Bearly Hanging On (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance) (The Jamesburg Shifters Book 6)

by Red, Lynn

  Jamie spun on her heel, which was bare, for once, and glared at him the same way his uncle was. "Do you want the real number, or something made up so you feel better?"

  Ryan shrugged, in his easy, obnoxiously hot, way. "Whichever."

  "About thirty-five thousand bucks. Not counting court costs and fees." She pursed her lips. "Got anything cute to say about that?"

  "Get my checkbook," Ryan shot back. "I'll pay it."

  Boston kicked him, but Ryan kept on. "Let me go get the money. No problem. I'll pay for that, and for whatever the bail is, if we're all actually being arrested. If this town is so ridiculous that the police will arrest four old shifters and the guy who takes care of them? Fuck it, I'll pay the whole bill, and I'll find somewhere else to go."

  "Ryan," Boston hissed. "Shut your damn mouth, for once."

  Jamie opened her mouth to say something, but it stuck in her throat. "You'll what?" she finally said. "You'll pay? All of it? With what money?"

  Ryan shrugged. "Does it matter? Does it really? Let's say it's inheritance. That good enough?"

  She didn't understand why he'd turned on her quite so viciously, and so quickly, but the longer she stared at him, the colder his eyes got until she hardly recognized him at all. "Who are you?" she finally asked.

  "That doesn't matter either," he spat. "So what'll it be? You carting us all off to jail or can I just float the bill and not waste everyone's time being proven guilty, which I obviously am? And none of them had anything to do with it. Not a damn thing. They came along, but they didn't know, just like I didn't, that they were living in a place that didn't give a shit whether they lived or died."

  Amidst the chaos, Erik rolled up, wearing his robe and yoga pants, and hopped off his bike. "What's the problem?" he said, striding up to Jamie.

  "Oh," he said flatly when he caught a glimpse of Ryan. "What a surprise."

  Ryan hissed, angrily, his eyes flashing rage. "Do whatever you want to me, Danniken," he snarled. "But leave these people alone."

  Erik narrowed his eyes, obviously roused at the challenge presented those couple of weeks ago in the middle of his courthouse. He popped his neck one way, and then back the other. "Why should I?" he asked. "Why should I listen to a jewel thief who ran to Jamesburg to try and escape what he did for a decade? Huh?"

  Ryan's nostrils flared, he took a step toward Erik, and at the same time, both Ash and Jamie grabbed one of the bear's arms.

  "Leave him alone," Erik said. His voice was growing husky, his eyes going yellow. "If he wants to play this game, he can play it. I know the whole story, every bit of it. Our friend Branson turns out to not actually be an FBI agent, but something similar. He's been looking for you a long, long time, hasn't he? Although I admit it takes some incredible balls to not bother changing your name after all that."

  "You don't know what you're doing, Danniken," Ryan snarled. "Do you think Branson cares about you? These people? This town? Do you think you're anything but a stepping stone to him? He proves the police in some weird, backward, unincorporated town in the middle of nowhere can't find a diamond thief, and then what? That's that?"

  Jamie could tell Erik's brain hitched on what was just said. Although, to be fair, hers was reeling in about six different directions, all of which she knew were going to end in "throwing up."

  The wolf and the bear stood, both bristled up, both about ready to jump at the other one. Muscles were tight, tendons strung like a guitar. Neither moved. They just watched one another, eyes trained and staring.

  "Make a move, Drake," Erik said. "Whatever you decide, it's yours to make."

  "What do you mean, my move?"

  "I mean what I said. You were right. About Branson. I'm not going to pretend you aren't. And whatever it looks like, I do care about those people you feed. But I'm not going to let my town burn to the ground because I'm harboring a federal fugitive."

  "But you're going to let me go?"

  "No," Erik said. "I never saw you. I showed up here and a bunch of old folks," he waved to the old folks, who all waved back, "were being arrested because the owner of a local video rental establishment called them in for loitering. They were bothering the porno-fiend customers who go to a video store at one in the morning. When I showed up, that was all there was to see."

  Erik glared straight at Ryan. "Any questions?"

  "You gonna tell them where to find me?"

