She shrugged and gathered together a fork, knife, and cloth napkin.

“And if you have any more problems with those bears, you let me know. All right?”

“Sure.”

“But no more gambling, or I’m liable to get ornery. Understand?”

“I understand, but it’s not that easy.”

“Make it that easy. Because you won’t like it if I get ornery, son.”

“I’m sensing that.”

“Keep sensin’ it.”

Dee tucked a bottle of imported beer into the back pocket of her jean shorts and took her plate up several flights of stairs until she reached the stairway and small door that led to the roof.

Van Holtz sat Indian–style on the roof’s balcony, an empty plate next to his crossed legs, a bottle of wine and a half-empty wineglass near his knee. A small insulated bag sat behind him. He was mid-yawn when she stepped out and she debated going back out again to give him some much needed peace but he saw her first—and smiled. Moving over a bit, he patted the empty space next to him.

Feeling more welcome than she ever had before, and with only a simple gesture, Dee sat in the spot he indicated. She placed her plate down and pulled the bottle of beer out of her back pocket. She suddenly wished she’d brought a bottle opener since using her front fangs seemed the height of tacky, something her mother had always told her and something Dee had always ignored.

“Let me see that,” Ric said, spotting her dilemma. He took the bottle and popped off the top using his claws. “Adelle taught me that.” He handed the bottle back to her. “She worked a few summers in the hardcore seafood restaurants out here.”

“Thanks,” Dee said, retrieving the bottle from him and taking a quick sip. “And why would she do that?”

“Experience. A lot of us worked in different restaurants when we were younger, to get a feel for not being in a Van Holtz kitchen.”

“Was it tough?”

“Not really. You keep taking jobs at restaurants with the worst reputations in the city or state, thinking there has to be somewhere more abusive than working with your own family—then you find out you’re wrong. You’ll never work any place tougher than a Van Holtz kitchen.” Dee took her first bite of a beef rib, the meat falling off the bone, the tenderness of it literally melting in her mouth, and she could only reply, “Shut up, suffer, and learn from your kin, Van Holtz,

’cause this is amazing.”

Ric laughed. “I’m glad you like it. Your beans were a big hit, by the way. Who knew you could sauté?”

“Told you I wasn’t helpless in the kitchen.”

“Everyone says that. Then they end up crying in a corner.” Ric sat back with his wine and let Dee finish her food. Like most predators, she ate quickly, alwaysworried someone was going to steal her meat from her and drag it up a tree out of her reach. But when she leaned back, licking the last remnants of barbecue seasoning off her fingers rather than using her napkin, he knew he’d made a damn good meal.

“You do have a way with meat,” she finally said, leaning back with her palms flat behind her, her long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“I know that’s a compliment, but it still sounds . . . weird.” She smiled and Ric felt himself melting.

No. Not melting. There could be no melting around Dee-Ann Smith. Especially when he should be angry with her because she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut.

“Uncle Van called me.”

“Did he?” She laughed when Ric scowled at her. “What, Ric? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?

That I wouldn’t tell him what I knew? You could have gotten killed today.” Then she softly added, “I could have also handled this myself, but I didn’t.”

“You could have at least waited until after the holiday before you told him.”

“Could do lots of things—often don’t.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I’m heading to Washington tomorrow to meet with him.”

“Good.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“Can’t. Got some killin’ to do.”

“If you mean my father—no,” he said simply. “If you mean Missy Llewellyn—no.”

“You’re ruining all my fun.”

“I’m cruel that way. We wait until we talk to Uncle Van.”

“He ain’t my Alpha.”

“No. He’s just the man who signs your checks. He’s your boss. And mine.”

“Fine. We’re not flying coach, though, are we?” She hated being stuck in those tiny seats with nowhere for her long legs to go.

Ric gawked at her, making her think she’d started speaking in tongues like old Great Aunt Delilah used to do during church services.

“A commercial plane? Me?”

Dee laughed outright. “Foolish me. Thinking we might have to sully ourselves on a commercial flight like all those normal people.”

“That’s an insane way of thinking, Dee-Ann, and completely unacceptable when you’re with me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced around at the empty plates. “You ready to head back down?”

“And miss the best part?”

“Best part?” She figured he meant to get her naked up here— not that she’d complain if he did—but off in the distance near the park they’d been at the day before, explosions sounded and fireworks exploded in the sky overhead.