by Lauren Esker
"I mean going on a date in which he takes me back to his apartment, Nia; don't make me spell this out for you."
"But the monitor doesn't affect that. It's on your ankle, it's not a chastity—ohhhh." Nia's mouth rounded as she drew out the word. "He doesn't know about the monitor."
"Obviously he doesn't know! I'm not going to tell a guy on the first date that I'm a—a criminal who has to wear a tracker. Why would I?"
"So you're going to keep your pants on around him forever?"
"I would very much like him to take off my pants," Debi said crisply. "Which is why I need to have this monstrosity off my ankle."
"If you really like him, you're going to have to tell him sooner or later."
"I vote 'later.' Which is why ..." She waggled her foot at Nia.
"Okay, okay, I'll talk to my supervisors about it. But ... just ... I'm not promising anything, you understand? I'll do the best I can for you, though."
"I know you will," Debi said, and it surprised her to realize this was true. "While you're at it, can I ask for another favor?"
"Two in one day? Sure."
"The SCB works with lawyers, right? Shifter ones."
"Off and on," Nia said. "Do you need to talk to one?"
"Yes, please. Or at least I need their contact information. Can you get me that?"
"If you're planning to sue us, please don't sue me." At Debi's startled look, she smiled. "I'm joking. Of course I can help you find a lawyer. Criminal law, right?"
"Actually, divorce law would be ideal."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, because she saw the penny drop. Nia drew herself up in her chair, her eyes sparkling brilliantly, and Debi's hand shot across the table to clamp over Nia's mouth. "If you squeal again, so help me, I will not be responsible for my actions," she promised in a fierce whisper before letting go.
Nia took a couple of deep breaths. "Fletcher Briggs," she squeaked. "That's your guy, isn't it? That's why you were asking about the Sperlins yesterday!"
"How do you know all of this?"
"Because I looked it up," Nia said. "After you asked me. I was curious. And I found out one of the Sperlins is getting divorced from Fletcher Briggs, who also happens to own the business you're currently doing contract work for—"
"You know entirely too much about my life."
"I'd be a lousy parole officer if I didn't."
Debi decided not to dignify that with a response.
"This has to be more serious than a first date if he's got you hunting down a shifter lawyer for him. Wait, what kind of shifter is he?"
"He's not a shifter. His ex is. Which is why he needs help. And why am I telling you all this again?"
"Because I'm a good listener," Nia said.
"No you aren't! Good listeners don't shriek when people tell them things."
"I only shriek when you tell me something shriekworthy," Nia replied primly. She took out her phone and began typing on it.
"God help me, Veliz, if you're going to gossip about my love life on Twitter, at least have the self-control not to do it in front of me."
Nia gasped in shock. "I wouldn't! Everything you say to me is confidential. Uh, unless you tell me you're committing a crime, in which case I'm duty-bound to—anyway, never mind that. No, I'm writing myself a note so I can email you from the office. It'll be easier to look up the lawyer information when I have all the resources there."
"Thank you," Debi said grudgingly.
Nia smiled. "It's not an imposition. You hardly ever ask me for anything. Twice in one day. Gosh."
***
Fletcher's morning was not going well.
He had encountered some resistance when he'd told his lawyer that he wouldn't need an attorney at divorce mediation. He would probably have run into more of it if Teddy Hannigan had known—as Fletcher did, in fact, know—that Chloe was going to show up with her family's legal team.
They were going to eat him alive.
Hopefully not literally. Her lawyers were mongoose shifters.
The divorce mediator was a shifter social worker, Nicole Yates. Chloe's lawyers had suggested her, which made Fletcher inclined to distrust her, but in their one previous meeting, she'd seemed nice: a round, friendly woman with chestnut curls and an Australian accent. "You're human," she'd said, surprised. "I was expecting—" She had paused, then. "You do know ..."
"That Chloe and my daughter are shifters? Yes, I know." She visibly relaxed at that. "How do you know I'm not?"
"We can recognize each other. There's a feeling we get. I take it you didn't know that?"
