Page 59 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

She’d never felt so safe and comfortable before in her life.

Even when he started growling at Zeus, she had known that she was safe.

Although she didn’t feel the same about Zeus, who really needed to get over his bear-obsession with her.

She wasn’t a house that regularly had unlocked trash cans in front of it.

Keane groaned when she pulled away, and she allowed herself to enjoy that moment. However briefly. It was nice that he felt the loss of her body as deeply as she felt the loss of his.

While he got to his big feet, she sat on the couch and ripped open the envelope that Jules had sent her.

It was filled with printouts of articles about Lavoie over the last five years or so.

Such a waste of paper! She could have just texted Nelle the links to these articles.

Did Jules not understand that? It was clear the She-badger had grown up with mimeographs or whatever.

All this technology must be confusing. Among all this wasted paper, though, was a handwritten note with an address on it. That Nelle could use.

“Switzerland.”

“What about it?” Keane asked, after finishing off an entire quart of orange juice he’d just grabbed from the full-sized refrigerator and gulped down while still naked.

“That’s where we’re going.”

“Is that far from here?”

“It’s not around the corner, but it’s not far, unless we were still coming from New York.”

She looked down at the Longines watch on her wrist. It was covered in diamonds, but the time was always precise.

Tock had been trying to get Nelle to buy one of those military-type watches that her teammate always wore, but no.

She refused to wear one of those things on her wrist unless they were on a very time-specific assignment.

They were ugly! And Nelle had lovely wrists to be adorned, not defaced.

“Get showered,” she told the cat, “and dressed. We can have lunch someplace nice before we get started.”

“How nice?”

“Jeans and T-shirt will be fine. Sneakers, too. But you will love the food.”

“Okay.”

“Go that way,” she said, without looking away from the papers in front of her; she pointed out the room where a duffel bag of clothes awaited him on the bed he hadn’t used.

A few minutes later, the laptop showed up, handed to her by a silent Zeus, who was still glaring. She ignored him like she always did, because . . . who cared?

Nelle sat back on the couch and immediately got online through a protected connection, researching what she could on Lavoie.

“You haven’t even showered yet.”

Nelle realized she’d lost track of time when she looked up to see Keane standing in front of her.

He was dressed in blue jeans, navy blue T-shirt, and black work boots.

His black and white hair was wet and combed back from his face, reaching down to his shoulders.

She hadn’t realized how long his hair was until this moment.

And because Keane and his brothers were one of the rare black tigers—a genetic rarity among their kind—there were only a few stray orange hairs in that mane, unlike the rest of the Malone family.

Then you add in those sharp cheekbones, chiseled jawline, and green-gold eyes, and Nelle knew she was in very deep trouble.

Especially when she realized she could take him. Right here and right now.

Then again . . . she really should ask him first if that’s what he wanted. It was the polite thing to do. Not that badgers were polite.

“Hello?” Keane said, waving at her. “Are you here?”

“What? Oh. Yes. Yes. I was just researching Lavoie.” She stood and motioned to the laptop. “You read up on him, and I’ll get ready.”

“Are you one of those takes-hours-getting-ready people? Because then I’m going to need to order room service.”

She glanced at her watch. “I’ll be fifteen minutes.”

“You will?”

* * *

Lot looked at his phone and then to his brothers. “Manse is back.”

Wolf’s eyes narrowed. “Since when?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Ox won’t be happy,” Hel said. “She’ll want his head on a pike.”

Now Lot sighed. “She may get it. They’re going after him.”

Wolf sat up in his seat. “What?”

“Don’t even bother,” Lot told his emotional brother. “They’re already on the move.”

“Of course they are,” Wolf said, tossing up his hands. “Because they love starting shit!”

“Should we turn around?” Hel asked.

“No.” Wolf sighed and—Lot could see—forced himself to relax back in the leather seat of the family jet, attempting to get comfortable for their long flight. “They can handle this.”

“That’s what I thought we were worried about,” Hel said.

