“Pardon?”
“When Charlie gets like this,” Mads explained, “when Charlie starts baking . . . just back off and hope we’re all alive when it’s over.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
*
“You were right,” Mads said when she walked back into the bedroom where they’d put Streep. Their wounded teammate was stretched out on a queen-sized bed, appearing feverish and pale. Her chest was covered with blood-soaked bandages that had been traded out many times in the last couple of hours by a nurse and doctor. Both were cats and had no patience for the honey badgers in the room, but Mads and her teammates were not about to trust some cats with Streep’s life. So they refused to leave . . . no matter how many times they asked. Or demanded. “Charlie was baking.”
“I knew it,” Max said. “You got your aunt out of there, right?”
“Yeah. But she wasn’t happy. Apparently, her husband is real protective of his kitchen or something.” She shrugged. “I have no idea who her husband is so I don’t know how deep his panic might go over a single room in his giant house.”
“You don’t know her husband?”
“I didn’t know she was married until she just said, ‘my husband. ’ I’d heard she had kids, though. Grown ones. But I’ve never met them either.”
“Awwww. You have cousins.”
“I’ve always had cousins, Max. Aunt Tracey’s kids just haven’t threatened to eat me yet . . . so that’s been nice.”
The doctor motioned to Mads, and she swiftly went to her side.
“We’re very concerned,” the female said.
“Streep is that bad?” Mads asked, her gaze turning toward her teammate.
“No. She’s not. The fact is that she had a hole right through her chest. The bullet went through the rib cage, through the heart, and out the back, cutting through the spine. All of that should have killed her instantly . . . it didn’t.”
“But she looks feverish and unwell . . .”
“Yes. It’s called ‘milking it.’ ”
Mads tightened her lips together to keep from smiling because she had the feeling the doctor was ready to kill them all simply out of principle. “Uh . . . is there anything we can do to help her heal?”
“I don’t know,” the doctor replied, tossing her hands in the air. “Usually when anyone—shifter or human—is shot through the heart with a .50-caliber hollow-point bullet, I just cover them with a sheet, have them put in a body bag, and taken to the morgue. But this”—she moved her hand around, gesturing toward Streep and the others—“unholy scenario is something I don’t know how to handle and refuse to involve myself in any further. You people are on your own.”
With that, the doctor grabbed her designer purse, her computer bag, her black doctor’s bag, and her car keys. She walked out without another word, slamming the door behind her.
Mads glanced down at the nurse. She was sitting silently in a straight-back chair, busy filing her claws, and didn’t seem to be in any rush to leave.
When Mads simply kept staring at the cat, she finally volunteered, “I’m getting paid by the hour and I like money. So you badgers can be as unholy as you like.”
*
They pulled up to the math camp and, to Tock’s surprise, Dani was already standing outside the doors with a teacher. Or was it counselor? Anyway, the fact that she was already outside was weird since they hadn’t actually called anyone or told them to have the kid ready. Shay was just going to go in and get her.
“Why is she already outside?” Shay asked.
“I’ll go check.”
He looked at her. “Why you?”
“Because you can be terrifying, and we don’t have time for that right now.” She pointed to her watch. “Do you see the time?”
Tock didn’t wait for Shay to answer. She got out of the car and quickly walked the distance from the vehicle to the kid.
“Hey, Dani. Everything okay?”
Dani didn’t answer; just rolled her eyes.
“I was hoping to speak to Mister or Mrs. Malone,” the teacher announced.
“My mother is not a Malone,” Dani practically snarled, “and she already told you to call my dad because she couldn’t come.”
“I tried to contact your father, and your mother has refused to pick you up again.”
“Thank you for making me feel bad about my family, Mrs. Latimer.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Mr. Malone’s phone was damaged earlier today,” Tock quickly cut in. “But we’re on a schedule, so can this important discussion wait until another—”
“Dani punched another student.”
Tock gazed at the teacher, waiting to hear more. It took her several seconds to realize that the teacher had thought that was more than enough. She wanted Tock to say something.
“Was it a boy?” Tock asked Dani.
“Yes.”
“Did he deserve it?”
“Absolutely.”
Tock shrugged at the teacher. “Sounds like he deserved it.”
“It’s not that easy, Miss—”
“I’m sure it’s not, but it can wait until later.”
“It really can’t.”
One of the glass front doors was pushed open and a full-human man stomped through; his kid was just behind him.
And yeah, Dani had definitely punched the kid. In his left cheek. It had a golf ball–sized swelling under the skin, which might mean the kid had a broken cheekbone. Dani was young but she had some true cat strength. No wonder her mother was constantly trying to get her into football.
“Is this the mother?” the man demanded, finally reaching them. Tock and Dani glanced at each other and both giggled a little. They looked nothing alike, but . . . okay! “Look what your daughter did to my son,” he said, pushing the boy forward.
“She says he deserved it, and as someone who has dealt with boys in math departments for many years . . . I totally believe her.”
“If you think I’m letting this little brat get away with assaulting my kid, you’ve got another think coming, lady!”
“If we could all calm down,” the teacher offered, “I’m sure we can come up with a way to . . .”
Her words faded off as something very big blocked the sun behind Tock. She watched the father’s gaze lift up and up as Shay—who had already had a very bad day—came up to their small group and then kept coming. Until he stood directly in front of the man, who quickly shoved his son behind him.
“What . . . what is this?” the man finally stuttered out.
“This is the brat’s father,” Tock said with her arm around Dani’s shoulders. “And if you have a problem with her, you should really address it with”—she reached her arm up and patted one of his giant shoulders—“him.”
Shay stared down at the man but said nothing. Instead, he just stared. Really . . . it was more of a glower. It reminded Tock of Keane actually, in its complete animosity. But Shay wasn’t completely silent. Tock could feel the low grumble emanating from the big cat’s chest.