Page 69 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

“Do you know what Charlie will do when she finds out we made a deal with a badger that set me up to be used as bait to trap my father?”

The four She-badgers glanced at one another before Rutowski asked, “That’s what you think Jules did?”

“That’s what I know Jules did.”

“And she did that because... ?”

“Because she probably thinks your idea is stupid. Just like I do. And she knew someone was willing to pay a lot of money to get to my dad, and she was willing to share that cash with this full-human Manse, who seems to know what we are.”

Now the four She-badgers studied Nelle and, for the first time, Keane saw it.

What had Edgar Van Holtz so worried. It was that look in their eyes.

Especially Rutowski’s. Not only were they all hiding something, not only were they all plotting something, but they were much smarter than anyone was willing to give them credit for, because they were all just so goddamn annoying.

One tended to automatically dismiss them out of hand, because they were so absolutely annoying.

And the way Rutowski was sizing Nelle up . . .

No. Keane didn’t like any of that one bit.

“You know what we should do?” she said to Nelle, those shrewd eyes still studying the younger female.

“What?”

“We should find out if you’re right. Because if you are, we can use it for leverage.”

“Leverage for what?”

“To get Jules to do what we need her to. That’s the plan, right?”

“But she was just using me to get to my dad. And you still want to work with her?”

“We still need her on our side.”

“Except she’s not to be trusted.”

Rutowski wiped that away with a quick handwave. “Who among us is?”

* * *

Charlie scrolled through the news on her phone, cringing at each mention of what was happening in France. How was this not going to be an international incident?

“Uh . . . Charlie?”

Lifting her gaze from her phone, Charlie smiled at Streep. “Hey!”

Charlie blinked when Streep abruptly scuttled back out of the room like Charlie had thrown something at her.

“Streep? Sweetie?”

Max’s teammate didn’t step into the room. Instead, she stood outside the doorframe, looking in.

“Hi,” Streep said. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah. Do you want to come and sit down?”

“No!” She cleared her throat. “I mean . . . sure.”

Slowly, Streep crept into the room, pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, and—still slowly, her gaze never leaving Charlie’s—sat down.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” Charlie asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“If you say so . . .” Charlie shook her head and continued on. “Anyway, I was thinking—”

“You sure you don’t want Max or anyone else in here? At this moment.”

“I wanted to talk to you first, and then we can fill them in if you agree.”

“If I agree? Agree to what?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

Max’s teammate was a brown-skinned Filipino-American, but she was so pale at the moment, she could be Stevie.

“I’m fine,” Streep said in such a high voice that the dog asleep on Charlie’s feet under the table lifted his head and woof ed.

Streep cleared her throat and said again, “I’m fine. What’s up?”

“I need you to broker a deal for us.”

“A deal?”

“Maybe two. The deals Nelle was supposed to do in the States, but now that she’s stuck in France . . .”

“I don’t really know what you’re talking—”

“Tracey Rutowski told me everything before she left.”

Streep cringed. “Nelle is not going to like that.”

“Why not?”

Streep blinked her big brown eyes at Charlie before replying, “No reason.”

Charlie could tell Max’s teammate was hiding something from her, but she didn’t really care. Not at the moment. She would worry about it another day. “Okay. Anyway, can you do it?”

“Can I haggle? Haggle with honey badgers?” She finally smiled. “My mother would say I’ve been trained since birth to do just that.” She gave a little shrug. “When do you want me to start?”

“Tonight. There’s a jet at the ready, because that’s a thing now. And I want Max and the others to go with you. It’s too dangerous for you to be on your own.”

“Oh, but—”

“I know. The playoffs. Look, I thought I should talk to you first, make sure you wanted to do this, and now I can talk to Mads myself—”

“No!”

Charlie leaned back a bit while Streep forced a smile.

“Sorry. This is all so exciting. Um, I mean, I’ll talk to Mads. She’ll take it better from me.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Yes. I can handle everything. You don’t have to worry about any of it.”

“Great. Thanks.”

With a nod, Streep stood and walked out, but a few seconds later, she returned.

“Charlie?”

Charlie, who had already stood up, faced her. “Uh-huh?”

“While we’re making deals, and Nelle is in France handling things, what . . . uh . . . exactly will you be doing?”

“Well . . .” Charlie reached down and picked up the fifty-pound bag of flour that had been piled on the floor with six others, using the move to give herself a few seconds to come up with a worthy lie. But when she turned around and dropped the flour on the kitchen table, Streep was already gone.

* * *

Finn was sitting on the open back door of a cousin’s pickup truck, Mads leaning in with her arms around his chest. Dani, her hair in adorable braids, was sitting on Shay’s shoulders while she and Tock discussed something about math.

And Max was attempting to learn how to throw a football from her cat boyfriend and his team’s newest receiver. She wasn’t bad at it, either.

It was a lovely evening, and he was glad to just be here, in this moment. Sadly, moments like that never last, did they?

Streep came tearing out of Charlie’s house and toward their group.

“We have to go! Now!”

“What’s wrong?” Tock demanded.

“She’s baking!” she yelled as she kept running. “She’s baking!”

“Five-pound flour bags? Or ten-pound?” Max yelled at her friend. “Five-pound? Or ten-pound, Streep? Tell me !”

Turning but now running backward like she was on the basketball court, Streep told Max, “Fifty-pound! She’s using fifty-pound bags!”

“Mighty Odin,” Mads sighed out before she ran after Streep, Max and Tock right behind them.

The bears, however, ran toward Charlie’s house. Some started a line that would eventually reach down the block and into other streets. Some sat outside the house, simply waiting.

As for the rest of them, all cats, they quietly watched everyone else until Shay said, “Should we ask what’s going—”

“No,” Finn said, as firmly as possible. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah . . . I think you’re right.”