Big Bad Beast Read Online Free Page B

back, followed by several muttered “Asshole.” But Ric didn’t mind. He kind of deserved it.
    “Ric!” he heard his younger cousin Arden yell out as she stormed into the kitchen. If a Van Holtz didn’t want to work in the kitchen, then they worked front of house. At least until they got through college.
    Arden held a large platter in her hand. A full salmon, head and all, that Ric had sent out ten minutes earlier.
    “What is it?”
    “The grizzly on six says there’s not enough honey in your honey sauce salmon.”
    Knowing that his honey sauce glaze was, is, and always would be perfection, Ric understood what the disgruntled bear really wanted. Reaching down to one of the cabinets, he grabbed one of the fifty bear-shaped bottles of average, everyday honey he kept there. He wouldn’t waste the good—and expensive—European stuff on Philistines.
    Pushing past his sous-chef, Ric unscrewed the top and dumped half the bottle of honey right onto the salmon, stole a knife from one of the nearby stations and smeared the honey over the fish. Taking the platter from his cousin, he tossed it into one of the industrial microwaves and re-heated the fish for a few seconds. Again, someone with an actual palate might deserve better treatment, but this idiot bear was lucky Ric didn’t drag the damn fish across the bathroom floor.
    When he knew enough time had passed, he opened the microwave and pulled out the fish. “Here. With compliments from the chef,” he practically snarled.
    Grinning, his cousin walked out.
    “They’re all Philistines!” he announced to his kitchen.
    “Yes, chef!”
    Ric went back to work, his unwavering focus on getting the food done and getting it done well. He was happily in a zone when his phone vibrated from the pocket of his black sweatpants.
    “This is Ric.”
    “Hi, Cousin.”
    Ric smiled. “Uncle Van! How’s it going?”
    “Great. Great. I know you’re busy so I’ll make this quick. I’m having something messengered over to your apartment in the next day or two.”
    “Okay.”
    “You’re not going to ask me what it is?”
    “Should I?”
    “Probably.”
    Ric grimaced. “This involves my father, doesn’t it?”
    “Possibly. I’m sending you copies of the books for the Van Holtz restaurants in the tri-state area. I want you to look them over, closely, and tell me what you think.”
    Ric’s grimace turned to slack-jawed panic. He could feel his mouth dropping open in shock. “Pardon?”
    “You know what I’m asking, Ric.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “And you’re the one I trust to be honest with me.”
    “But it sounds like you already know the truth.”
    “I’m guessing. You are the one with the head for numbers. Or so my beautiful wife keeps telling me. Her exact words were, ‘Please don’t try to think. It’s painful to watch. Send the damn things to Ulrich.’ And, as always, she’s absolutely right. Will that be a problem?”
    Investigating to see if Ric’s father, Alder Van Holtz, was robbing his own family and Pack of funds for whatever reason he might have? Gee . . . why would that be a problem?
    “No, sir.”
    “Excellent. Let me know when you have something.”
    “Okay.”
    The call disconnected, Ric went back to his work, glad that he would be turning over his kitchen to his sous-chef soon because he had guests coming over in a bit. But before he could get lost in the food, his phone went off again.
    Dreading that his father had already heard all about it through his spies, Ric went out to the back alley to answer the call.
    “This is Ric.”
    “Mr. Van Holtz?”
    Ric almost sighed in relief when he heard a woman’s voice on the other end. “Yes.”
    “This is Detective MacDermot. NYPD.”
    He knew her. Mace Llewellyn’s wife. Not exactly the type of woman Ric would expect a lion like Llewellyn to choose for his mate. Not that there was anything wrong with Desiree MacDermot. Far from it. But a Puerto Rican–Irish street cop from the Bronx wasn’t