Gifted: A Holiday Anthology by Kelley Armstrong Page B

through the insults and—”
    “About Malcolm Danvers,” Parker said. “He’s still on the run, I hear.”
    “We’re—”
    “On the run for three years now, since he escaped Nast custody. Two years since Nicholas here found him.”
    I tried not to growl. Parker knew exactly what was going on with Malcolm, because I’d kept him in the loop. When Nick and Vanessa tracked down Malcolm, she’d implanted a tracking device. But just because we could find him didn’t mean we could catch him, not without losing some of my Pack. Malcolm high-tailed it to Bulgaria, where the local Pack refused to extradite him.
    For over a hundred damned years, the American Pack had little to no contact with our international brethren. Now I seem to spend half my time putting out cross-border fires.
    “We’re handling Malcolm,” I said to Parker.
    “Not very well.”
    True, and if you’d get off your ass and pull your weight with the Bulgarians, maybe we could get the psychotic bastard extradited.
    “Back to the point, again,” I said. “I’m offering—”
    My cell started playing Bad Moon on the Rise . Clay’s tone. Our daughter, Kate, had set it up. She thought it was hilarious. The British Pack stared like I’d broken out in song myself.
    “Interesting choice,” Parker said.
    “My daughter’s,” I murmured, taking the phone. I looked at the accompanying picture. Clay with Kate—her choice again.
    “It’s Clay,” Nick said. “And he wouldn’t interrupt unless it was urgent Pack business.”
    Thank you. “Right,” I said. “Sorry, but I need to grab this.”
    I took the phone and hurried into the hall. I answered just as it was about to go to voice mail.
    “Hey,” I said. “What’s—”
    “Where are you?”
    I paused. The voice on the other end wasn’t my mate’s Louisiana drawl, but a little girl’s, pitched high with annoyance.
    “Kate?” I said, then lowered my voice quickly, before anyone heard me talking to my kid. “Is something wrong?”
    “Yes. We’re on vacation. Our one family vacation a year. And you’re not here. You’re on business.”
    I squeezed my eyes shut. Not now, Kate. Damn it, not now.
    Kate has always been very vocal in her objections to either Clay or me traveling. I could point out that ninety percent of our lives are spent at Stonehaven, where the kids have only to shout to find us. Jeremy says that’s the problem—they’re so accustomed to having us close that they get out of sorts when we aren’t. As they’ve gotten older, though, Kate’s complaints have softened. She understands why we leave, and she still doesn’t like it, but she’s more likely to tease and cajole than actually complain. Until now. My not-quite-nine-year-old daughter had apparently hit adolescent mood swings early.
    “When are you coming home?” she demanded.
    “Watch your tone. If this meeting wasn’t urgent—”
    “It’s one week a year. One damned week—”
    “Kate!”
    She barreled on. “—and you can’t even be bothered showing up.”
    “I will be home tomorrow,” I said, through gritted teeth. “Your father has my flight information. And you and I are going to have a talk—”
    “Hard to do when you’re not here. You won’t be on that plane. You never—”
    “I have never, ever missed a family vacation or any other important event—”
    Kate let out a howl that made me jump. The line crackled. Another voice sounded in the background. Logan, who seem to have wrested the phone from his sister. Then Clay’s pounding footsteps and, “What the hell—?”
    “She called Mom to whine,” Logan said.
    A commotion in the background as Clay apparently trotted Kate off. Another crackle on the line, then, “Hey, Mom.”
    I rubbed my face hard and forced a smile. “Hey, baby.”
    “Sorry about that. She’s being a brat, which is nothing new these days. Hormones.”
    “She’s too young for that.”
    “Then she has no excuse, does she?”
    I laughed and leaned against the