He shook his head. How much else was there that Chloe hadn't told him? Maybe she was right; maybe he had no business trying to raise a half-shifter child.
"As for me, I turn into a koala," Ms. Yates said cheerfully. "Yes, I am an Australian koala shifter. Pretty cliché, huh?"
He had relaxed a little after that. She didn't seem like someone who was going to decide against him simply on the basis that he was human. And while he didn't trust Chloe's lawyers at all—they were the Sperlins' longtime legal team, after all—he did actually like them. Mob lawyers or not, they seemed personable and fair. He knew they'd do everything they could to get a good deal for their clients, but he would've done the same in their place.
It was the Sperlins who would put a knife in his back if he was stupid enough to turn it to them.
At least Chloe hadn't brought her brother today. She had, however, brought most of the lawyers, at least the father, son, and daughter—it was a family-run legal firm, Banerjee & Associates. Fletcher shook hands with the senior Banerjee, whose name, he recalled, was Arun.
Mongooses and snakes, he thought. Weren't they supposed to be ancestral enemies?
But shifters weren't animals. They could control their instincts. He would never have invited an actual lion back to his apartment, while Debi—
He wrenched his thoughts away from Debi. Today he needed to be alert and focused.
"I've looked over the information both of you gave me," Ms. Yates said once the door was closed, shutting them all into her office. There weren't quite enough chairs; they'd rolled a chair in from the outer office and someone had scrounged up a folding chair that Arun Bannerjee's son Jake had appropriated. "I don't normally do divorce mediation, but I don't know of any shifter divorce mediators working in the Seattle area, or outside it for that matter. You understand, I'm going to be looking mainly at the best interests of the child."
"Of course," Chloe said. She'd turned up in a pastel summer dress, wearing earrings shaped like butterflies. Fletcher had never seen her wear anything like that before, and he guessed it was a blatant effort to make herself look demure and maternal for the mediator's benefit. Of course, if he pointed it out, he'd look like the bad guy.
And anyway, he'd gone through the same mental process this morning, staring at himself in the mirror as he switched between half a dozen shirts, trying to find the one that made him look the most fatherly. Would a shirt without a tie be better? A dark jacket or a light one, or none? He'd ended up going for a pale yellow shirt with a brown tie and, for good measure, had scruffed up his hair a little, letting it reassert some of its natural curl in the hopes of looking approachable rather than severe. Now that it was too late, he was afraid all it did was make him look like he didn't own a hairbrush.
"Nothing I suggest is legally binding," Ms. Yates went on. "This entire process is voluntary. If you can't reach an agreement with my help, this will have to go to court."
"Got it," Fletcher said, making a conscious effort to smooth out his hands on his knees; they were trying to curl up into fists out of sheer nervousness.
This was something he couldn't explain to anyone who wasn't a shifter—which was every single person in his life aside from Debi—but he knew they weren't going to let it go to court. There was simply no chance that Chloe would risk her family's secret being exposed in open court records.
Which means
I can't even rely on a court to sort this out for me. They're going to try to win by any means necessary. I have to stand firm and not let them steamroll over me, or I'm screwed.
The first part of the meeting was mainly going over the information they'd both supplied to Ms. Yates on their assets and demands. Chloe wanted full custody with visitation rights for Fletcher. Fletcher had counter-offered joint custody. He'd also brought in Debi's findings that the company was hemorrhaging money and suggested a 50-50 split of the assets, with Fletcher to retain all of the licensing and legal control of the business.
"This is an obvious ploy to rob me of what's legally mine," Chloe snapped.
"I'm willing to walk away with half of what is, at this point, effectively nothing," Fletcher shot back. "This is a much better deal than you'd get if we sold off the company and divided the proceeds, because at this point there's going to be almost nothing left once we settle our debts. We'd be lucky if we didn't end up losing money that way."
"No, what you're suggesting is that you keep the most profitable part of the company—the name and licenses and your cherry-picked favorite properties out of the bunch—"
"I'm letting you have equal choice in what you get to keep, for God's sake!" Fletcher burst out. "There's literally no way to make this fairer."
