Keeping Her Pride (Ladies of the Pack Book 1)

by Lauren Esker

  She was expecting a fluffy, feel-good, fundamentally meaningless answer. Instead Nia gave her a long, thoughtful look. When they'd first met, she had thought Nia was stupid, but she'd come to realize during their meetings that Nia was actually very bright; she just acted in ways that Debi had never thought smart people would want to act. Nia was cheerful and peppy and friendly. She seemed to see the best in everyone around her. For her, the glass was always half full. And yet she did have a serious, intelligent side, and right now Debi was seeing it in a way she never had before.

  "Because someone's got to," Nia said finally, her voice soft and sincere. "When it really mattered, you did the right thing and helped put your family in prison. I can't even imagine how hard that must have been. And you've been trying so hard to be good. I've seen you every week. I know how hard you're working on it."

  Debi's gaze dropped to the table. Even though she'd spent most of the past year, right up to the present moment, thinking similar things about herself—I do work hard, I do! No one appreciates it but I do!—being given that much credit for it, especially framed in Nia's optimistic way, made her feel suddenly ashamed.

  "I'm not trying to be good because I want to be good." She had to force the words out. It was the stupidest thing in the world to say them out loud. She finally had Nia supporting her bid for freedom, she was so close to having the monitor off that she could almost taste the freshness of the mountain air that had been denied to her, and yet the words spilled from a sick-feeling part of her that writhed with guilt and shame. "I'm doing it because I want to get off the anklet monitor. You know that. At least, you should know that."

  "I know that's part of it," Nia acknowledged. "Especially in the beginning. But if I really thought that was the only reason, I'd never have backed your bid to have the anklet taken off. You're not going to hurt anyone when you get it off. I know that."

  "There's no way you could possibly know," Debi muttered, not meeting her eyes.

  "Then I'll just ask you point blank." When Debi hesitantly looked up, Nia was looking across the table at her: dark gaze direct, not smiling at all. "Are you going to go back to your family's ways when you get the monitor off?"

  "No," Debi said without hesitation.

  "Are you even worried that you will? Are you afraid of it, like an alcoholic not being sure if they can keep from taking a drink?"

  "I ... no," she said slowly. "No, not at all. I never liked it. I never wanted them to do it. I mostly just tried not to think about it."

  Roger had always said that hunting was just part of being a lion shifter. We have to hunt. We can't suppress our instincts. Smaller shifters are our natural prey. But now she'd met other big-predator shifters at the SCB—bears, wolves, big cats—who embraced their animal side and did it without hurting anyone at all.

  "I believe you," Nia said. Her smile came out again, sparkling and bright, as she tapped the side of her cup. "Do you have to run, or do you want to have another cup of coffee and tell me more about Fletcher? I'll buy."

  "Well," Debi said, "if you're buying, then."

  I don't want to hunt people and hurt them.

  Why had it taken her so long to finally acknowledge that? Or maybe the problem was that she'd never thought to ask herself the question before, never realized it could be so simple.

  Am I dangerous to others?

  No, I am not.

  No more so than little Olivia, anyway—the adorable child who could turn into a venomous snake. Olivia would need to learn self-control so that she could embrace her snake side without accidentally hurting someone.

  Debi wasn't ashamed of being a lion. She wanted to be a lioness again, to run free in the wilderness. But having the power to hurt others came with the responsibility not to abuse that power. Roger had never understood that.

  I think I'm starting to.

  ***

  Leaving Olivia singing quietly to herself in her darkened bedroom, Fletcher went back to the living room and dug into the paperwork again.

  He tried not to wonder about where Debi had gone. She didn't owe him an explanation if she had to run an errand; she had her own life that was no business of his.

  It was still hard to wrap his mind around how quickly she'd become part of his life. He hadn't been ready to open his heart again after Chloe, but Debi had slipped past all his defenses when he wasn't even looking. And Olivia liked her, his true litmus test for whether to let someone into the inner sanctum or not.

