Hot and Badgered. Shelly Laurenston

snorted. “They hate him more than you do. They wouldn’t help him. Besides, they got their own problems right now.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “Someone’s trying to get the youngest again.”

      “What? Another drug dealer looking for designer meth?”

      “No idea, but I can find out.”

      Dougie made the offer, Will was sure, without really thinking about it. It was just his way to always get his father the information he might need as quickly as possible.

      But instead of dismissing the suggestion, Will looked at his son and said, “Yeah. Find out.”

      Surprised, Dougie asked, “Really? You sure?”

      “I’m sure. Find out. Find out everything.”

      “And then what?”

      “Then we see what we can do with that information. See how we can make it work for us.”

      “Even if it involves the girls?”

      Will nodded. “Their father doesn’t care about them, but if there’s one thing the man does fear . . . it’s that oldest girl.”

      “Charlie.” Dougie stood. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

      Will stood as well, already feeling a little better. Still angry, but now with some hope. “And, if we’re lucky, and all this gets fixed . . . I’ll be able to kill me brother with me bare hands.”

      Dougie patted Will on the shoulder. “We’re all hoping for that, Da. We’re all hoping for that.”

      * * *

      Max glanced over her shoulder, cringed when a corpse hit the glass window, followed by a desperate scream of rage.

      “So,” the detective standing next to her said, “I’m guessing that was not your father?”

      Max ducked before the leg torn off another John Doe corpse could hit her in the head. “Yeah. That’s not our dad . . . unfortunately.”

      “Then you’d better get your sister out of here before I have to arrest her for desecration of a corpse. Or multiple corpses.”

      Max reached out to pat the shifter cop on the shoulder as a thank-you, but he jerked away from her so violently, she decided not to push it. She knew that sometimes honey badgers made other shifters nervous.

      Besides, it was one of those days, wasn’t it? When everybody was just a little more sensitive than usual.

      “Put that torso down right this second, Charlie MacKilligan!” Stevie yelled, pointing her finger at their outraged sister and using her own body to protect the poor morgue attendant. “Right this second!”

      * * *

      Berg walked into the room, cell phone in hand, eyes on Charlie.

      She stood in the middle of Vic and Livy’s living room, staring blankly at the far wall. The three sisters had just returned to the apartment, but he honestly didn’t know what was going on.

      Stevie rushed in from the kitchen with a glass of what looked like scotch on the rocks in her hand.

      “Drink this, Charlie. It’ll help.”

      Charlie’s blank gaze focused on the glass of scotch and she locked on it for several long seconds.

      Everyone in the room watched her watching the scotch. Berg had remained at Livy’s place because he’d found the sisters a place to stay and needed to take them there. Coop, however, refused to return to his own New York apartment because he wanted to “see what happens next!” His exact words. Dag and Shen were still hanging around because neither had anywhere interesting to go anyway. And Vic and Livy lived here.

      They all watched Charlie, the room silent. Until she suddenly barked, “I need to bake.”

      Her sisters quickly moved out of her way and she disappeared into the kitchen.

      “There’s nothing in there,” Livy called out to Charlie, “that anyone can use to bake.” She glanced at the others. “What? I don’t shop a lot.”

      “This is bad,” Stevie said softly. “When she starts baking . . .”

      “So,” Coop guessed, “it was your dad? I’m so sorr—”

      “Oh, no,” Max cut him off, her arm swinging out toward the big picture windows. “He’s still out there somewhere. Alive. Fucking up our lives.”

      “Your father’s not dead?” Vic asked. Max and Stevie shook their heads. “And your sister’s upset because . . .”

      “He’s not dead.”

      Vic leaned back in his couch. “Didn’t see that coming.”

      Charlie suddenly walked back out of the kitchen, a bag of unopened flour in her hands. “Do you all realize—”

      “Uh-oh,” Stevie said softly, her head dropping.

      “—that the only reason we’re all here is because of my father?” She pointed at Coop. “You had to cancel the rest of your world tour because of my father.” She pointed at Berg. “You were shot and stabbed because of my father.”

      “I’m not sure we can blame him specifically—”

      She pointed at Livy. “You got in a fight with your cousin because of my father.” Pointed at Vic. “Strangers in your apartment because of my father.” She gestured between her and Max and Stevie. “Recent attempts on our lives, most likely because of our idiot father.”

      “We don’t know,” Stevie interrupted, “that Daddy had anything to do with any of this.”

      Her sisters suddenly turned to her and stared. For a really long time. Until Stevie finally admitted, “It was probably him, but we don’t know it was him. That’s all I’m saying.”

      Making a sound of disgust, Charlie turned on her heel and walked back into the kitchen.

      “Where did she find the flour?” Livy asked Vic. “We have flour? ”

      “I don’t know why you’re all mad at me!” Stevie argued. “He is still our father!”

      “I’m not angry at you,” Dag suddenly announced, thoughtfully gazing across the room. “But I don’t know you. So I don’t have any reason to be angry at you.”

      A “beep” sound from the kitchen had Livy frowning. “We have a microwave oven?” she asked Vic. “When did we get a microwave oven?”

      A moment later Charlie returned from the kitchen. Now she held a stainless steel mixing bowl in the crook of her left arm and a wooden spoon in her right hand. And whatever she had in that bowl was taking a hell of a beating from that spoon.

      “No one is angry at you, Stevie,” Charlie stated, still mixing. “I don’t blame you for how you feel about that idiot.”

      “I call him Dad,” Stevie said to the others.

      “But we have a serious problem here. We’re not safe while he’s alive.”

      “I could track him down,” Max said. “Kill him.” She glanced at Stevie. “Cry a little about doing that if it will make you feel better.”

      Stevie’s eyes narrowed. “It wouldn’t.”

      “No, no.” Charlie shook her head, still mixing. “I can’t ask you to do that. If there’s one thing our father knows how to do, it’s hide. You’ll never find him, and you’ll just get frustrated.”

      “Because her frustration is everyone’s main concern in this particular conversation,” Vic muttered.

      “We need a safe place to hide,” Charlie reasoned,