“Fine!” Zubachev roared, and she could tell saying that clearly pained him. Which, Toni would privately admit, she kind of enjoyed.
She stopped howling, and Zubachev said, “I will talk to Yuri about meeting with you about bastard freak.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“But you will not make that noise again.”
“Okay.”
“Because it annoys.”
“I know. It is annoying.” Then again, so were bears being bigots.
Ivan pointed at a black bear. Toni felt kind of bad for that bear. Height-wise he was considerably smaller than the grizzlies and polars. But width-wise . . . he was built like a mountain. “Help the canine down.”
“I can do it.” And she did, moving expertly down the statue until she was on the ground.
She stared up at the bear. “So what’s next?”
“This way, little dog.”
“Or you could just call me Toni.”
“Could. Won’t.”
Deciding not to argue the point, she followed the group down the giant hall. It reminded her of Versailles in France with its stately marble floors and floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining the entire hallway. Everything was ornate but a little too much for her taste. But as they began walking, Ricky and Barinov came charging out of one of the large rooms, their weapons drawn.
The room the two males emerged from was on the other side of the house, so they must have run around the very wide palace to get to it so quickly.
“Are you all right?” Ricky asked her. For once she didn’t see a smirk on his face but true concern.
“I’m fine.” But just as she said that, her phone vibrated. Another text. Sighing, Toni dug her phone out of the back of her jeans. It was from her mother.
Question . . . did you tell Novikov he could change the flooring? In our RENTAL house?
Toni didn’t even know what the hell that meant. And why was her mother asking that question so late at night? Late for New York time anyway because it wasn’t even four in the morning there. And what the hell was going on back there? Why were they all being so ridiculous?
“Toni?”
She looked up at Ricky. “What?”
“Your neck is getting all red.”
Toni rubbed her hand across her throat. “Oh. That. Yeah. That happens sometimes.”
“Can I help?”
“No one can help.” She shoved her phone back into her jeans. “Let’s just get this done.”
Maybe, just maybe, if she could get through this negotiation quickly, she could catch a flight later tonight and get home before her entire family imploded.
Yes. Excellent plan.
Toni faced Zubachev. “Let’s get this going, Mr. Zubachev.”
He nodded and again headed off down the hall. They all followed until he reached a room. He stepped inside and waited for Toni, Ricky, and Barinov to follow. Once they were in the room, he said, “Wait here.”
Zubachev walked out, closing the door behind him. The three of them stared at each other until, with a shrug, they all took seats on the available chairs and couch. And they sat in that room for nearly three hours before Zubachev returned.
He looked at Toni. “Come back tomorrow. Nine in morning.”
Then he walked out.
Shocked, Toni stared at where the bear had been, but Barinov stood up and asked them, “Hungry? Because I’m starving.”
“Wait. Is that it?”
“Until tomorrow.”
“I don’t understand. Why am I not meeting Asanov today?”
“Could be lots of reasons.” Barinov thought a moment. “But chances are they’re just making you wait.”
He headed toward the door, and Toni scrambled out of the chair. “But they’ll see me tomorrow, right?”
Barinov faced her. Shrugged. “Probably. Maybe. It’s possible.”
Ricky gazed down at her. “Darlin’, your neck’s gettin’ red again.”
In the early morning, the sun barely up, Bo Novikov stood in the backyard of the jackal family’s rental home.
It was a really nice place. Good for kids. Well, good for most kids. Not these kids. These kids were demons from the pits of hell.
Bo liked them.
Especially Kyle. That kid had a great future as an amazing artist . . . or he would one day be poisoned by a mate. Either one was possible.
Still, Bo had not done what he’d set out to do. Not yet. He hadn’t gotten the schedule for these kids set up. He had to admit, he’d thought it would be easy. Blayne had tried to warn him. She said it would be like working with ten little Bos. As always . . . she’d been right. Well, actually nine little Bos. One of the pups, the eighteen-year-old that everyone got quiet around whenever she breezed through the room, didn’t need a schedule. She said she had classes but doing what or with whom, Bo had no idea and he didn’t really care.
But the others . . . the others all had classes. Even the three-year-olds. The twins would be going to Berlitz next week to learn more languages. They’d already cursed at Bo in German, Russian, and Cantonese. Three languages he knew a bit because he’d been cursed at in those languages by players he’d gone up against over the years. In fact, Bo could curse in almost all languages for that simple reason.
Yet negotiating the busy schedules of nine pups with one extremely busy parent and one not-so-busy parent was a lot harder than he’d thought it would be, exactly because those nine kids had Bo’s drive. They didn’t want to give an inch. They didn’t care that if they went to a later-in-the-day advanced class in whatever their specialty was, their siblings could easily go to their earlier-in-the-day advanced class. They didn’t care that if they gave a little, the entire family would be better off. All they cared about was having time to do what they loved and what they were good at.
Yeah. Bo admired that, but it sure did make things harder. Too bad for the brats that Bo had made a commitment, and once he made a commitment, that was all that mattered to him. So he wasn’t giving up, no matter when Toni came back. Although Toni’s mother, Jackie, had heard from her daughter and it looked as if her trip would take a little longer than Toni had planned. Maybe Bo should have warned her that negotiating with Russians was one of the harder—and more entertaining—things one could do in life. Bear or full-human, Russians were tough negotiators.
Bo heard rustling from nearby bushes. He turned in time to see one of the Parker kids crawl out. Hands, face, and the knees of his jeans covered in dirt, the little boy stood up but froze when he saw Bo standing there.
“What were you doing?” Bo asked the boy.
“Um . . . digging?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
The boy stepped closer. “It depends if you’ll tell on me.”
“Where you burying a body?”
Eyes wide, the boy shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Then there’s nothing to tell.”
A huge smile now on his face, the boy said, “I’m Freddy.”
“The seven-year-old.”
“Right.”
“Did you bury something important, Freddy?”
“Important to me.”
“That’s all that matters.”
“I only bury things that are important to me.”
“Why?”
“I believe it has a lot to do with my canine ancestry.”
“Like when a dog buries a bone?”
“Exactly! Toni doesn’t like that example but it seems the most accurate scientifically.”
Jeez. Bo kept forgetting exactly how smart these kids were because it never occurred to him to analyze the fact that he liked walrus blubber jerky or that he had to constantly fight his desire to sleep all day until Blayne brought him dinner.