  Erik snorted a laugh. "I admire you. I don't admire many people, but I admire you. Hell, I even agree with what you did. But you're a Goddamn lunatic if you think I'm going to invite federal paranormal police into my town for any reason at all. As far as I know, you're a distant memory. If Branson asks, I'll tell him the last I saw of you was when you showed up in my court room and called me an asshole."

  "I didn't call you an—"

  "Yeah, you did, maybe not in so many words, but that was the gist of it. And you might be right. I admire the truth. That's one of two things a man can do to be a good man."

  "What's the other?"

  Erik flashed a grin. His was the only one Jamie had ever seen that could compete with the half-cocked, dimple-cheeked, smug-as-hell smirk that Ryan had. "Knowing when to run the fuck away."

  One last glance to Jamie, a nod of the head to Erik. "You'll take care of them?"

  "I'll figure something out," he said. "I always do."

  The look of antagonism and near rage that the two men were locked in slowly softened to something resembling respect.

  "I won't leave you," Ryan said after he turned, so softly that only Jamie's bat ears could pick it up. "I'd die if I did. Don't look for me. I don't want you in any danger."

  She didn't bother hiding the red streaks that came, in full rivers, down her cheeks.

  Erik turned to her and they locked eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. He grabbed her shoulder, gave her a squeeze, and before she knew it, he - Erik Danniken, the least emotionally supportive ex-boyfriend she'd ever had - pulled her in for a hug.

  "Izzy's changed you," she whispered. "Sorry, I think I ruined your muscle shirt."

  He laughed. "Yeah, she has. And don't worry about it. And also don't worry about him. He'll figure something out. That's a smart damn bear you found yourself. If you need time, take it. If not, don't. You know you don't need to answer for anything you do, not with me."

  "Thanks," Jamie said for the second time. "I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow. Bright and early. Got that meeting with Branson, right?"

  "Yeah," Erik said. "Guess so. Wonder if we'll have anything else to talk about?"

  "We do," she said to him. "I want to know everything about him. I want to know the dirt, the grit, the whole deal."

  "If you want, I'll tell you. But if the two of you are going to come to terms with each other it's best he learn about you from you and him from him. But I'll tell you this much - I'm not exaggerating when I say that guy, that one that just dashed off into the woods? He's a damn legend. I'll just leave it at that."

  And for once, Erik Danniken actually did leave it at that. He told Jamie good night, wandered back to his bike, and then slowly, person by person, the entire scene cleared.

  Until the only thing left was Jamie, sitting there, alone, confused, and wondering what in the hell had just happened.

  -15-

  “Just a break. A little, small, short break. That’s all I’m asking.”

  -Jamie

  All of the suits who may or may not have had faces or names, sure as hell were frowning in the way only an unexpectedly bitter, muddy, nasty cup of coffee can make a person scowl.

  Jamie walked into the conference room at Number Eight James Street the same way she had most every work day for the last fifteen years: slightly late, and with a little bit of a non-alcohol-related headache. But, for the first time in just about as long, Erik just nodded to her without a single snarky word or obnoxious grin.

  He must not have been overselling how worried he was, because of all the people in the world who could deny themselv
es the pleasure of snark, Erik Danniken was not one of them.

  Agent Branson of the slicked-back hair and ever-present coffee cup looked her way and gave a similar, curt, nod. The way his eyes lingered on her for just a moment told Jamie that he had a hunch about her and his quarry, although who knows how much he was actually aware of.

  Just as she sat, Jamie realized that instead of actually frowning, all of the suits were just wearing the faces they always did. And that... somehow, Agent Branson was smiling?

  What the hell did I wander into? I thought this was going to be some kind of massacre.

  "You have a beautiful town here, Erik," Branson said with a smile that was either genuinely warm, or hilariously fake. "My friends and I spent last night drifting slowly down your little stretch of creek, my buddy Amos," he turned to point out a dour-looking suit who was only distinguishable because he nodded, "we both caught some fine trout. Very good."

