Page 60 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

N elle ate her delicious meal while she watched the French full-humans watch Keane Malone devour his food like he’d never had a meal before.

He wasn’t tacky about it, quite aware of what surrounded him.

But, as she’d instructed the waiter, food kept arriving seconds before he shoveled in his last bite from the bowl.

And it kept arriving until the tiger finally sat back in his chair and let out a satisfied sigh.

The man had eaten a lot, and the French had been fascinated.

It wasn’t even about their etiquette. It was about the fact any “human” could put away that amount of food and not explode.

Nelle gestured to the waiter, and several staff came over to remove all the empty plates, glasses, and silverware.

“How did you know I was done?” he asked, finally speaking now that he’d had his fill.

“You and your brothers do the same thing every time you feed to your satisfaction.”

His small smile was almost shy. “So you’ve been watching me?”

“I’m observant. About everything.”

He chuckled. “I’ve noticed.”

Nelle waved the cheese away with a flick of her fingers, and the waiter returned a while later with a single plate and two forks, placing them in the middle of the table. A dark-chocolate gateau with curled pieces of chocolate artfully decorating the confection.

“Do we have time for dessert?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“So we’re flying to Switzerland rather than taking the train or driving?”

“Marti’s handling that.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“What are you worried about?”

“Helicopter. Not a fan of helicopters and those tiny planes rich doctors fly on their own.”

“ You’re scared of heights?”

“I’m afraid of tiny, aluminum things that can fail in an instant. Or explode.”

“As Tock has taught me, anything can explode.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I need to be trapped inside it.”

“If you want,” she said, picking up her fork, “I can tell Marti . . .”

Nelle gazed at the empty plate. “You already ate the cake?”

“To quote my dad, ‘You snooze, you lose.’ ”

“Charming.”

“I’m all about the charm. It’s a Malone thing. When my uncles and cousins break bones while playing hockey or on orders of mobsters. . . they’re all about the charm.”

Nelle laughed, glancing down at her phone when a new text came in. She read it. It was from Max. It was early morning back at Charlie’s house and.... Oh. Dear .

“What’s wrong?” Keane asked as another slice of gateau appeared between them with fresh forks.

“Uh . . .” She shook her head. Should she tell him? Yeah. Probably. “Max’s father showed up at the house last night.”

His expression changed instantly into something terrifying. The anger. The rage. Big cats were able to do that without flashing a fang or unleashing a snarl.

“Everyone’s okay,” she told him. “And I need you to remain calm.”

“I don’t want to remain calm.”

Nelle already knew that. She bet he wanted to run back to New York to find out exactly what was going on and handle it all himself.

He was probably sizing up the ways he could get back home in a few hours.

Like swimming home. Almost logical, really, since tigers loved to swim.

But swimming across the Atlantic was probably too much for even a tiger.

“Everyone is fine,” Nelle promised Keane and stood up. “Now, give me a moment. Let me see what I can find out. Do not contact your brothers. They’ll just piss you off more.”

Keane watched Nelle walk away from their table. He no longer thought about devouring another piece of that delicious cake. Instead, he pulled out his cell phone and texted Finn.

What the hell is going on?

Finn immediately replied back:

Calm down. Everything is fine.

Why did people keep telling him that? To calm down? What about him suggested he could calm down when ordered? What?

Fine? Meaning the fucker is GONE???

Yes. He was taken away by wolves.

What the fuck does that mean?

He would have called by now, so he could get his anger across by yelling his questions, but he didn’t have an international plan, and Nelle was halfway down the block of the Parisian street with snooty Charles following about fifty feet behind, which seemed too far away from his subject for Keane’s comfort.

Okay. I’m coming home right now.

Why? I said he’s gone.

Permanently?

When there was no immediate answer, Keane completely understood.

Charlie and Max wanted to kill the bastard and bury his remains somewhere in Jersey or Staten Island.

Wherever mobsters buried their victims. And that way, they could all be done with Fred MacKilligan’s intrusive presence on this planet.

But chances were high that Stevie had put a stop to that because she was protective of that idiot, and no one wanted to upset the little genius, because she could easily destroy the world.