“We’re retired now, remember? This isn’t our problem.” He jerked his thumb behind him at the badger. “That is.”

Fred MacKilligan couldn’t get out of the layers of tape they’d used to secure his body to a seat, but he did manage to keep chewing through the duct tape they’d kept putting over his mouth. They’d finally just given up.

“You’ll regret doing this!” MacKilligan continued to yell. “You don’t know how powerful I am! The connections I have! I’ll destroy you!”

Unable to get the idiot to shut up, the brothers did that thing MacKilligan—and all sensitive-eared badgers, like their kids, actually—hated in any enclosed space. They howled. And howled. And howled . . . until he begged them to stop.

* * *

She was fifteen minutes exactly.

He didn’t know anyone who got ready that fast. Not even his brothers.

And, as usual, she looked stunning, despite being in nothing more than worn jeans, a white sleeveless T-shirt with N EW Y ORK written across it in blue letters, white and gold sneakers, gold rings on her fingers, and big gold hoops from her ears.

She looked like an American tourist, even though she was actually a hardcore traveler who had been more places than he could even dream of going in his lifetime.

He wondered if any of the Zhaos would be considered “tourists” in any region, though.

The entire family seemed extremely well-versed in most cultures.

Nelle swung a small gold-colored, leather backpack over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They took the elevator down, the idiot bear waiting for them on the ground floor. He followed them to the large exit, but once they stepped outside, Nelle said, “You wait here, Zeus.”

“But—”

“We have Charles. Marti will get in touch with you about your next assignment. Thanks.”

She walked to the Bentley, with the back door being held open by that idiot Charles. He grinned at Keane, and Keane wanted to slap him, but at least he was better than the bear.

He followed Nelle into the back seat, and Charles closed the door after them.

“I can’t believe I’m glad to see him.”

“You mean Charles? We love Charles.”

“He’s as useless as the bear, but at least he won’t stand over us . . . staring.”

“True.”

Charles pulled the Bentley into busy Paris traffic. Nelle slid across the seat until she was pressed against Keane’s side.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” She held up her phone to take a selfie and told him, “Now glower.”

He did, because he was annoyed, and she snapped the photo.

“Why?” he asked as she tapped away on her phone.

“You are perfect to scare away the weak males who won’t leave me alone.”

“Does that include Zeus?”

“Hopefully.”

She started to return to her original spot across the seat, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back to his side.

She didn’t complain, which was good. Because he was extremely comfortable.

* * *

“They didn’t give us water.”

“You have to ask for water.”

“I have to ask for water? Are they in a drought?”

Nelle looked over her menu. “This isn’t the States. They do things differently here. Or did you not realize that when you went to Mongolia?”

“I was a kid when I went to Mongolia.”

Nelle motioned to the waiter, who seemed to have been ignoring them, and said something to him in French. A few seconds later, two glasses of tap water arrived, the glasses placed in front of them.

The waiter went off to ignore them some more, and Keane drank his water.

When he finished—after complaining, “It doesn’t have ice. Do they have an ice drought, too?”—he said, “I can’t read the menu.”

“It’s in French.”

“I got that.”

“Are you always this disagreeable?”

“Yes.”

She laughed. “What would you like to eat?”

“An entire side of bison?”

“Okay, we’re not doing that.” She put the menu down, and the waiter returned.

She spoke to him in French and, since the waiter was smiling at her, Keane guessed her accent was perfect.

As soon as Keane had opened his mouth when he’d walked inside the busy restaurant, he’d gotten nothing but glares from the staff and customers.

He couldn’t help it! He was an American! And proud of it!

The waiter left, and Nelle informed him, “In a little while, they will put food in front of you. You will thank them by saying merci, and will eat what you are given accordingly. Understand?”

“Yup.”

“And try not to say ‘yup’ to the French.”

“Got it!” he said with finger-guns and clicking his tongue against his teeth for emphasis.

“Stop that.”

“With ya!” he said with a big American double-thumbs-up and ridiculous grin.

“Keane!”