No, Ric didn’t think they wanted the female hybrids for breeding. He felt they wanted them for fighting, she-predators in general being more vicious than males. They had to be. Often, they weren’t merely protecting themselves but their young as well.

And a small fortune had been given to the scumbag who’d sold Blayne’s name, so Ric refused to believe anyone was giving up on her now.

“You know when I signed up for this, Niles Van Holtz said I wasn’t going to be hemmed in.”

“I’m not hemming you in, Dee-Ann. I’m telling you to do your job. I’m not telling you how to do it, just to do it. You and Uncle Van decided not to tell Blayne she was a target, but that means you and your team have to work harder to protect her because she doesn’t know to protect herself.”

“That was your uncle’s idea, not mine.”

Actually, Niles Van Holtz, Uncle Van, was his older cousin, but that was neither here nor there at the moment.

“I’ll make this simple for you. I want regular updates on Blayne. Where she is, what she’s doing, and who she’s doing it with. I want you to do your job, Dee-Ann. It’s that simple.”

Perfect full lips briefly pursed, before Dee said, “As you like.” It was her nice Southern way of saying, “I’ll do it, but fuck you,” but if it got Ric what he wanted, he’d overlook the tone.

He faced his home theater again and used the remote to turn it on. “You want breakfast?” he offered, ready to ease her anger with food. But when he looked over his shoulder at where she’d been standing, she was already gone.

“On three. One, two . . . three.”

Gwen and Blayne pulled, yanking the warped door open. The dank smell of mold and damaged plumbing hit them, and the pair turned their heads. “Okay,” Gwen said when she could speak without gagging, “maybe we should have listened to my mother about joining the family business.”

Blayne laughed. “The smell’s not that bad, princess.”

“You are such a canine about scents.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Gwen motioned to the hallway behind them with a tip of her head. “Anyone around?”

Blayne looked, then sniffed. “Nope.”

Without a witnessing audience, Gwen walked into the pitch-black room without using the flashlight she had with her. Why waste the batteries when she could see just fine without it?

Gwen found the water-damaged wall that was right beneath where the barbershop and hair salon had their sinks. “Found it.”

Blayne nodded. “Yep. That looks kind of long term, huh?”

“Pretty much.” Gwen dropped her tool bags onto the floor and reached into one to pull out her sledgehammer. Blayne did the same, the friends standingbeside each other. Gwen started, swinging the sledgehammer over her head and into the wall. As she pulled back, Blayne swung. They kept this up until they’d destroyed a good portion of the wall, revealing very old pipes that were dripping from several spots and pouring from others.

“Okay,” Gwen said, studying the damage. “Now torturing Mitch aside, what’s the real deal with Novikov?”

Blayne gave a little laugh. “I kind of railroaded the guy.”

“You, Blayne?” Gwen said with mock shock. “Never!”

“Well he was standing there, being all judgmental about derby—and me!—and I figured why couldn’t he help me out since he’d put me into this situation?”

“And how did he do that?”

“By being everything that I am against when it comes to sports and—”

“Please stop. I can’t hear that speech again.”

“Hey, look!”

“Blayne, wait—”

Too late. Blayne reached into the crevice and pulled out something breathing.

“A possum!”

“It looks like a giant rat.”

“It’s not a rat. It’s a possum. It’s so obvious you’ve never been to the South.”

“What’s down there but chitlins and giant rats they’ve renamed possum?”

Grinning, Blayne scratched the disgusting looking thing under the neck. “Isn’t he cute?”

“Not even a little. And are you really going to be okay with Novikov? I mean, for once, Mitch does have a point. The Marauder’s reputation is for shit.”

Blayne snorted. “I can handle him.”

Gwen had no idea why Blayne felt so confident about that, but Gwen knew there was no point in arguing with her about it, either. Blayne could be unbelievably stubborn when she dug her feet in. And, hell, if the hockey player could give Blayne even a few useful tips, Gwen wouldn’t complain. The wolfdog had tons of potential, but the team could no longer ignore the fact that unless Blayne was pushed into a corner—something that made her homicidal—she was too damn nice.

And of all the things Gwen had heard about Bo Novikov over the years, she’d never heard the word “nice” used.

“Are you going to put that thing down, or am I fixing this by myself?”

Blayne frowned. “He seems awfully small. Maybe we should feed him.”

Feed him? Any other predator would be thinking of eating him. But Gwen knew better than to say that because that way lay tears and mucus and hysterical screams of, “How could you even suggest that?”

Not in the mood for any of that bullshit, Gwen offered, “Maybe it’s just a baby or something.”