Jake Banerjee gave Fletcher a sympathetic look and leaned over to murmur to his client.
Ms. Yates was looking politely exasperated. "Fletcher, if she's willing to make a concession on the custody issue, would you be willing to concede a larger share of the business to her?"
"Over my dead body," was Fletcher's instant response, while Chloe snapped, "I'm not giving him that."
Ms. Yates rubbed at her forehead. "You know that if you can't come to an agreement here, a judge is going to have to—yes, Kathryn?" Someone in the outer office had tapped at the door.
"Nicole," the woman said, leaning in, "Ms. Sperlin's brother is here, with her daughter."
Fletcher shot Chloe a sharp look. She was trying to look innocent and failing.
Casper Sperlin, dark and sharp as a blade, came in carrying Olivia. Neither party looked entirely comfortable with this arrangement. Olivia perked up as soon as she saw her parents. "Mommy! Daddy!"
"I didn't realize your daughter was going to be at this meeting," Ms. Yates said with a frown.
"I'm sorry for not discussing it beforehand." Chloe was in full-fledged demure mode as she took Olivia from Casper's arms. "But I thought it would be helpful if you could see our daughter with both of her parents. After all, you're an expert. You can tell us if we're doing anything wrong."
Fletcher was certainly watching her closely as she cuddled Olivia on her lap. She had to be up to something. Olivia pressed her face into her mother's shoulder, sensing the tension in the room.
"If you could wait outside, please?" Ms. Yates told Casper Sperlin, her voice stern. He smiled thinly and withdrew from the room.
They're up to something. Fletcher's palms were sweating.
"Do you want to hug Daddy for a minute?" Chloe murmured into Olivia's hair.
Olivia gave a tiny nod, so Chloe turned, still smiling and friendly, and put Olivia into Fletcher's arms. Despite his nervousness, he couldn't help relaxing with his daughter clinging to him.
"It's okay, sweetheart. There's nothing to worry about."
Olivia raised her head from his chest and looked around to find the adults all looking at her. She curled in on herself shyly, and Fletcher felt a sudden rush of horror. Not here, not now—
As she always had when she felt shy, Olivia shifted, and he was suddenly holding a bundle of little-girl clothes instead of a little girl. A tiny brown snake plopped into his lap.
Fletcher recoiled; he couldn't help it. The instinct to pull away so she couldn't bite him was thoroughly ingrained at this point. As Olivia squiggled off his lap and dropped to the floor, he looked around wildly for something to catch her with. The tissue box on Ms. Yates' desk came to mind, but even as he snatched it up, Chloe calmly crouched and scooped up the little snake with a practiced hand.
"You can put her in the tank, if she'd feel more comfortable there." Ms. Yates pointed to a glass tank in the corner of her office, containing sand and small toys. It made Fletcher think of his snake tank at home, and was probably for the exact same purpose. This office must see a lot of small, upset shifter children.
"I don't think that will be necessary. All she needs is to be held for a minute until she calms down." Chloe cradled the snake to her chest and sat back down. She didn't look at Fletcher at all. Didn't need to. He could sense the triumph rolling off her in waves as he wordlessly replaced the tissue box on the desk, while she cuddled the snake as if she hadn't a care in the world.
Which of course she didn't. She was in no danger from being bitten.
One of us can handle a shifter child and one can't, she might have said.
Anger churned in his stomach. Bitterly, he wondered if she'd coached Olivia through the whole thing. But, no ... she hadn't had to. She and Fletcher both knew that Olivia tended to shift when upset or nervous. All Chloe had to do was expose Olivia to a new situation and make sure that Fletcher was holding her when she did what came naturally to her.
Maybe Chloe was right. How could he be a father to Olivia when he didn't even dare to hold her shifted form, one half of her soul, with his bare hands?
"I don't think this is going anywhere productive, and I don't agree with exposing your daughter to what I've seen between you today." Ms. Yates was still visibly irritated. "I have other appointments, so let's adjourn for now. Over the weekend, you can both discuss what we've talked about today, and we'll pick up on Monday."
