chapter TWO
The black Mercedes-Benz AMG G63 SUV stopped in front of the mental health and rehab clinic.
Usually, it was only the wealthiest of European royalty who came to this place. Most Americans didn’t even know it existed, but Charlie’s baby sister had a gift. She could track down high-end mental institutions anywhere in the world. They all seemed to have spa-like amenities, five-star chefs making the meals, and group therapy, something her sister truly seemed to enjoy.
The first one Stevie Stasiuk-MacKilligan had ever checked herself into was somewhere in Malibu and cost a thousand a day. She never paid a cent, though. The lab she “interned” for took care of that, which could explain why no one bothered to question why a fourteen-year-old girl—at the time—was checking herself into a Malibu mental health clinic without a parent or guardian in sight.
And what did these brilliant and pricey psychologists discover about Stevie over the years? Exactly what Charlie already knew: That her sister was a high-strung prodigy who suffered bouts of extreme panic like any abandoned child would.
Stevie’s mother, a Siberian She-tiger from a very wealthy family, had shown up at Carlie Taylor’s door one day, asking for Carlie to babysit five-year-old Stevie for “a few hours.” Charlie’s mom, a She-wolf who never really learned how to say no to anyone but Charlie’s grandfather, agreed. After three days, she told Charlie and Max that “it looks like your little sister is staying. Isn’t that great?”
At the time, Charlie didn’t think so. It was bad enough they already had one of their father’s castoffs to take care of in the first place; now they had two. But that first situation had made more sense because Max’s mother was doing hard time in a Bulgarian prison for armed robbery. She couldn’t take care of her kid. But the She-tiger . . . she’d just walked away. From her own daughter.
Of course, Stevie didn’t let any of that bother her. In her mind, she had so many other things to worry about “in the universe” that her mother’s desertion didn’t rate as important enough for her to hold a grudge.
So Charlie did it for her. She was very good at grudge-holding. Just ask her idiot father.
Charlie met up with her sister at the front of the SUV.
“All right,” Charlie began, “you know the drill.”
Max nodded and flatly replied, “Go in. Kill everybody. Get Stevie out.”
Charlie briefly closed her eyes, took a moment to breathe and try to relax her shoulders. When she felt she wouldn’t yell, she said, “That is not the drill.”
“It could be.”
“Could be, but it isn’t. The drill is we go in, I do all the talking, you don’t pick on Stevie.”
“She’s too sensitive.”
“But because you already know that, you’re not going to pick on her.”
Max smiled. “What if I really want to?”
“Then I’ll let her take your eye out this time. And you’ll wear an eyepatch . . . and we’ll call you One-Eye McGee.”
Laughing, Max headed toward the front doors, Charlie right behind her.
When they stepped inside, both of them glanced at each other. Their sister really did have a knack when it came to finding beautiful places for the mentally ill.
There was so much white marble and beautiful white furniture. Stunning and expensive oriental rugs were laid out in front of white couches. White marble coffee and end tables rested on top of them. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the remarkable beauty of the Swiss countryside that surrounded the entire building.
“You have got to be kidding,” Max muttered, staring up at the cathedral-like ceilings. “I think I’m feeling mentally ill because I could really use some valium and a massage.”
“Stop it.”
Charlie grabbed Max’s arm and pulled her to the desk, which was not white but clear glass. And perfectly clean. The stunning woman sitting on the other side in a white button-down shirt and tight, white skirt smiled, revealing perfect white teeth.
“Hallo. Sprechen sie Englisch?” Charlie asked.
“Yes,” she immediately replied. “May I help you?”
“I’d like to see my sister. Stevie MacKilligan.”
“Please have a seat. I’ll contact her doctor.”
“Thank you.”
Charlie walked over to the couch, but it was so white that she was worried about putting her less-than-clean body on it. Max had had an extra pair of jeans and bright red Keds in Charlie’s size—they always had backup clothes for each other—so she wasn’t walking around in only a T-shirt, but Charlie hadn’t had time for a shower. Just a quick stop at a gas station to wash the blood off, and let Max bandage up her shoulder so the bullet wounds could heal without a mess.
And for Charlie, nothing would be more humiliating than getting up from that bright white couch and leaving an unfortunate stain behind.
But Max didn’t seem to have those issues, turning and dropping on the couch like she owned it.
Of course, Max didn’t worry about much, which worried Charlie. She knew her sister could be reckless when it wasn’t necessary. Max did, however, always manage to find a way to wiggle out of whatever situation she’d gotten herself into. And if she couldn’t wiggle free, she would attack head-on without stopping.
It was the honey badger way.
Max pulled a baggie of honey-covered peanuts from the back pocket of her jeans and began munching, wiping her hands on the white couch after each handful she put in her mouth.
“Dude.”
Max looked up. “What?”
“You’re being sloppy.”
“So?” She gave that lovely but still off-putting smile. “We don’t have to clean it up.”
“Dude.”
