Bears Behaving Badly Read online

  Like the blush, the fact that she seemed to be looking at him slightly too long was a figment of his overheated imagination. “Excellent. Nadia’s got some more paperwork to take care of, but she’ll meet us at the hospital.”

  “Thank you so very much for speaking for me. The good Lord knows I couldn’t manage it myself.” But it was reflexive snottiness; Nadia was already waving them away when Annette turned to him.

  “Is it all right if I get a ride with you? I can head back with Nadia.” Then a heart-stopping pause. Here’s where she backs out. “Or you could come with me.”

  Okay, maybe not. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Which part?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, whatever.”

  “I’ll just go with you, then.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Smoooooooth!

  Chapter 4

  The Saint Paul skyway system was an above-ground labyrinth of bright corridors that connected to various shops, restaurants, office buildings, and hotels. Since the average Minnesota winter lasted approximately 304 days, it was lovely to be able to traverse buildings at any time, and the skyway had the added benefit of enormous windows and the greenhouse effect, making it warm and bright no matter what the weather.

  All of which was moot, because the skyway was for the naturae fixed, the Stables, those poor souls who were stuck in the same shape from birth to death: Homo sapiens in all their stable, savage glory.

  Shifters, the naturae flex, had to keep to the Beneath—figuratively if not literally, the ground and what was below it. If it was raining they got wet, and if it was snowing, they got snowed on, and if it was fogging, they got fogged.

  Which was why she and David were not on the second floor but instead in a parking garage, after swinging by Cinnabon on the way to United Hospital. Because if she didn’t have something to do with her hands and mouth, Annette was likely to jump poor unsuspecting, sexy David Auberon. Which wouldn’t just be unprofessional (and possibly illegal) but would also ruin their working relationship.

  What working relationship? This is the first time you’ve shared a case in two years.

  Still chewing

  (gah, it’s like eating a pillow, a wonderful cinnamon-frosted pillow)

  Annette smiled as they approached a gray Subaru. “Your car looks like—”

  “A giant electric razor,” David agreed. “Yeah.” There was a blip-blip! as he hit the unlock button, and then they were getting in for the twenty-minute ride to the hospital. Two of which Annette spent finishing her second Cinnabon and casting about for something to say. Anything to say.

  The fact was, she didn’t know David very well. The real David, at least—she knew Dream David intimately. Real-World David wasn’t IPA but a special investigator who worked with Stables as well as Shifters. He was a notorious loner, with the looks of someone right out of central casting for “mountain hermit”: intimidating height and a tendency to stoop when speaking to someone shorter (which was almost everyone), bulky shoulders and long legs, a head of thick brown hair and a mouth that rarely smiled, deeply tanned skin and constant dark stubble blooming along his jawline. He favored flannels and denim—the latter matching his eye color almost exactly—with occasional daring forays into button-downs. His loafers looked a hundred years old. He spoke in as few words as possible, when he bothered using words at all.

  But judging by the pile of Skittles in what was once an ashtray (How old was this car? Did they even make them with ashtrays anymore?) and the pink Starbursts in his cup holder, he had excellent taste in candy.

  He saw her looking and said, “Help yourself.”

  “No, thanks. I had Skittles for breakfast.” Do you want to go out sometime? Kick some life into these odd rumors? Wait, I’m not sure I want to reward Nadia’s insistence on an alternate reality by making it actual reality. Who knows what the woman might dream up next?

  Not to mention she was getting ahead of herself. For all she knew, David Auberon was married. Or seeing someone. Or gay. Or gray-A. Or not into zaftig werebears. Before she could ponder further, something caught her eye and she leaned forward. “Good God, I just realized—it’s only the red ones.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s…” Nutty. Anal. Wasteful—where are the other flavors? Do you toss them? Give them away? Mail them to your enemies? None of which were appropriate to ask, so she coughed to cover her confusion. He motioned to the glove compartment and she hit the button, then stared as a torrent of red Jolly Ranchers fell out. “Um…”

  “There’s Kleenex underneath all that. I’m pretty sure,” he added in a low mutter.

