Eggie walked out into the woods surrounding the estate and tossed his weapon at the Volkov wolves whom he’d been surprised would let a Smith anywhere near Russia. Apparently these wolves were friends with that Vic Barinov hybrid. Normally, Eggie would only trust his own connections for a job like this, but his baby girl had said Barinov could be trusted, as could the man’s connections. So Eggie had taken the risk, and it had paid off.

He nodded at the Alpha Male of the Pack, much appreciatin’ the vodka the man had let him taste during their lunch together, and headed toward the waiting car. But before he stepped into the vehicle, he heard vicious hissing.

Eggie watched the honey badgers trot past him and the wolves and head toward Chumakov’s territory. While Eggie had been brought in to make sure the job was done and done right—these honey badgers had come from Mongolia. The Volkovs kept jokingly calling them the “Mongol Horde.” But that was basically what they were. If any bears got in their way, they’d crush them. Why they’d been hired or who’d hired them, Eggie didn’t know. Nor did he care. His job was done.

He got into the car that would take him to the local airport so that Eggie could get right back where he belonged—the United States of America and his Darla Mae.

CHAPTER 38

Vic walked into the bedroom they’d been sharing since they’d been at Novikov’s Rhode Island home and found Livy packing up her duffel bag.

“What’s going on?”

“I need to go back. That feline wedding planner is getting way text-bitchy. ‘When are you coming back?’ ” Livy mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “ ‘Should we hire someone else? For what you’re charging, you should be on-call at alllll times.’ ”

Vic sat down on the bed next to her bag. “Are you sure?”

“She may not really sound like that, but she was definitely being text-bitchy.”

“Not that. Are you sure about leaving?”

“I can’t hide out here forever.”

“But,” Vic said, getting to the heart of the matter, “there’s a pool. I love that pool.”

Livy laughed and put her hand on her shoulder. “I know this will be a sacrifice for you.”

“It really will. But for you, I’ll do it.”

Vic watched Livy shove a bag of dirty clothes into her duffel bag then zip it closed. “Livy?”

“Huh?”

“Are you going back to your apartment?”

“I’d rather set myself on fire.”

Startled, Vic laughed out, “Why?”

“It’ll smell like Melly. Smelly Melly. I can’t have her drunken scent surrounding me. I can crash at Toni’s place, though, until I get another place that’s hopefully snake free.”

“Or you could crash at my place,” he offered, tryinghis best to make it sound casual, even though it wasn’t. “If you want, I mean.”

With a sigh, Livy moved her bag aside and sat down on the bed next to Vic. “But . . .” she said hesitantly, “you don’t have a pool.”

Sadly, it took Vic a little longer than it should have for him to figure out she was joking. And by then, he was just embarrassed, grabbing Livy and yanking her onto his lap.

Vic kissed her neck and tickled her ribs, loving the way she laughed and tried to wiggle away from him until Livy’s mother strode up to the door. The older She-badger had on her mink and held the handle of her bright red travel suitcase, which she rolled behind her.

“I’m leaving,” Livy’s mother announced.

“Bye, Joan.”

Joan sniffed, tossed her hair, and walked off.

“Is she mad?” Vic asked.

“Who knows?”

“Shouldn’t you ask?”

“Except I don’t really care.”

Vic’s cell phone vibrated once, letting him know he’d gotten a text or e-mail, and he grabbed it off the nightstand. He opened a picture that had been sent to him and reared back.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

He sighed. “Well . . . Whitlan’s dead.”

Livy glanced back at him. “What?”

He held up the phone and Livy studied it. “Oh . . . yeah. He sure is.”

“I can’t believe Eggie Smith did this, though.”

“That’s not a Smith move. That’s all honey badger.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know my people. Any other shifter would have gone in, ended Whitlan, moved on. But my people . . . we’re a little petty. Very mean.”

Vic looked back at the picture, studied it a little more. “Livy? What’s that? In the house.”

Livy glanced over, shook her head. “It’s a hole. They burrowed into Chumakov’s house. Who knows what they did once they were inside.”

“So, we’re actively pissing off Chumakov now?”

“My family is, apparently. I’m just trying to get ready for this wedding.” Livy stood, picked up her bag. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’m done with hiding.”

It took Chumakov more than two days to get home, including delays and a snowstorm that hit part of Eastern Europe. But when he stepped out of his car and saw Frankie Whitlan hanging upside down and skinless from the front of the house, all his travel exhaustion went away.

It wasn’t that Whitlan had meant much to him beyond always providing the best entertainment. He could find anyone to do that. But he’d given Whitlan his protection. The protection of Rostislav Chumakov. That meant something. Or, at least, it used to.