  "I'm very glad, Agent," Erik chuffed. That was the first sign something wasn't quite right, or at least, that Erik wasn't exactly comfortable with what was going on. "Listen, there's a lot we have to get done today, so could we maybe get to the heart of the meeting? Something about those ledgers you took last week?"

  Branson turned to Jamie. "Sure," he said. "Now that everyone's here, let’s get on with business."

  Oh good, if it doesn't come from the werewolf, it comes from the only thing scarier - a G-man. Jamie pushed her hair tendrils back, tucking them behind her ears. They immediately fell back out again, to their natural place on either side of her face. She took a deep breath, and simply smiled in response as she sat down between Professor Duggan, who was quite asleep, and Izzy, who was at least as pissed off as Erik had been last night. In her case though, Jamie figured it was the wolf cub inside her that she kept patting at and rubbing.

  “Yeah,” Jamie said, trying to bury her irritation. “So, about those ledgers?”

  "Wait, the what?" Branson looked genuinely confused, as though he didn't remember trucking off with an armful of old tax logs days before. One of the other suits with no name coughed.

  "The books, with the numbers?" she said, urging him on.

  "Oh, right, yeah of course." Branson smiled. "Right, right. How could I forget those things were supposed to be tax records and census data when they didn't have anything of any use at all. How stupid of me." His flat tone wasn't exactly insulting, but exasperated. "I don't know how I'm supposed to do what I'm supposed to do if you people," he glanced disapprovingly along the line of council members, "don't do what you are supposed to do."

  Erik was shaking his head. "You... what? I don't even know what you just said. Look, if you'd tell me what you're trying to find, I could probably help. But you're just going around, asking vague questions and eating three times a day at The Tavern, which, trust me, isn't good for your digestion."

  Branson quirked an eyebrow, but didn't respond, not yet.

  "And anyway, you're not from the TVA," Erik continued. "I might look stupid, but trust me, I'm not."

  He stood up from behind the table, and of course, was wearing butt-hugging yoga pants with his dress shirt. Jamie looked over at Izzy with a little grin, but Izzy just rolled her eyes and shook her head. Duggan was still snoring, somehow.

  With his hands on his hips, Erik squeezed his trim waist, and started pacing. "So I want to—no, I think I deserve to know a few things. I'm the leader of this town, and as far as I remember, there are still rules about government men showing up and taking a bunch of documents without bothering to tell anyone what they were doing. I'm pretty sure there aren't any terrorists here, and I'm relatively certain that without warrants, I'm not gonna let you keep rooting around in our collective trash can for, you know, old doughnuts or whatever."

  Jamie furrowed her brow. She caught Erik's attention with a throat-clearing.

  "Donettes," he said. "The little chocolate ones, you know, that come in the wrapper. No one would eat unwrapped doughnuts out of the trash, unless they were..."

  Jamie cleared her throat again, and Izzy muttered, "Jesus" under her breath. Duggan snorted and woke himself up, looking around as though he was surprised by where he was, and then settled down a moment later, into pretending that he’d been going through papers.

  "Right, right," he said. "Doughnuts are fine."

  "Anyway," Jamie cut in, "what were you saying about not letting people root around in our records?"

  "Oh yeah, sure," Erik said, grinning. He was completely, totally oblivious to the fact that no one had any idea what the hell he was talking about with the doughnuts. That was fine though, because in Erik's head, that was because they didn't understand his highbrow wit. "Like I was saying, I need credentials, I need a warrant, and I need the name of your commanding agent or officer or president or whatever you people have. See? I don't even know how to address your superior because I don't have any idea where you're from."

  Something in his voice, though, said he did. And from the way he was talking the night before, Erik knew a whole lot more than he was letting on, both about Ryan, and about this G-man.

  Branson stood as well, though he didn't move from where he was planted.

  Oh my God. Dueling machismo cannons, armed and ready.

  It was hard not to giggle, but she managed, somehow.

  He drew his mouth into a tight line. "You got me, Danniken. Civilian Conservation Corps. Boss is Captain Daniels, I—"

  "Try again," Erik said. Izzy kinda sat forward, paying a little closer attention.

  "EPA?"

  "Nope."

  "Division of Labor," Branson announced, with a strange amount of finality for someone who had just listed off three other obvious lies in very short order.