  “Quick! What’s your favorite fruit?”

  “Red?”

  “Good God.”

  “What?” He sounded defensive, which was the last emotion she wanted to elicit, but honestly.

  “You’re the guy who dumps maple syrup into everything.”

  “Not everything. Not fries. Well, once on fries,” he admitted. “More an accident than design.”

  “Even for a werebear, your sweet tooth is ridiculous.”

  “Well.” He seemed to consider that for a couple of seconds. “Yeah.”

  She laughed; she couldn’t help it. Something about his bemused resignation struck her as funny. And to her surprise, he joined in, and she heard his deep, warm chuckle for the first time.

  Damn. A girl could fall in love.

  Not this one, though.

  Too much to do.

  * * *

  “So, to sum up, you’re fine, you’re well on the road to recovery, your attempted murder was a misunderstanding, you wish your assailant all the best, and you really must be going. That about right?”

  More than right, Annette thought. David had nailed it in fewer than ten seconds.

  They’d bypassed the Stable floors, used their IDs to get past the security for the Shifter wing (David casting a longing look at the candy-stacked vending machines they passed), and were now watching Terry Lund limp back and forth as he tossed his few belongings and his discharge paperwork into a plastic bag. Which was tricky, since Caro had bitten off two of the fingers of his left hand. They’d found them at the scene, unsalvageable.

  “This strikes me as a bad idea,” Annette observed. Cheating on your income tax bad. Jumping your unsuspecting colleague bad.

  “I’m fine.” The balding redhead, who was short but powerfully built, like a fire hydrant in yesterday’s suit, flapped a (whole) hand at her. “I’ll be fine. I just want to put this nightmare behind me.”

  Annette shook her head. “I’m astonished you’re not pressing charges. Astonished.”

  “Hey, it’s tough out there for troubled kids.”

  “She ate your fingers,” David pointed out, because was it possible Lund had forgotten? Or thought they might grow back? The man was behaving like he’d been mildly inconvenienced, not mauled and nearly killed. “And crushed a couple of bones in your foot. That’s a little more serious than ‘these cubs today.’”

  “Look, it was partly my fault. I must have provoked her. Or reminded her of someone else. You know, from her past. I mean, she’s clearly had a hard life, poor cub. And no harm done. In general, I mean.”

  Annette glanced sideways at David to see how he was gauging this. Lund was downplaying at best, lying at worst. Lying and in a rush to leave the hospital, but not too much of a rush. Almost as though he wanted to linger long enough to assure them all was well, get his refusal to press charges on the record, then vanish. Or was she reading too much into this interview?

  She cleared her throat. “We’ll be in touch, of course.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got to get back to work. There’s so much paperwork, it’s worse than a nightmare when I can’t file on time.”

  “Falling behind in your paperwork is worse than a werewolf biting off your fingers?” Good
God. How many reams of paperwork are we talking about?

  “Well, it’s not just the paperwork. I’ve gotta get down to the warehouse. There’s customs to deal with, overseeing the quarantine facilities, clearing the charter flights for the imports…” At their blank expressions, he added, “I’m an importer and exporter of exotic pets.” When they had no comment, he stood straighter and added with no small amount of pride, “Self-made man.”

  “Okay.” From Annette.

  “The paperwork’s a nightmare, but the money’s unbelievable.”

  “Okay.” From David.

  “So I’m sure you can see why I need to get back to it.”

  Annette cleared her throat. “Your work ethic is commendable, but going forward, Mr. Lund, we’ll likely need your testimony. For the trial.”

  Lund hissed in pain; he’d tried to grab his wallet with the less-than-whole hand. “Why?” he managed. “I’m not pressing charges.”

