Hot and Badgered. Shelly Laurenston

are very proud.”

      He ushered them into a big office with white leather chairs and couches and even more glass windows revealing more amazing views.

      No wonder her sister had come here for a break. It was way better than any spa Charlie had ever been to before.

      “Please. Sit,” he offered with a smile. Charlie immediately noted that except for a lamp, blotter, and phone . . . the man had nothing else on his desk.

      Maxie plopped into a chair, her legs swinging up, about to land on the man’s glass desk before Charlie punched them back down. With a warning glare at her grinning sibling, she sat down on the very edge of her chair and realized she should have left Max out in the car.

      “Now, how can I help you ladies?”

      “We’d like to see our sister, please.”

      “Ahhh, our dear Fräulein MacKilligan.”

      “Doctor MacKilligan,” Charlie corrected out of habit. And, when Max raised an eyebrow at her, she reminded her sister, “She worked hard for those PhDs.”

      “True, true,” Gaertner said, still smiling. “She is one of our favorite patients here. She is so helpful during our group sessions.”

      Max snorted, but Charlie quickly leaned forward to keep the doctor’s attention. “I’m so glad she’s here and getting the help she needs, Dr. Gaertner. But we’d really love to see her for a few minutes.”

      “I’m sure we can arrange something . . . in a few weeks. Right now it is too . . . uh . . . early in the process for family meetings. You understand?”

      Before Charlie could explain that “no! I do not understand!” in the politest way possible, Max slammed her fist on that expensive-looking glass desk and announced, “Motherfucker, we wanna see our sister now!”

      “Max!” Charlie barked, locking gazes with her sibling. “Could you let me handle this, hon? Thanks.” Charlie turned back to the doctor, gave a helpless shrug. “So sorry. We’ve been under a lot of stress and—”

      “I’m sure. But you understand, that’s part of the problem, is it not?”

      Charlie shook her head. “What do you mean?”

      “Fräulein MacKilligan—”

      “Doctor.”

      “—can’t afford this kind of outside stress you and your sister bring. We are leaning toward a breakthrough. But you two . . .”

      Blinking, Charlie asked, “You’re saying that we”—and she motioned between her and Max with her forefinger—“are the cause of Stevie’s problems? Is that what you’re telling us?”

      “Your sister loves you,” Dr. Gaertner insisted. “But you both are . . . and I’m sorry for being so blunt . . . terrible for her.”

      Max sucked her tongue against her teeth and looked at Charlie. “Now can I hit him?”

      “No.” Not that Charlie wasn’t tempted to unleash Max on the good doctor, but as much as this place might look like a spa, it wasn’t. It was a mental hospital. With large orderlies.

      Charlie tried again. “I understand your concerns, doctor. I really do. But if I could just get three minutes alone with my sister, I would absolutely—”

      “Nein,” the doctor said flatly, although with a smug smile on his face that Charlie desperately wanted to slap off.

      The doctor stood. “But I will tell her that you were here when I think the time is right, and we will plan on a controlled meeting between you three. Very soon.”

      Charlie started to go across the desk just so she could tear the good doctor’s nose off, but she didn’t have a chance. She was too busy grabbing hold of Max and yanking her back before the badger could clear the glass and wrap herself around Gaertner’s body like a python.

      Charlie stood, bringing Max along, her grip tight on the tough flesh of her sister’s back.

      “Well,” Charlie said, dragging her snarling sister along, “we look forward to hearing from you, Doctor. I’m sure you have my number on file.”

      “Of course.”

      Charlie walked toward the glass door and opened it. She pushed her sister out and hissed in warning when Max turned to go back into the doctor’s office.

      As they headed toward the front of the building, Charlie glanced back and saw that several orderlies were following behind them. Making sure they left the building without a fuss.

      Once outside—the orderlies stood in front of the doors, preventing the sisters from reentering—Charlie and Max stopped by the SUV’s passenger side and faced each other.

      “Now can I go in and kill everybody?” Max asked.

      “No.”

      “You and your half-canine morals. It does nothing but get in the way.”

      “I know you’re working hard to be a sociopath, but stop it.”

      “Sociopath is in the eye of the—”

      “—forensic psychologist working for the prosecution?”

      * * *

      Berg was eventually sent to the local hospital to get his wounds checked out, but the local cops made it clear that they didn’t like what Berg and Coop were trying to sell. The investigators knew the pair were hiding something; they just weren’t sure what exactly.

      It helped, though, that Coop wasn’t just Coop but Cooper Jean-Louis Parker, master musician and former child prodigy. The Italian authorities could only push so hard, especially since they were already dealing with the repercussions of being the city where Jean-Louis Parker had been attacked. Every news service—even in the United States!—was reporting on the attack and what had happened to the much-beloved American maestro.

      The first doctor that came into the exam room had been full-human and, after looking over Berg’s wounds, had abruptly left. A few minutes later, a female doctor came in. She was older, with unbelievably long legs and a strong, lean body. A cheetah. Her nose twitched once and she smirked at Berg.

      “You worried my associate,” she said in charmingly accented English. “He thought you must be on steroids to be so big. Then he saw that you were already healing . . .” She washed her hands, dried them, and put on gloves. “He wanted to run many tests, check you in for the night. I told him that would not be necessary.” She grinned, fangs briefly extending. “I am his boss, so he has to listen to me. He hates that, but for some reason,” she added with a shrug, “I seem to scare him.”

      She leaned over and examined the wound in his side, her fingers pushing against the flesh. It hurt like a bitch, but he wasn’t about to admit that to a cat.

      “This is already healing. No point in doing more.” She straightened and looked closely at the gunshot wounds on his chest. “These are already healing, too, but I will need to open them up to get the bullets out. We don’t want the skin healing over those. That could lead to infection and fever.” She pressed her wrist against his forehead. “Good. You do not have fever so far. I will make this quick. You don’t need to go under do you? Before I do this.”

      “A local would be—owwww!”

      “Do not be big baby cub,” she ordered while she began digging in his flesh with sterilized metal instruments.

      Berg was gritting his teeth as she worked, waiting for this to be over, when the exam room door flew open.

      “What are you doing to my brother?” a female version of himself demanded. “I could hear him whimpering outside!”

      “Helping his big, dumb bear ass,” the doctor replied before she glanced back . . . and up. Her hands froze, and a small growl came from the back of her throat.

      “This