Hot and Badgered. Shelly Laurenston

Charlie pushed when her sister didn’t say anything.

      “She needed a break.”

      “A break? She needed a break? What does that mean?”

      “You know what that means, Charlie.”

      “I do?” Charlie thought a moment, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on! Again?”

      “You know how she is. But hey! At least she’s still in Switzerland. We’ll get there in no time.”

      “But it’s a mental hospital! Not a resort!”

      “To her, all mental hospitals are resorts. Besides, it could be worse,” Max said happily. “This could all be so much worse!”

      Charlie shook her head. “Dude, I seriously don’t know how.”

      chapter TWO

      The black Mercedes-Benz AMG G63 SUV stopped in front of the mental health and rehab clinic.

      Usually, it was only the wealthiest of European royalty who came to this place. Most Americans didn’t even know it existed, but Charlie’s baby sister had a gift. She could track down high-end mental institutions anywhere in the world. They all seemed to have spa-like amenities, five-star chefs making the meals, and group therapy, something her sister truly seemed to enjoy.

      The first one Stevie Stasiuk-MacKilligan had ever checked herself into was somewhere in Malibu and cost a thousand a day. She never paid a cent, though. The lab she “interned” for took care of that, which could explain why no one bothered to question why a fourteen-year-old girl—at the time—was checking herself into a Malibu mental health clinic without a parent or guardian in sight.

      And what did these brilliant and pricey psychologists discover about Stevie over the years? Exactly what Charlie already knew: That her sister was a high-strung prodigy who suffered bouts of extreme panic like any abandoned child would.

      Stevie’s mother, a Siberian She-tiger from a very wealthy family, had shown up at Carlie Taylor’s door one day, asking for Carlie to babysit five-year-old Stevie for “a few hours.” Charlie’s mom, a She-wolf who never really learned how to say no to anyone but Charlie’s grandfather, agreed. After three days, she told Charlie and Max that “it looks like your little sister is staying. Isn’t that great?”

      At the time, Charlie didn’t think so. It was bad enough they already had one of their father’s castoffs to take care of in the first place; now they had two. But that first situation had made more sense because Max’s mother was doing hard time in a Bulgarian prison for armed robbery. She couldn’t take care of her kid. But the She-tiger . . . she’d just walked away. From her own daughter.

      Of course, Stevie didn’t let any of that bother her. In her mind, she had so many other things to worry about “in the universe” that her mother’s desertion didn’t rate as important enough for her to hold a grudge.

      So Charlie did it for her. She was very good at grudge-holding. Just ask her idiot father.

      Charlie met up with her sister at the front of the SUV.

      “All right,” Charlie began, “you know the drill.”

      Max nodded and flatly replied, “Go in. Kill everybody. Get Stevie out.”

      Charlie briefly closed her eyes, took a moment to breathe and try to relax her shoulders. When she felt she wouldn’t yell, she said, “That is not the drill.”

      “It could be.”

      “Could be, but it isn’t. The drill is we go in, I do all the talking, you don’t pick on Stevie.”

      “She’s too sensitive.”

      “But because you already know that, you’re not going to pick on her.”

      Max smiled. “What if I really want to?”

      “Then I’ll let her take your eye out this time. And you’ll wear an eyepatch . . . and we’ll call you One-Eye McGee.”

      Laughing, Max headed toward the front doors, Charlie right behind her.

      When they stepped inside, both of them glanced at each other. Their sister really did have a knack when it came to finding beautiful places for the mentally ill.

      There was so much white marble and beautiful white furniture. Stunning and expensive oriental rugs were laid out in front of white couches. White marble coffee and end tables rested on top of them. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the remarkable beauty of the Swiss countryside that surrounded the entire building.

      “You have got to be kidding,” Max muttered, staring up at the cathedral-like ceilings. “I think I’m feeling mentally ill because I could really use some valium and a massage.”

      “Stop it.”

      Charlie grabbed Max’s arm and pulled her to the desk, which was not white but clear glass. And perfectly clean. The stunning woman sitting on the other side in a white button-down shirt and tight, white skirt smiled, revealing perfect white teeth.

      “Hallo. Sprechen sie Englisch?” Charlie asked.

      “Yes,” she immediately replied. “May I help you?”

      “I’d like to see my sister. Stevie MacKilligan.”

      “Please have a seat. I’ll contact her doctor.”

      “Thank you.”

      Charlie walked over to the couch, but it was so white that she was worried about putting her less-than-clean body on it. Max had had an extra pair of jeans and bright red Keds in Charlie’s size—they always had backup clothes for each other—so she wasn’t walking around in only a T-shirt, but Charlie hadn’t had time for a shower. Just a quick stop at a gas station to wash the blood off, and let Max bandage up her shoulder so the bullet wounds could heal without a mess.

      And for Charlie, nothing would be more humiliating than getting up from that bright white couch and leaving an unfortunate stain behind.

      But Max didn’t seem to have those issues, turning and dropping on the couch like she owned it.

      Of course, Max didn’t worry about much, which worried Charlie. She knew her sister could be reckless when it wasn’t necessary. Max did, however, always manage to find a way to wiggle out of whatever situation she’d gotten herself into. And if she couldn’t wiggle free, she would attack head-on without stopping.

      It was the honey badger way.

      Max pulled a baggie of honey-covered peanuts from the back pocket of her jeans and began munching, wiping her hands on the white couch after each handful she put in her mouth.

      “Dude.”

      Max looked up. “What?”

      “You’re being sloppy.”

      “So?” She gave that lovely but still off-putting smile. “We don’t have to clean it up.”

      “Dude.”

      Rolling her eyes, Max pushed the nearly empty baggie back into her jeans and brushed both hands against each other. She motioned to a spot behind Charlie and Charlie turned to see a man walking toward them. He wore a white coat and held a clipboard. He also had on a gold Rolex and Gucci leather shoes.

      The doctor had expensive taste.

      Smiling, Charlie immediately put out her hand for a shake.

      “Ladies,” the doctor greeted, grasping Charlie’s hand. He went for Max’s but Max just stared until he pulled his hand back. She didn’t even bother getting up from the couch.

      “Do you speak English?” Charlie asked.

      “Of course,” the doctor replied. “I am Dr. Gaertner. I am the director here. Come. Let’s talk in my office.”

      He led them