Nevin gathered the cards together and showed off his Vegas-learned shuffling skills. “Just a little five-card stud.”
“Oooh. Can I play? I’ve always wanted to play.”
“Gwen—”
She turned pleading, wide cat eyes at him. “Please, Lock? Can I?”
He was so stunned she was asking his permission to do anything, he could only manage to say, “Uh…”
“Thanks.”
She dropped a wad of cash big enough to choke a goat on the table. “Is this enough?”
Before Lock could blink, three of his uncles had grabbed chairs and quickly sat down.
Lock crouched next to her and whispered in her ear, “Where the hell did you get that cash from?”
“I don’t know. Some guy outside.” He’d be shocked if it was anybody but Gwen. “I didn’t like the way he glared at you.”
“So you took his cash?”
“It’s a skill.”
“Out of the way, boy.” Calum pushed him back. “We need to teach sweet little Gwen here how to play poker.”
“I’m not sure you want to—”
“Don’t argue with me, boy.”
Hamish shoved a racing form in Lock’s hand, then grabbed his arm. “While they do that, I need to talk to you outside for a minute.” He smiled and winked at Gwen. “We’ll be right back, gorgeous.”
She giggled—giggled!—and focused back on the rest of his uncles. “So…um…how does this game work?” she asked sweetly.
While the rest of his uncles practically fell over each other in an attempt to “assist” Gwen, Hamish pulled Lock out the back door that led to the alley behind their bar. More than once, his uncles had used this door to get out during police raids. The fact that none of his father’s brothers were in prison still amazed the entire MacRyrie family. Lock loved each and every one, but the only difference between his uncles and the average felon was that the MacRyrie brothers had never done any hard time.
“What’cha bring the girl for?” Hamish asked once he’d closed the thick metal door.
“Why wouldn’t I bring Gwen?”
“Why do you always answer a question with a question?”
“Why are you always upset when I do?”
Hamish gritted his teeth and briefly closed his eyes. “I swear, some days you are just like your old man.”
“I no longer find that an insult.” Lock shrugged. “So what’s going on?” He knew something must be up, because his uncles had never cared before when he brought a girl over…of course it had been more than ten or twelve years since he had. And then he’d only brought the girls to impress them with his bad-boy side—important since he didn’t really have a bad-boy side—but he’d brought Gwen because he hadn’t been ready to let her go. And he wasn’t sure when he would be.
His uncle motioned him farther into the alley. It was one of the few in New York that didn’t have a few people living in it—even before they’d “cleaned up” the city—but that was because who’d be crazy enough to set up house near bears? Even full-humans who didn’t know the MacRyries were bears knew better.
Hamish crouched down and pulled back a large piece of cardboard. Heart sinking, Lock crouched beside him.
“How long?”
“We found it this morning.”
“Is this the first?”
“No. The third one in the last five months. Always male…always a mixed breed.”
This one was a wolf-coyote mix. Lock leaned in closer. “He hasn’t been shot.”
“No. I’m thinking he died from the bites.” Hamish let out a breath. “This isn’t hunters, is it?”
“No. They sometimes use dogs for tracking, but these bites are too deep for dog bites. And they wouldn’t go for such lethal spots. Hunting dogs only track the prey, corner them, but these wounds are to kill.” Lock sat back on his heels. “These are fight marks.”
“The first two, we got rid of the bodies ourselves. But third time’s the charm, ya know?”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“You gonna take care of it?”
“No. I don’t have any connections any more. No authorization to do anything. And lately the Unit has been watching me, I’m still not sure why.”
“’Cause of this?”
“Doubt it. We were never sent out on assignment over a hybrid.” Mostly because the other breeds didn’t care about the hybrids.
“So we should just get rid of the body, then?”
“No. Don’t touch anything.” Lock pulled out his cell phone and hit his speed dial. “There’s someone who does have connections.” By the second ring, Lock heard that familiar voice through the phone. “Ric…we’ve got a problem.”
Gwen set up her cash into little piles based on denomination. The MacRyrie bears glowered as she did, since all that money she was organizing had been theirs.
“You certainly did pick up the game real quick,” Nevin observed.
She smiled and kept piling and counting.
“You said you’re an O’Neill?” Calum asked.
“Yes.”
“And exactly who is your mother, sweetheart? Maria? Mary Patrice?”
“Roxy.”
And, as she expected, the four males turned and now glowered at their nephew.
“You idiot!” Hamish yelled.
Lock looked up from the racing form he’d been studying and marking for the last two hours. Whatever he and his Uncle Hamish had discussed while they were gone, it had bothered the bear, but he was doing a good job of hiding it. She didn’t think it had anything to do with her, because his uncles seemed to like her…and Ric was outside that back door. She’d scented him and a few others nearly ninety minutes ago. Since the wolf didn’t come inside and Lock didn’t mention him or go out to greet him, she knew they were hiding something. Did they really think she wouldn’t notice? Or did they think that their metal door and thick concrete walls blocked her senses? Well, whatever. She’d just get it out of the grizzly later.
“What did I do?” Lock demanded.
“Roxy O’Neill is her mother? You could have warned us!”
“Warn you?” Lock frowned. “Why?”
“You bring a baby shark into our den and it doesn’t occur to you to mention the baby shark’s mother?”
“That analogy makes no sense to me.”
“Anybody have something I can carry all this money in?” The bears returned their glares to Gwen. “What did I say?” she asked, attempting to keep it innocent.
“Here.” Calum slammed a bank-deposit bag on the table. “Take your winnings and go, feline.”
“Where did the love go?” Gwen pouted.
“It went with our money,” Nevin muttered.
Duff snatched the racing form out of Lock’s hand, scowled, and turned accusing brown bear eyes on his nephew. “What is this?”
“Uh…”
“You were supposed to mark winners and times and everything else we need on the races.”
“What did he write?” Hamish looked over his brother’s shoulder, easy for him since Duff was only about seven-one. “A door? You drew a door?”
“For Dad’s birthday.”
Gwen stopped putting her money in the bag. “You’re giving your father a picture of a door for his birthday?” And she’d thought Mitch marking up pages in her copy of Vogue and telling her, “This is what I’d get you for your birthday if I had money” had been cheap.
“I’m not giving him a drawing of a door.”
“Then what are you giving him?” Gwen liked Brody and she wouldn’t have Lock give him some half-ass birthday gift.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But I do worry about it. Because you’re male and instinctively lame.”
“There are those claws she’s been hiding,” Duff chuckled.