyote.”

“Like there’s a difference.”

“Can we discuss why you’re all here?” Gentry snapped.

“Why are we all here?” Cella asked, pulling out a pack of gum from her sweatshirt pocket.

Smith took a piece of paper from her back pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Cella.

Cella looked at the one-page ad, MacDermot leaning over to see as well.

Finally, Cella had to know, “Wouldn’t cremation be a better idea? I mean would your mate want you stuffed and just standing around his house when you die?”

“It’s not for me,” the She-wolf snarled.

“The Group thinks,” Gentry cut in, “and I think I agree, that this taxidermist is stuffing our kind and turning us into trophies after we’ve been hunted down. Although the real problem is, of course, that he’s completely aware that he’s stuffing shifters.”

“Oh. Okay.” Cella took hold of MacDermot’s arm and turned it so she could see the giant Breitling man’s wristwatch the woman always wore. It was a real one, too. She could tell, because as a great-aunt once told Cella, “Gotta know the real ones if you’re going to sell the fake.”

She checked the hour and said, “I’ve got time tonight. I can take him out.”

“Or,” Gentry suggested, “rather than you killing anyone you just don’t like, you could let me finish.”

“See,” Cella shot back, “that’s a ridiculous thing to say because I don’t even know this guy or whether I like him or not. I was just going to kill him.”

When the women all stared at her, Cella pointed an accusing finger at Smith. “I was just going to kill him because of her. It’s the dog’s fault!”

Gentry leaned back in her chair, fingers to her temples.

“Am I causing one of your headaches again?” Cella asked.

“Yes.”

“Why are we having this meeting?” MacDermot asked. “As much as I love to see you guys, I have to kind of agree with Cella here. Other than just taking this guy out, I don’t know what we need to discuss. And I’m off tomorrow, so that better not be changing,” she also felt the need to add.

“When I found out about this place,” Smith said, “I was just going to go on in there, cut the guy’s throat, and leave—”