  David shrugged. “Good thing we don’t need your permission, then.” People who watched too many Law & Order reruns often got the idea that if the victim wouldn’t press charges, their assailant could just march; the system would have no alternative but to let him go. Fortunately, life was not run by the rules as written by Dick Wolf. (Who was Stable. Not a werewolf. Irony?)

  “Well, whatever.” Lund took a last look around his room. “I think that’s it. Listen, it was nice meeting you both—”

  “It was?” Annette would have imagined that every aspect of Lund’s last fourteen hours had been wildly unpleasant.

  “—and just get in touch if you need anything. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s really not okay,” Annette said, then added, “Listen, if you’re signing out Against Medical Advice, do you at least have someone here to take you home? Did you want us to call your family?”

  A bark of laughter. “No. They know all about it. I’ll be getting shit over this for a while.” At their stares, he added, “I’m kinda the black sheep. They know my business is the most important thing to me.”

  “All right. Well. Thanks for your time.”

  “Welcome.” Lund gathered what was left of his belongings with what was left of his hand and marched past them. Annette obligingly stepped back as he stomped out, then glanced at David, who was staring at the slowly closing pneumatic door with an expression that likely matched her own.

  “Bad guy.”

  She snorted. “Bad, dissembling, downplaying guy who does not want anyone looking into anything.”

  “Yeah. Like I said. Bad.”

  Chapter 5

  “Upstanding citizens who have done nothing wrong don’t generally lie about an attack that could have resulted in their grisly death. Oh, no they don’t. Oh, no they don’t. Isn’t that right? Hmm?” Annette cuddled the Spencer cub a little closer. “Look how well he’s healing!”

  “It’s weird,” David agreed, remaining unmoved despite being surrounded by astonishing levels of cuteness. Took some effort, but he was up for it. And watching Annette in her maternal sweetness wasn’t doing anything for him, either. Nope. Not a thing. “The Lund thing, not the healing. That could get messy,” he added, because cubs weren’t known for their continence. And putting a diaper on them wasn’t an option. “You sure you want to keep holding him?”

  “You and your silly questions. I’ll risk it.”

  “It’s your shirt.” Oh my word, seeing how maternally sweet she is just makes her sexier, DAMMIT. “And yeah, Lund’s being shady as shit. But that doesn’t let Caro off the hook. She still went for him. She could’ve killed him. Lockup’s the best place for her.”

  “That’s your takeaway from the interview?” Annette said, inadvertently tightening her grip. The two-month-old werebear, orphaned by a fire and recovering from smoke inhalation and second-degree burns, let out a squeak. She eased up and leveled David with a glare, and he felt his heart rate pick up more than a little. “A traumatized teenager should stay in a cage?”

  “That traumatized teenager, yeah.” Soft touch, even after everything she’s seen. Prob’ly her only fault. That and her distractingly perfect bod. “For now, at least. You’ll recall we don’t know shit yet.”

  “It’s true. We are in a shit-free zone, knowledge-wise.” She eased the cub back into the big clear box on wheels people made babies live in for some reason. The fluffy werebear—probably a subspecies of the American black were—made a faint snuffling sound of protest, then flopped over, wriggled on its belly, stuck its rump into the air, and promptly started snoring. “Caro’s a blank, and Lund seems to think his assault was the equivalent of ‘You kids stay off my lawn,’ except with shattered bones and severed fingers.”

  “Jesus.” David was trying to stay on track, but couldn’t stop staring at the cub. Then he glanced at Annette and everything instantly got worse. “Kid sounds like he’s gargling gravel through a megaphone. How does that much noise come out of that tiny body?”

  “Focus, David.”

  “Right.” Good advice. So don’t lose focus. Just let it be. Let. It. Be. “You’ve, um. Got something.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your shirt.” He leaned forward and brushed at the drool on her shoulder. This close, he could see the outer ring of her iris was a deep brown, and the inner ring was russet. Depending on the lighting, her eyes would gleam like banked coals. “There. I… Oh. It’s not…coming off. Sorry.”

  She smiled. “Why apologize? You’re not the one who drooled on me.”