  "Listen," Erik said. "I know who you are, and I know why you came here. But, I'm not going to agree to anything until you come clean."

  One of the suits behind Branson, the one he'd called Amos earlier, started twitching a little, in the corner of his left eye. "Sir? S-s-s-sir?"

  "Calm down Amos," Branson said, before turning back to Erik. "You've made my man here nervous, Danniken."

  "Is that because he's an alien?"

  "No, it's because he's got anxiety issues. But the alien thing, that would be interesting, wouldn't it? What made you ask if he's an alien?"

  Erik sighed, heavily and pushed his fists into the small of his back, which caused him to move his hips forward in a way that would have been completely innocuous if he were wearing normal pants, but in the yoga tights, was just to the wrong side of the Chippendales line.

  "I know you're with DPIS, which sounds dirty and made me laugh when I said the letters phonetically, but then I found out it stood for the Department of Paranormal Investigation and Suppression, which sounds a lot less funny in a high school boy way, and a lot more menacing."

  "How did you—?" Branson looked, for the first time since he walked through the door to the courthouse two weeks before, surprised and slightly flustered.

  Erik shrugged. "The guy who runs the hotel went through your wallet and found your card. Then I tried Google, but that thing you work for is secret. So I ended up learning all about it through some crazy-person conspiracy websites, which - let me tell you - if you think comments on YouTube are bad, holy shit."

  Jamie was absolutely astonished. Not at what he'd discovered, because it made a whole lot more sense than it probably should have, but that Erik had actually done research. She looked at him with wide open eyes. The glance was returned with a look of smug satisfaction.

  "Oh," Erik continued, addressing the entire stunned audience. "You were here, not for anything to do with our tax records, or anything else, but to find Ryan Drake, who has, as far as I can tell, departed either the world, or possibly just this town. It’s hard to tell, because he never paid any taxes anyway. All those old people he lived with did, but he did not."

  “Mature!” Duggan added. “Call them mature. It’s what we prefer.”

  Branson scowled, a line dee
ply creasing his forehead. "How did you know? About Drake?"

  "I talked to the people he took care of. It was all very intense and dramatic," Erik said in the voice he used when he was putting on his cool and uncaring face. Jamie knew better though - she'd seen the way those two men looked at each other in the seconds before they ripped one another's throats out. She'd seen the respect on his face - and Erik wasn't one to give much respect to anyone unless they'd earned it.

  "And you didn't tell me?" Branson leaned forward, bracing himself against the tabletop with his fists. "You have no idea what you did, Danniken. No idea."

  "You're right," Erik replied. "Because you never told me what you were looking for. Maybe because—"

  "Because you have no jurisdiction to ask? Because you have no reason to know?"

  That was one step too far. "It's my town, Branson! Okay, sorry, that was too possessive. It's my town to protect. These are my citizens to protect. All of them, not just the ones who pay taxes and live on the grid. Capisce?"

  "Did he just say capisce?" Izzy said out the side of her mouth, to Jamie, who nodded. Izzy rolled her eyes. "He's cute as shit in those yoga pants, but I have to get him to quit watching Joe Pesci movies. This is going to get obnoxious soon."

  Jamie bit hard on her tongue to keep from laughing, which was going to definitely turn into a snort.

  "Sure," Branson said. "But you let a dangerous fugitive escape. A dangerous terrorist," he said the word with incredible gravity and power, "has escaped, and you didn't stop him."

  "Terrorist?" Erik snorted a laugh. "Really? Who did he terrorize? Or do I need to start quoting conspiracy websites again, because I have about fourteen of them, along with the July, 2005 edition of Fortean Times, which features an article about our terrorist. Or," a wide, mischievous grin crept across Erik's face, "are you not wanting to talk about the fact that he can magically turn into a bear?"

  A hush fell over the room. How could a bunch of top-secret paranormal agency investigators come to Jamesburg and not know about us? Jamie felt one of her wings twitch, and realized that every time she'd been around Branson, or any of the others, she'd been wearing a coat, a jacket, something to cover them up. Was it possible they had no idea where they were?