The Mane Squeeze. Shelly Laurenston

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      Blayne came back into the waiting room and, letting out a dramatic breath, sat down beside Lock again.

      “Whew! That was close. I had to steal someone’s car keys off their desk to distract her.”

      “What happened?” Lock had to know. He hadn’t been this entertained in years.

      Blayne shook her head. “I told them when we came in how they should treat her dosage, but they never listen.”

      Ronnie frowned. “Treat her dosage?”

      “We’re hybrids,” she needlessly reminded them. “What works for you as wolf doesn’t necessarily work for me as wolfdog. And it’s the same with Gwenie. Her metabolism is way higher than any lion’s or tiger’s. Most doctors try and base it on her weight as cat, which is about three hundred pounds unless she’s a little bloaty. Then it’s like three-hundred-and-twenty-five, but either way, basing it on her weight never works. I told them if they didn’t give her enough, she’d wake back up. ‘Don’t worry. We’re giving her something that will paralyze her muscles,’ they tell me.”

      “Probably pancuronium.” When they all stared at Lock, he asked, “What?”

      “Yeah,” Blayne said. “That stuff. Which I, personally, piss out. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

      “At all?”

      “Nope. And I warned them it wouldn’t work on Gwen unless they gave her enough. And what happens? She woke up and everyone is all shocked. ‘Why is she up?’ She’s up because you idiots didn’t listen to me in the first place.”

      “Is that why she’s afraid of hospitals?” Lock asked.

      “No. She’s afraid of hospitals because she saw this documentary on PBS once about organ theft. Ever since then, she’s been convinced they—the elusive ‘they,’ the terrifying ‘they’—want to steal her organs.

      “Seriously?”

      “I’m not that creative. Couldn’t make that up.”

      “But everything will be all right now?” the cat asked. “She has the right dosage now?”

      “Doubt it.”

      Clearly not the answer the cat wanted. He snarled, “What do you mean you doubt it?”

      The wolfdog leaned away from him, and Lock got tired of his attitude.

      “Don’t yell at her.”

      “I wasn’t yelling, and no one’s talking to you.”

      “Now ask me if I care you’re not talking to me?”

      “Why are you still here?” the cat demanded.

      The She-wolf reached for him. “Brendon—”

      “Stay out of this, Ronnie.” He glared at Lock. “Look, Baloo—” and if there was one thing Lock hated, it was those damn bear nicknames, even the ones from classic literature “—I think it’s time for you to go.”

      “I think I’d like to see you try and make me.”

      The lion actually stood, but the She-wolf grabbed the bottom of his hospital shirt, desperately trying to yank him back to his seat. At that moment, the doctor walked into the waiting room. The expression on her face was…odd. Although “confused,” might be a better word. But Lock knew that as a patient, he never wanted his doctor to look odd or confused.

      “What’s wrong?” The lion stepped toward her, forgetting Lock. “What happened?”

      “She’s…uh…disappeared.”

      “She…she what?” The cat stormed past the doctor and into the medical suite, Ronnie Lee and the coyote behind him. But Lock noticed how Blayne didn’t move. Nor did she look very concerned.

      Lock sighed. “Where is she?”

      Blayne shrugged. “Knowing my Gwenie? Halfway back to Philly.”

      “You sure? She wouldn’t be hiding in a closet? Or in the bathroom or something?”

      “Nope. Out the window is my guess. She’ll stay in the trees. She’s got those fierce tiger legs but, because of her weight, she can go like fifty feet, easy. Double what most tigers can do. Even if she is hopping.”

      “And you want me to go after her.” He wasn’t asking because he already knew that’s what she wanted before she sweetly smiled up at him.

      “Would you?” she asked, those brown eyes begging. “Please?”

      “Fine. For you.” Lock stood, walked out of the medical center and around the building until he caught the feline’s scent. He followed.