Rolling her eyes, Max pushed the nearly empty baggie back into her jeans and brushed both hands against each other. She motioned to a spot behind Charlie and Charlie turned to see a man walking toward them. He wore a white coat and held a clipboard. He also had on a gold Rolex and Gucci leather shoes.
The doctor had expensive taste.
Smiling, Charlie immediately put out her hand for a shake.
“Ladies,” the doctor greeted, grasping Charlie’s hand. He went for Max’s but Max just stared until he pulled his hand back. She didn’t even bother getting up from the couch.
“Do you speak English?” Charlie asked.
“Of course,” the doctor replied. “I am Dr. Gaertner. I am the director here. Come. Let’s talk in my office.”
He led them down the wide hallway, which looked out over the front of the building through more of those big, grand windows.
“Your center is beautiful,” Charlie noted as they walked.
“Ahhh. Danke. Thank you, I mean. We 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 is my sister. Britta.” Berg explained, knowing his sister’s size alone was making the cheetah nervous. Female grizzlies were the most feared among the shifters. Not only were they psychotically protective of those they considered family—blood or otherwise—they were, like the males, easily startled. One wrong move could lose a shifter an arm. Or a whole head. “And my sister is going to be calm now. Calm, because I’m fine.”
The doctor seemed to accept that until a male mirror image of Berg also walked into the room and, after slamming the door, glared around without saying a word.
Berg sighed. “And that’s my brother. Dag. We’re triplets.”
“Your poor mother.” The doctor motioned to the far side of the room. “You two, over there.”
Britta angrily snapped, “You don’t order me aro—”
“Britta . . . please?” Berg nearly begged. “Instruments digging into my chest. Think about that a moment before you say anything else.”
With a nod, Britta immediately moved to the corner of the room, but Dag—oblivious as always—leaned in and watched the doctor trying to dig out that bullet.
Berg knew his brother was just curious. He’d always been fascinated by medical procedures. But that didn’t mean the cheetah would understand. In fact, she was starting to sweat a little. And the room was cool.
But before Berg could warn his brother off with a growl, Britta came back and grabbed Dag’s arm, yanking him over to the corner.
Could a cheetah take out three bears? With thumbs, access to lethal surgical supplies, medical training, and blinding speed . . . there was a definite chance. And why risk it when she was, in her own catlike way, trying to help?
“You know what’s happening right now, don’t you?” Britta asked from the corner. “Coop’s sister is getting a private jet to come over here.”
“Coop said that might happen.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle her,” Britta promised. She suddenly pointed at Berg. “When the cat is done—”
“I have name, big-bottom bear.”
“—you and Dag will need to get Coop to Rome, then back to the States.”
“Coop’s still doing that concert?”
“There are some people you don’t cancel on. The Pope is definitely one of them. But the remainder of the shows are going to have to be canceled.”
Berg cringed. And not just from pain. “That’s not good.”
“It’s not that bad. There are only two more after Vatican City,” Britta reminded him.
“Yeah,” Berg sighed. “But those two shows are in Russia. Those Kamchatka bears are gonna bitch if we cancel. They do love their Jean-Louis Parker.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Britta said, her head down as she was busy texting on her phone. “Coop says he’ll add St. Petersburg and some city in Siberia and that should quiet the bears and the tigers and the Cossacks.”
Berg blinked. “There are still Cossacks?”
“Of course there are still Cossacks,” Britta snapped.
“How am I supposed to know? I’m not Russian.”
“Are you almost done?” Britta asked the doctor, her tone typically commanding, despite her lack of power with an Italian medical doctor who was also a cat.
“I’m done when I am done, sow. Do not pressure me.”
“So who was the girl?” Britta abruptly asked, attempting to throw her brother off.
“What girl?” Berg asked, working to keep his face blank. A skill he’d picked up from their father.
“The girl.”
The doctor paused in the middle of her work. “You went tense, bear.”
Ignoring the doctor, Berg told his sister, “There was no girl. Just me and Coop in the room.”
“Uh-huh,” his sister replied before refocusing on her phone.
“The sow knows you lie,” the cheetah teased softly, but Berg already knew that.
* * *
Stevie MacKilligan leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her raised, clasped hands.
“And how does that make you feel?” she asked the patient across from her. “That your mother treats you like that?”
“Awful. I deserve better!”
“You do deserve better,” Stevie insisted. “Just because your mother is the dictator of a small country and kills those she considers enemies of the state, doesn’t mean that your opinion doesn’t matter.”
“You’re right, Stevie. You’re so right!”
Stevie turned to the man next to her. “And what about you, Jacques? How are you feeling? Are you still upset about losing that yacht race?”
“It is all my brother’s fault!”
A throat clearing had Stevie looking over her shoulder. Dr. Gaertner motioned to her with a wave of his hand and Stevie nodded and stood. She looked at the man sitting across from her. “Why don’t you take over, Dr. Schmidt?”
“Since I am the actual trained psychiatrist here,” he sort of snipped back.
Stevie smiled at him. “And you are doing a great job.” She gave him a thumb’s up before walking over to Gaertner and following him out of the group therapy room.