  Oh God. If only. Back to business…back to business! “You get anything off Lund? Besides the obvious?”

  She shrugged. “Well, no, but I wouldn’t expect to. It’s a hospital.”

  In other words, too many smells, too many sounds, too many people…getting a scent-read off Lund had been like trying to eavesdrop on a quiet conversation from the other side of a crowded room. She’d been able to catch some but not all of it. And what she’d heard might not be right.

  “Same. I think he talked to us here on purpose. It wasn’t just about letting us know he wasn’t pressing charges. He’s obfuscating like a motherfucker. And now he’s in the wind. I’m betting if you follow up, he’ll be on extended vacation somewhere out of our jurisdiction, like Mars.” Silence. “Annette?”

  “Sorry, I can’t get over ‘obfuscating like a motherfucker.’” She snickered, then added, “But you’re right. So, why?”

  As they talked, the staff was quietly working around them, and one of them would occasionally catch Annette’s eye with a nod or say howdy. David had never had cause to visit the peds ward before, but Annette was obviously familiar with the place. They all seemed to know her; no one had batted an eye when she’d scooped Spencer, Cub J. out of his clear box.

  Before David could elaborate, a chubby RN in her mid-thirties, with curly brown hair and a lone dimple, appeared out of nowhere (was there a secret door behind the fridge full of formula and pureed meat?), went right to Annette, and handed over a small bundle of fur and a tiny bottle.

  “Thanks, Sharon.”

  “Sure, saves me a little time. She’s doing great, by the way. Probably will be discharged sometime tomorrow.” The nurse nodded at David and went back to work.

  David unconsciously flared his nostrils

  (werefox)

  as Annette cradled the small red bundle o’ fluff and popped the bottle in. “I hate to harp on this, but Lund’s the victim. He should be screaming for help and lawyers, not necessarily in that order, so maybe…” She eyed David while the werefox guzzled. The tiny bottle was almost empty. Before his eyes, the interior of that bottle was becoming a food desert. “Maybe you’re onto something. Maybe he is the bad guy. Or a bad guy.”

  “Whatever he is, he’s not gonna be any more help today.”

  She sighed. “No, that was clear. And we can’t interview him again unless we
want to explain the bad optics to our bosses.”

  “Pass.”

  “And unless Caro starts singing, we’ve only got one lead to follow right now.” We’ve? Oh, you’re partners now? When did that happen? And was it before or after you went on your imaginary date?

  She sighed again, still looking down at the kit. “Dev.”

  “Devoss,” he agreed. Which, depending on where someone stood on the “sticky-fingered scam artist who cons at a graduate level” debate, was either great news or shitty news.

  Why not both? David’s dead mother whispered in his ear, and he almost smiled.

  Chapter 6

  “What are you talking about, gone?”

  “As in the child is no longer here. He is absent from this place. He has…gone.”

  “What?”

  “It’s an adverb, dear,” Nadia explained.

  “It’s an adjective,” Annette pointed out.

  “I beg your pardon,” Nadia sniffed, already digging out her cell phone and poking at it. “I’ll have you know I have a degree in English from Oxf… Never mind.”

  “Adjective,” Annette said again, not bothering to hide her triumph. But victory was fleeting. And a London native had a degree in English? Was that like an American having a degree in American?

  Who cares? You’ve got more important woes. “This is not great. This is the polar opposite of great. We’re the parens familia1; he’s our kit!”

  Nadia hesitated, then took the plunge. “Annette, don’t be distressed—”

  “I will be distressed. We should all be distressed! We can’t keep him from getting into trouble, and when we catch him, after failing to keep him from getting into trouble, we can’t fucking hang on to him!”

  David raised his eyebrows. “Whoa.”

  “What, David?”

  “You never swear. Not even that time you pulled cubs from folks freebasing carfentanil and the mom ran you over.”

  “Oh, please, she barely grazed me. Then she stalled out before she could back up and try again.”