  He'd almost forgotten what it was like to wake up in the middle of the night to a warm body next to his, a soft arm draped over him. He could so easily imagine waking up to Debi's smile and her brilliant green eyes in the coming weeks, months, years ...

  Don't let this get out of control, he warned himself, fighting down the warmth expanding in his chest at the thought of her. Between the custody fight, the company, and the money laundering, he had to keep his expectations for his relationship with Debi realistic. For one thing, he sensed that she was as ambitious as he was. It was one of the things he liked about her, but it also meant that if it came down to a choice between Fletcher and her own career, he wasn't sure which way she'd fall. A man in charge of a failing company tied up in a legal dispute wasn't exactly prime mate material.

  And she still hasn't mentioned why she's wearing an ankle monitor. You don't get that kind of ankle jewelry by being a nice honest citizen.

  If Chloe found out that he'd been allowing a monitor-wearing felon unsupervised access to their daughter, she'd flip her lid. She would probably be able to leverage that into full custody of Olivia.

  If I have to choose between Debi and my daughter ...

  He had to put Olivia first. He had to.

  When a key rattled in the door, he was so engrossed in his thoughts that he barely registered it: Oh, Debi's back. Then he thought: Wait, Debi has the key to my office, but I never gave her one to the condo ...

  He raised his head just as Chloe came in, as if she'd been summoned by his current line of thought. Her dark hair was frosted with raindrops and she was shaking out an umbrella.

  "You don't live here anymore," Fletcher said calmly, laying down the file. "And you're not supposed to pick up Olivia until this evening."

  "I know." She tucked her umbrella neatly into the umbrella stand beside the door, next to Fletcher's snake-catching butterfly net. "I'm here to retrieve the last of my things. I figured if the court case goes my way, you'll change the locks, so I'd better do it now."

  Cool as ice. How could she just walk in here, acting like nothing was wrong, when she'd been casually destroying his company from within for years?

  How could he not have known?

  "You can supervise me if you want to make sure I don't take anything that doesn't belong to me." She went to the kitchen sink, retrieved a glass from the left-hand cabinet—of course she still remembered where everything was, he thought; it hadn't been that long—and poured herself a glass of water.

  "You can take whatever the hell you want, Chloe. I can always buy more stuff."

  Chloe held up the half-full glass in front of the window, looking at the light shining through the colored bottom of the glass. "This is one of the set we bought in Italy, isn't it? I can't believe we thought it was a good idea to take glassware on a trans-Atlantic flight."

  "You want them? Feel free." It was harder and harder to contain his anger. Furious words rose in his throat, choking him.

  "There are dishes at the family house. I don't need these." She sipped before setting the glass in the sink. "What I do want is that crystal cake dish, remember, the one we used to use for entertaining? It's a family heirloom. Where is it?"

  Fletcher shoved his stool back from the kitchen island, scraping on the tile floor. "Top shelf. I'll get it."

  "The advantage to knowing a tall man," Chloe remarked as he reached up to retrieve it from the high shelf beside the sink.

  "Not the only thing you wanted me for, though, is it?" The words spilled out before h
e could stop them, coming directly from the bitter well of anger inside him.

  I loved you, once. How long have you been planning this? Since we got married? Earlier? Was I only ever a stepping stone for you?

  "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Chloe asked, taking the crystal dish as he set it carefully in her hands, refusing to give in to the childish urge to throw it on the floor and watch it shatter.

  "You know what I mean. Come off it. Stop playing games."

  "If you're referring to sex, Fletcher—"

  "I'm not referring to sex!" he snapped. "You managed to do a nice job of pulling the wool over my eyes, but I'm onto you now, Chloe. I've got all the evidence I need, and when I'm done getting it in order, I'm not only going to have the company, but I'll see you in jail."

  Chloe stared at him, and a hint of worry, even fear, began to creep into her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

  "I know you've been using Sperlin-Briggs to launder money. And I'm in the process of putting together enough evidence to take to the cops."

