Badger to the Bone (Honey Badger Chronicles #3) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,78

. . .”

Charlie took the phone. “What’s going on?” When Charlie apparently didn’t hear anything, she said, “Zé, don’t make me angry.”

Stevie moved her position a bit, hoping that Charlie hadn’t spotted Max’s mother. Of course, there was always the risk that Renny might just come out of that little staircase to say “hey.” The She-badger didn’t seem to understand boundaries.

Charlie reached into one of the cabinet drawers and pulled out a notepad and pen. She jotted down the number Zé gave her and handed it to Stevie.

“Okay. Yes. We know where that is. I don’t care that she didn’t want you to tell me, Zé. I’ll handle this.”

Charlie disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Stevie. “Send him money and a car, but bring him back here.” From the table, she picked up her small backpack, which held her wallet, phone, and a .45 Glock. Stevie grabbed the bag and wouldn’t let go until Charlie gave her the gun. Of course, Charlie probably had a gun holstered to both her legs but at least they wouldn’t be easy to get to.

“I’ll go with you,” Stevie said.

“No. You and Shen stay here.”

“But, Charlie—”

“I will handle this.”

Nope. Stevie didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“Charlie, promise me you won’t kill anyone.” When her sister’s response was to give a cold laugh, Stevie stepped closer and insisted, “I mean it. Do not kill anyone. Not over this. You have to promise.”

“I warned them—”

“I know. But now they’ve involved cops. You can get away with a lot, but you can’t get away with killing cops. And besides, it wouldn’t be right. So promise me.” Charlie’s jaw clenched because she didn’t want to promise that, but Stevie wasn’t backing down. “Promise me or I start screaming.”

Still Charlie didn’t answer so Stevie stomped her foot and roared, shaking the windows throughout the entire house.

“Okay, okay!” Charlie barked. “I won’t kill anyone. Today.”

Hell, that was more than Stevie had actually hoped for, but she didn’t hug her sister, simply said, “Cool.”

Charlie stormed out and Stevie waited until the front door slammed shut before letting out the breath she’d been holding in.

“Why do I smell strange honey badger?” Shen asked, plopping a bag of bamboo onto the table.

Dusting herself off, Max’s mother returned from her spot near the back door. Stevie swept her hand toward her and said, “Shen . . . this is Renny, Max’s mom. Renny, this is my boyfriend, Shen.”

“Wow!” he said happily. “Max’s mom! It’s so nice to . . . wait . . .” His happiness quickly faded. “Aren’t you in prison? For, like, another five or ten years?”

When Stevie silently folded her arms over her chest and Renny just smiled that smile that told everyone she was Max’s mom, Shen simply faced forward, grabbed a bamboo stalk, and began eating.

Considering the current situation, it was the safest thing he could do.

chapter FOURTEEN

Max looked around the conference room of the NYPD shifter division. She was surrounded by crystal-clear reinforced glass, so she could see everything going on. At one point, she looked into the office next door. Inside were a woman and two males she didn’t recognize, and Dee-Ann Smith. Her absolute favorite wolf to torture!

As soon as their eyes locked, Max put on her biggest grin and happily waved at Dee-Ann with her zip-tied hands.

The men and woman laughed as Dee-Ann snarled and looked away from her.

Yup. Her favorite person to torture!

Before she could lower her bound hands, one of the cops grabbed them.

“These were behind your back.”

“Were they?” she asked.

He released her and snarled, “Fucking badgers.” Then he stormed away, leaving her alone.

About thirty minutes later, Max was shocked to see her teammates dragged in. Why were they here? They hadn’t done anything.

Each of them was led to a chair and pushed into it by a much bigger uniformed shifter. Then the cops left and a new team came in. They were all dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts, each with a single holstered firearm, but none of them had badges, so they weren’t detectives Max would expect. She was always interrogated by detectives—at least in major American cities. In other countries, it varied.

After the five of them were seated and the very large, unidentified shifters were comfortably situated around the room . . . nothing. For at least forty-five minutes. Max wasn’t exactly shocked, though. It was an interrogation move. Keep the perp waiting in the hopes that he or she would get worked up and