The one tiny bright spot in Fletcher's ocean of endless gloom was the anger on Ms. Yates' face. The social worker, no stranger to this kind of situation, knew that Chloe had deliberately triggered the situation, using her daughter to further her own case.
But what does it matter if Chloe's right? he wondered despairingly as politely tense handshakes went all around. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter whether Chloe convinced Ms. Yates of her own superior parenting skills or not. They'd already established that Ms. Yates, unlike a judge, had no ability to force them to do anything; she could only make recommendations.
No, the person Chloe had been trying to influence was Fletcher. She'd brought in Olivia to rattle him and make him doubt his own ability to be a good parent.
And the worst part was ... now he found himself doing exactly that.
Ms. Yates pulled Chloe aside to speak to her—she did not look at all pleased—while one of the mongoose-shifting Banerjees held Olivia in her snake form. Hadn't he read somewhere that the mongoose was immune to snake venom? Everyone in the world except me, Fletcher thought grimly, pushing his way out of Ms. Yates' office.
Casper Sperlin was waiting outside, looking smug. Fletcher got up in his face, forcing him to take a step backward.
"What do you want?" he demanded, keeping his voice low despite the fury gnawing at him.
"What do you think we want?" Casper returned. "We want what's ours. My sister's business—"
"It's mine, damn you—"
"—and her daughter." Casper's smile was cold; his eyes gleamed. "I don't know why my sister chose to mingle her blood with yours, but at least her child isn't tainted. We can raise her properly as one of us."
"The hell you will."
"We're going to get what's ours, no matter what you do," Casper called to his back as he stormed away. "We're going to claim everything that's ours."
***
Fletcher didn't show up to the office that morning, to Debi's disappointment. A dozen times, she reached for her phone to text him and ask how the meeting had gone; a dozen times, she put it back down.
Janice ordered lunch for both of them, and by late afternoon, fed and refueled on coffee, Debi had sunk deep into her work and barely noticed the passage of time. When she finally roused herself, she had to laugh ruefu
lly—it was after seven.
Janice was gone (the outer office looked like much less of a disaster now) and Fletcher's office door was closed, with no sign of movement inside. Still, the lights in the hallway were on. Debi didn't think she was here alone; her predator senses told her that.
She knocked at Fletcher's door. No one answered, but when she stood and listened with her inhumanly sharp hearing, she could hear tiny rustles of movement from within. Someone was in there.
"Fletcher?" she called softly. Maybe he was too caught up in his work to notice her knocking. "It's Debi. May I come in?"
There was still no response. He had to be here. She screwed up her courage—the worst he could do was yell at her, and when did that start to matter?—and opened the door.
The sun was setting over the city between dark banks of clouds, painting Fletcher's office in glorious gold and salmon. He was sitting in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, a dark statue with one arm flung over his knee, his jacket and tie crumpled on the floor beside him.
"C'mon in," he said without turning around. "Since I clearly can't stop you."
Debi let the door swing shut and approached quietly to kneel beside him. He had a bottle of white wine in front of him, some of it poured into a mug from the break room. She was relieved to see that the bottle was only a few inches low; he was drinking, but not drunk.
"How did it go?" she asked.
Fletcher looked up, his stormcloud eyes so dark there was almost no green in them, and weary beyond telling. He seemed to be picking his words carefully. "Like shit," he said at last. "It went like shit."
His hair was a touchable scruff of medium-brown curls, gilded with fire in the setting sun's light. Was that what it looked like when it wasn't slicked down? She had to do something to stop herself from touching it. She took the wine bottle instead. "Mind if I have a drink?"
Fletcher managed a faint, rueful smile. "There's only one cup."
"Bottle's fine." She took a swallow. Not bad, though sweeter than she preferred; she liked dry wines best. "Want to talk about it?"
"What's to talk about?" Fletcher pushed something into her hand. She looked down, surprised, to find her emerald ring returned to her. "Sorry the good-luck charm didn't work. Guess it can only do so much." He turned away, looking out at the city's blazing towers. "My lawyer keeps saying I'm going to lose. I'm starting to think he's right."