  To her credit, Chloe did an impressive job of emoting wounded shock. "You've lost it, Fletcher. You've finally snapped."

  "Yeah? We'll see what the FBI says about that when I put a nice fat stack of evidence on their desk."

  The color began to drain out of her face as she stood in front of the sink, holding the crystal dish in frozen hands.

  "I've already changed the passwords on the database, by the way. You won't be able to get back in and delete anything. You wanted to see me in court, Chloe? Let's do that. I'll see you in court. Criminal court, that is."

  Two bright spots of color emerged on her cheekbones, the only hint of color in her stark pallor. "So that's it." Her voice shook—not with fear, he realized, but with rage. "You're so desperate to win that you're prepared to send me to jail for made-up crimes. I have to hand it to you, Fletcher. I learned about underhanded business tactics at my father's knee, but even so, I still thought you were better than that. I never, ever thought you'd stoop so low."

  "You're still trying to play innocent?" Fletcher demanded in disbelief. "Chloe, I've literally got a briefcase full of evidence tying you to years' worth of money laundering. It's got to be either you or me, and I know for certain it isn't me—"

  Chloe flung the crystal dish at him. Fletcher managed to dodge, barely, and the dish struck the edge of the countertop, driven by inhuman force. He threw up his arms to protect his face from flying shards of crystal.

  "I refuse," Chloe snarled, with a hint of a furious hiss underlying her words, "to allow my daughter to spend one minute longer with a man who is willing to concoct an excuse to send his own child's mother to prison. I'm taking Olivia and I'm walking out that door, and you are absolutely right, Fletcher Briggs: I will see you in court, while I sue you for every single penny you have for defamation of character."

  "You can't just take her. We had a deal—"

  "Oh, I'm supposed to honor deals when my—"

  "Mommy?" The tiny voice came from the doorway to Olivia's room. She was dragging one of her stuffed toys by the foot and rubbing her eyes with her fist.

  For his daughter's sake, Fletcher fought back his anger; he saw Chloe doing the same thing. They both started toward her, but Fletcher managed to get there first. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, sweeping her up. She draped herself sleepily on him. "Did we wake you up?"

  "You were fighting again," she mumbled into his neck.

  "I know. I'm sorry, sweetie. Sometimes grownups are stupid."

  Chloe came out of Olivia's bedroom carrying the kitty bag they used for Olivia's things. "C'mon, honey," she said gently. "It's time to go with Mommy."

  She slid her arm under Olivia's bottom. Fletcher tried, for a second longer, to hang on, but he had to let go; the alternative was to have a literal tug-of-war. Olivia accepted the transfer with sleepy complacency.

  "You have her for tonight, then," Fletcher began, "and tomorrow—"

  "We'll talk about this later," Chloe told him flatly over Olivia's head. "When she's not listening."

  He couldn't let her walk out with his daughter. He couldn't. But there was nothing he could do, not without hurting Olivia.

  And in spite of the evidence of Chloe's crimes, he knew Olivia was safe with her. Chloe might hurt other people, but she wouldn't hurt her daughter. And that was the only reason he could make himself stand there and watch them both walk away.

  I'll get her back. Chloe might have won this round, but she won't win the war.

  "Bye, Daddy," Olivia said sleepily.

  "Bye, baby," he said around the lump in his throat. "See you soon."

  The look on Chloe's face promised that "soon" would be a long time in coming. Freeing a hand from Olivia, she snatched up her umbrella and let the door fall shut behind her with a very final-sounding clunk.

  Fletcher stood staring after her, shaking with reaction.

  He'd bungled it. He knew he had. Debi had said to wait, and she'd been right. He'd let his temper get the better of him, and now Chloe had Olivia, and she knew what he was up to.

  She's going down, he promised himself darkly. He'd already shut her out of the database, but the next thing he needed to do was make sure that all the evidence was in his private safe deposit box, where she couldn't get it. At least most of it was currently here, which was better than having it at the office. He'd need to go over there tonight ...