He led her down the long glass hallway toward the back exit. They often liked to talk while walking in the beautiful garden behind the clinic. One of Stevie’s favorite places.
“So what’s up?” she asked.
“I wanted to let you know before you heard from someone else . . . your sisters came by today to see you.”
Stevie stopped before they reached the doors and faced Gaertner. “My sisters, they’re . . . they’re here?”
“They were. I asked them to leave. I think we both know you’re not ready to see them right now. Not when you’re doing so well.”
Stevie blinked and took a step back. “But . . . they were here. Here at the clinic? Inside the clinic? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I told them when the time was right, we’d call them for a controlled meeting. With you and the team and your sisters.”
“Okay,” Stevie said to herself, not really listening to the doctor anymore. “My sisters were here. They were here.” She clasped her hands together and began to pace. “And you told them to leave. And now I’m alone. But I’m inside. So I should be fine.”
“Stevie, please,” Gaertner coaxed. “You are fine. I simply was not going to allow your sisters to come here and interrupt the work we have been doing. It is much too important to your health.”
“If my sisters came here, it’s because something’s wrong.” She turned away from Gaertner to walk back to the patient rooms. “I need a phone. I need to call them.”
“No, no, Stevie. That is not a good idea.” He gently took her arm and tugged her back around. “You need time away from your family. Time away from the stress you experience.”
Stevie gazed at the doctor but she didn’t really see him because she could only think one thing . . .
What did our father do now?
That was the only reason her sisters would bother her while she was at a clinic. Because he’d done something. Sadly, he was always doing something, and it was always up to Stevie to stop her sisters from killing him. Especially Charlie. Charlie loathed their father. Not that Stevie really blamed her, but he was their father. That mattered. At least to her.
She was sure of it. Something was really wrong if her sisters had come here to get her. Because they’d come to protect her. And this idiot doctor had sent them away. Had they really left, though? Had they really gone away? Maybe they were still around. Maybe she had time to catch up to them.
Stevie turned to Dr. Gaertner and calmly explained how she needed to find her sisters before it was too late and that she would, unfortunately, be forced to leave the clinic much sooner than she’d originally planned . . .
Oh, wait. That’s how Stevie had planned to handle it in her head. With logic and reason and a calm, rational demeanor.
But when she faced Gaertner, just seeing his face made her angry. Angry that she was now alone and frightened because—without speaking to her—he’d sent her sisters away. He should have spoken to her first. He should have said something!
And her fear led to panic, which led to her hissing and throwing herself at Gaertner, knocking him to the ground, and wrapping her hands around his throat.
Sitting on his chest, she hissed again, this time right into his face, and she had a feeling her eyes had shifted color because his own eyes widened and she suddenly smelled urine, meaning the man had pissed on himself.
Huh. Maybe not just her eyes. Maybe her fangs had made an appearance too. That happened when she lost control. That’s why she went to places like this. To get control of her panic disorder with the help of talk therapy and medications. To learn how to manage it and to fully understand it so that she didn’t have what her coworkers fondly called “a MacKilligan episode.”
And Gaertner had been right. Stevie had been doing well! She had been feeling better. More in control without any additional meds. But her sisters had come here, and they didn’t bother her lightly. Her sisters never got in the way of her work or her mental health. They worried about her, and they sometimes babied her, but they never would have just “dropped by” for a “how do ya do?” That was not her sisters’ way.
Stevie knew they kept an eye on her. She knew that one of them was always close by. But, again, that was not because they were obsessive about her. They were obsessive about what their father had, to quote Charlie, “Fucked up now.”
She would have made that clear to Gaertner if she’d thought about it, but it never occurred to her that he’d stop her sisters from visiting. That he thought they were somehow the reason behind her panic disorder. If anything, her sisters were the reason Stevie hadn’t spent most of her life in a straitjacket at Bellevue. Their pesky ways and less-than-stellar educations allowed Stevie some much-needed distraction from the cacophony of sights, sounds, and information that packed her brain each and every day.
The truth was, her sisters kept her sane, which was more than this damn doctor was doing!
Big, strong hands gripped Stevie and yanked her off the doctor, and someone shoved a needle in her arm. A strong drug was injected into her veins and she felt a brief moment of euphoria. A moment that allowed those holding her to think she’d been controlled. But Stevie wasn’t completely human and, even worse for the staff, she was half honey badger. And thanks to her father’s confused genes, her body didn’t process drugs and poison the way an ordinary full-human or shifter did. Even the medications she took to manage her panic disorder had to be tested and retested continuously for years by a shifter-run medical group in Germany to get the dosage exactly right for her biological makeup.
So if they thought filling her up with whatever calming drug they gave the regulars was going to really do anything . . .
The euphoria passed as quickly as it came and Stevie yanked her arm out of the grip of one orderly, pushed the other orderly off her, and without much thought to consequences, yanked the needle out of her arm and rammed it into the eye of the third orderly reaching out to grab her.
He went down screaming and, in full-blown panic now—other people’s screaming always freaked her out—Stevie screamed along with him as she made a mad run for the exit.