Although, if Keane was in New York right now—where he should be!

—he could take the hit from Stevie. Her hysterical crying didn’t bother him at all, and if she never spoke to him again, he really didn’t think he’d care.

She was a sweet girl and all, and he was glad she got along with Nat, but Fred MacKilligan needed to go .

Because the badger suddenly showing up in the middle of all this shit with the de Medicis was not good.

Nothing that man ever did was good except for the strange daughters he helped make.

Although Keane attributed that more to their mothers and less to that idiot.

He is not here NOW. Stay where U are.

Fine.

JUST STAY CALM!

Yes. Because all-capped communications ordering him to be calm always soothed his rattled nerves!

Deciding not to get into an argument with his brother through text, Keane slipped his phone back into his pocket.

He stared down at the cake in front of him. He really shouldn’t waste food . . .

He ate the cake slice in a few bites and pushed the plate away.

Still, Nelle had not returned. He understood, though, she was trying to get him more information from back home.

He needed her to do that to keep him from doing something stupid that would just upset everyone. Except maybe Charlie and Max.

Keane rested his folded arms on the table, gazed down at the empty water glass in front of him, and worked to keep his rage under control.

He focused on the glass and, using his right forefinger, he gently moved the glass across the table until it fell over the edge. A waiter he hadn’t noticed was standing beside him, catching the glass in his hand before it could hit the ground and shatter. The man glowered at Keane.

“Monsieur!” the waiter said, managing to chastise with that one word and a look. Must be a French thing.

The waiter kept up eye contact. And it was true, the dude was French.

Keane, however, was cat . While Keane maintained that eye contact, he used his right forefinger again to slowly move the empty cake plate across the table.

Just as it sat precariously on the edge, the waiter’s eyes narrowing, Keane used fore- and middle fingers to flick the thing across the outside space, past the surprised faces of the other patrons, until it crashed into the building next door.

The waiter was babbling in French to the other waiters and pointing at him, and Keane realized that Nelle had still not returned. Or even texted him.

That was weird. She knew how dangerous it was to leave him alone around full-humans he could easily irritate or terrorize. Because he would irritate and terrorize them just for his amusement. It was what he did. His sister called his predilection, “Your brand.”

He looked over his shoulder again, but still didn’t see Nelle or Charles.

Keane decided to look for them. Just in case.

Standing, he didn’t immediately notice that all the restaurant’s waiters were coming over to him to, most likely, ask him to leave.

In the politest, but still rudest French way possible, he was sure.

But when he looked down at them while standing at his full height .

. . they all stopped. Stared. All—except the one who had been waiting on him—walked away.

Keane knew it was wrong to enjoy the impact his size had on full-humans, but how could he not? It was one of his favorite things when he was ever forced to deal with that species.

Although the waiter didn’t move away, he did turn his gaze to a spot behind Keane. That was good enough. He didn’t always have to make these guys piss themselves or anything. Just deference to his cat-greatness was enough.

Pulling out the wad of euros that Marti had shoved at him, he dropped them on the table.

He didn’t know if Nelle had paid or not, but just in case she hadn’t, he didn’t want these people calling the cops on him.

And if Nelle had already paid, then the waiter would get a nice, fat tip.

The French loved that, right? Who didn’t love a tip?

Stepping out from the awning that had kept them protected from the sun, Keane lifted his chin and sniffed the air. He immediately caught Nelle’s scent—and that idiot Charles—and set off after her.

Keane had no idea how far he walked. It felt far, but her scent was strong. At least to him. He felt like he could track her anywhere at any time, if he had to.

At least, he felt that way until her scent abruptly disappeared.

Turning in circles, his chin lifted high, his mouth open and tongue out, he tasted the air, trying to track her.

When he realized he’d lost her, Keane’s rage took over.

It enveloped him like an old coat, and he was seconds from shifting.

Right there on a Parisian street, in front of all these full-human tourists and locals and CCTV, tearing through them until he found—

“You, you, you! Come! Come!”

Keane stared down at the woman who’d grabbed onto his arm and dragged him into a dress shop.