“Wait, wait,” Vic cut in. “How do we know Whitlan is in Russia? Chumakov could be hiding him anywhere.”

“Trust me,” his father said flatly. “If Chumakov has Whitlan, he has him on his territory in Motherland.”

“Papa, don’t call it that.”

“Best place to protect him is there.”

“This no longer about Whitlan,” Balt snarled. “It was not Whitlan who sent bears to kill my dear, sweet, defenseless niece.”

“The defenseless niece who took out five bears in a stairwell after being shot at least sixteen times? That defenseless niece?” Shen asked.

“Quiet, stuffed toy!” Balt snapped. “I want Chumakov!” he yelled at Vladik.

“You cannot have Chumakov, you fool. Not unless you want entire bear nation coming down on you like flames of hell!”

“He is right, Baltazar Kowalski,” Nova cut in. “Rostislav Chumakov is very powerful in the BPC. If you kill him without clear evidence, bears will no longer find honey badgers cute and adorable like rat in sewer.”

“Especially with new commander of the BPC.”

“Who’s the new commander?” Vic asked.

“Bayla Ben-Zeev. She used to be Israeli commander. Her father and mother used to hunt Nazis. She is cold, calculating, and very loyal to bears. Other breeds, species are second to her.” Nova raised a finger. “However, considering her size . . . she has lovely sense of style. It must not be easy to find things to fit her—she has shoulders like man—but manages to really pull off clothes I would never even think to put on her.”

“Is it her accessories?” Joan asked. “Because good accessories can make the She-bear.”

Livy glanced at Vic and crossed her eyes in annoyance. “I’m so very sorry to interrupt the fashion-bonding going on between you two, but can we get back to the cold, calculating nature of the BPC commander rather than where she might find shirts that fit her giant man-shoulders?

“If you kill Chumakov now,” Nova explained, “without any proof that he was the one who tried to kill your Livy, they will crush your little rat heads.”

“It’s ratel,” Aunt Teddy snarled.

“But we have proof,” Jake said. “We have the bears. If we identify them, maybe we can prove that they work for Chumakov.”

“Yeah . . .” Vic began, looking over at Shen, who began to munch harder on his bacon-wrapped bamboo stalk and look down at the floor.

“What?” Vladik asked.

“Well, Dee-Ann handled the cleanup for us.”

“So?”

Vic cleared his throat. “She usually gets . . . uh . . . a clan of hyenas to do it for her.”

“So?” Vladik asked again. “They must have put the bodiessomewhere.”

“Yeah . . . that’s not actually what this particular hyena clan does with the bodies that Dee-Ann gives them. But what they do is effective. You know . . . to make the bodies disappear.”

“Until,” Shen muttered, “those hyenas have to take a shit.”

Vladik recoiled in disgust. “Oh . . . son!”

“I don’t ask the hyenas to do it.”

“No. But you associate with Smith Pack,” Balt tossed back at him. “Demon dogs of underworld.”

“Bottom line is,” Jake rationalized—since no one else would bother, “we have no proof.”

Joan lowered her phone. “Then Vladik Barinov is right—we should lure Chumakov here and go after Whitlan.”

Balt slammed his hands on the island. “You will let this bear get away with what he did to your daughter and my brother?”

“Do not question me on this, Baltazar!” Joan snapped in Mandarin.

Balt frowned. “What?”

“Do as I say,” she told him in English.

“But—”

“She is my worthless daughter!” Joan pointed out.

“Hey!”

“Damon was my worthless husband! This is my decision, Baltazar Kowalski. Not yours.” Joan settled down. Smiled. “So we lure Chumakov here and then have Whitlan dealt with in Russia.”

“Okay,” Livy agreed, willing to play along even though she didn’t trust her mother to let things go with Chumakov that easy. “But A: how do we lure Chumakov here? And B: Who takes care of Whitlan in Russia?”

“I don’t know about B,” Jake replied, “but I’ve got an idea for A.”

“Which is?”

“Livy, you say he’s an art patron. He’s also a scumbag mobster. Something tells me a lost, let’s see . . . how about a lost . . . Matisse? Worth millions. That would be something that would get his interest.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Vic sighed, “but do you have a lost Matisse?”

“No. We just need a good picture of a lost Matisse.”

“A picture?”

“Like, out of a book.”

“And what are you going to do with that?”

As one, the Kowalskis all turned and looked at Melly. She didn’t notice, though. She was too busy texting someone. The way her fingers were moving, Livy could tell she was arguing with someone. Probably her stalked not-really-a-fiancé.

And Livy knew she was right when Melly suddenly jumped up and yelled at her phone, “I will kidnap myself again, before I ever let you leave me!”

Melly looked up at her relatives. “What are you all staring at? I’m not talking to any of you,” she snarled.