  Glass crunched underfoot as he took a step toward the counter. Right. First things first.

  He got a whisk broom and was sweeping up the shards of the plate when there was a soft tap at the door. "It's not locked," he called.

  "So your ex was leaving the building just as I was coming in," Debi said conversationally as she came through the door. "And if looks could kill, I'd be a smoking smear on the sidewalk. I'm going to guess you talked to her about the money laundering."

  Fletcher heaved a sigh and dumped the dustpan into the trash with a tinkling of glass. "You were right. I should have waited. Feel free to say you told me so."

  "I wasn't going to say that." She touched his arm gently. "How bad is it?"

  "She took Olivia." He didn't mean for it to come out as plaintive as it did.

  "Oh, Fletcher." She put her arms around him, pulling him against her. The comfort was unexpected, but desperately welcome. For a long moment, he leaned into her embrace.

  "You'll get her back," Debi murmured into his hair.

  "We will." He took a step back so he could meet her eyes. She was wearing flat heels today; he only had to tip his head back slightly to meet her slightly quizzical stare. "We're a team," he told her. "We're a good team. Nobody can stand against this team."

  He'd never seen her face so raw and open, filled with desperate hope. "Do you really mean that?"

  "I do. More than anything." He kissed her, forcing down the hurt and the fear. Just being with her made the hollow pit inside him less empty. "We'll do this. Together. We'll prove that Chloe's been money laundering through my company, and we'll take her down, and maybe the entire Sperlin family along with her." He grinned at Debi. "Nobody can beat this team, right?"

  Debi's smile was tentative. "Right," she said, but she sounded unsure, and his stomach turned cold.

  And now is when the other shoe drops. This isn't what she signed up for. She's going to walk out that door just like Chloe did.

  "Debi?" he asked. On some level, he didn't want to know. But he couldn't not know. "What's wrong?"

  ***

  This is the wrong time to ask him. You should wait until ... until ...

  But that was the problem. There was never going to be a good time, not with everything else going on in their lives. And she needed him. She had no one else to speak up for her besides Fletcher. Her stomach was still fluttering from his words.

  Team.

  Together.

  Maybe he really meant it.

  "If you don't want to be involved in the court case, I completely understand," Fletcher
was saying, his words spilling over each other as he hastily backpedaled. "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for me so far, but it's way above and beyond your actual job, and I don't want you to think—"

  "No, no. It's not that. I like helping you, Fletcher," she reassured him. "I want to be a—a team with you. It's just that there's something going on in my life that I need to talk to you about. Can I?"

  "Yeah. Yeah, sure." He took her hand and led her to the couch, pulled her down with him. Rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand, he looked into her eyes. "It'll get me out of my head for awhile, and I could really use that right now. What's wrong?"

  "The ankle monitor," she began, before courage deserted her and she had to look away.

  "Yeah?"

  "It's ..." She took a deep breath. "I never told you what I did to have to wear it. My family, they ... they did terrible things, Fletcher."

  "Whatever they did, whatever you did, it's behind you now—"

  "They killed people."

  The words burst out of her. Fletcher fell silent.

  "I see," he said finally. He was still holding her hand, still chafing the back of it. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "No," she said in a small voice, staring at the far wall rather than looking at him. "But I should. It's ... it's the right thing to do. Not that I've ever managed to actually do the right thing in my life, until recently."

  "Tell me what you want me to know," Fletcher said gently. "That, and no more. I won't pry."

  "My family ..." It felt so strange, so alien, to even think about opening up this much to anyone, let alone a non-shifter. She risked a peek at his face. His eyes were gentle, his face intent. He was doing that thing he could do, where he made you feel like the only person in the world.

  For a moment she teetered on the edge of telling him everything. Every last detail, about how her family used to take other shifters out in the woods and hunt them, and she used to help them cover it up.