Keeping Her Pride (Ladies of the Pack Book 1)

by Lauren Esker

  But she couldn't bear the thought of watching the warmth in his eyes turn to ice. He didn't need to know all the details. All he needed to know was enough that he could fairly agree to what Nia had asked for.

  "We were sort of like the mafia," she said at last. "Not that exactly, but I think shifter mafia is pretty close to what we were. We ran our business, a software company called Lion's Share. We were very close to each other. Very, very close. For us lion shifters, family—the pride—is everything. I can't really explain it. When my eldest brother Roger gave orders, we just did what he told us to do. We didn't have a choice."

  Even as she said it, a pool of acid guilt expanded in her stomach. You know those are only excuses. There was always a choice.

  But Fletcher didn't have to know. He didn't know how shifters worked. If she exaggerated just a little bit—if she told him most of the truth, but made it sound like Roger had been able to compel the family's compliance no matter what they wanted ... that would be enough, wouldn't it? That's what it had felt like. She hadn't realized until much later that she actually did have a choice, that she never had to do any of the things she did as part of the Fallon pride.

  She balked at lying directly, even for a cause like this ... but little white lies of omission were all right, surely?

  "Well, keep in mind, at one point in my life I married Chloe Sperlin," Fletcher said with a rueful ghost of a smile. "Mafia's not necessarily a turn-off. Where is your family now?"

  "In prison, mostly. I got this nice ankle bracelet for turning state's evidence against them."

  "See? That wasn't so bad." Fletcher grinned at her, and her insides writhed with guilt. "You did do the right thing, from the sound of it, even if it took awhile."

  Debi nodded, not trusting her voice.

  "Any specific reason you're bringing it up now?" Fletcher asked.

  "Yes, I ..." She balked again, but she was going to have to get it out sooner or later. "I might be able to get the anklet off. I talked to my parole officer today, and she says she can get me a hearing. I just need to prove that I'm rehabilitated."

  "That doesn't sound so bad. How do you do that?"

  She turned her hand over, lacing her fingers through his. "That's why I'm telling you about it, Fletcher. You said we're a team, right?"

  "Yeah?"

  He sounded nervous. Debi told herself firmly that he wouldn't say no. He couldn't say no. It wasn't that big of a thing—not to him, even though it would mean the world to her. All she had to do was explain it properly.

  "I need someone to vouch for me to the court. Someone who can go on record and testify that I've changed. The way my parole officer explained it, they need someone to—to guarantee my good behavior, I guess is how it works."

  "Guarantee your good behavior, meaning what?"

  "I don't know. A surety of sorts, I guess? Basically you just have to tell the court that I'm not going to commit any crimes if they take the anklet off. Which I'm not, Fletcher." She'd spent her whole life learning to hide her true feelings behind a cool facade. Now she forced herself to do the opposite, to put the cool mask away and let her naked sincerity show through. It was shockingly difficult. Stripping off her clothes on nationwide TV might have been easier.

  "I believe you're not ... but ..."

  "They said a human can do it," she said desperately. "It doesn't matter at all that you're not a shifter, if that's what you're worried about. It wouldn't be much, Fletcher. You just need to tell them that you believe in me. And you do, don't you?"

  Even as the words were out, she wished she could take them back. Suddenly she didn't want to know.

  "I do," he said, and her stomach unclenched a little, only to knot up even harder when he went on, "But, Debi, I can't."

  ***

  "What do you mean, you can't?"

  This was a look he'd never wanted to put on Debi's face, not all that different in its betrayed, angry hurt from the way Chloe had looked at him when he'd accused her of money laundering. He tried to push aside the comparison—he wasn't wrong, all the evidence said he wasn't wrong, which meant Chloe was lying, and this was just a misunderstanding with Debi; he could fix it. Had to fix it. But he'd never wanted to make even one woman look at him like that, let alone two in the same day.

  "Fletcher, if you really believe that I—that I'm not capable of change, that I'm—"

  "No, no!" He cupped her face in his hands, willing her to understand. "No, I do believe you can change. I believe you're a good person. I trust you with my daughter, Debi; you have to understand how much that means."

  She brought up her hands to cover his. He could feel the tension in her fingers, and the thought occurred to him that he wasn't actually sure how strong she was. She might be able to snap both his wrists if she got upset.

  But he wasn't afraid of her. No part of him was afraid of her, a realization that startled him with his own bone-deep conviction.

  "You said we're a team," she said, seeking his eyes with her vivid green ones.

  "Yes. Yes, we are." There was increasing desperation in his voice, because her face had gone smooth and still, no longer open and yearning as it had been a moment ago.

  "Then can't you testify on my behalf? It's not a big thing. All you have to do is tell them what you just said to me."

  He felt as if he had one foot on each side of an ever-widening hole in the ground, and it was about to wrench the earth out from under him if he didn't pick one side or the other. "It's not that simple."

  Debi gripped one of his hands in each of hers and firmly lowered them from her face. She moved back on the couch. "So how does this team thing work, again? I help you, I trust you, but you won't trust me?"

  "It's not about trust."

  "How?" she demanded, flinging her arms out. "How is it not entirely about trust?"

  "I just can't do it now, okay? I mean—look it it from my point of view." He was pleading now, trying to make her understand. "I'm trying to keep my company. I'm trying to keep my daughter. Chloe is going to do everything she can to paint me as an unfit parent. I'm trying to walk a razor's edge here. I have to do everything right. I can't be seen—"

  "Consorting with criminals?" She stood up in a quick, fluid motion. Even now, he was struck all over again by how graceful she was, how beautiful with her eyes flashing furious green sparks.

  "No, no, it's not that." He jumped to his feet. He'd let Chloe walk away. Damned if he was going to make the same mistake twice. "Debi, after all this is over, after I win this court case, then I'll do it for you. I'd be happy to. I want to now, but—"

  Debi crossed her arms, enveloped in a brittle calm that seemed likely to shatter at any moment. "But you're concerned about how it would look to other people."

  "Yes!" Finally, she understood.

  Debi spun on her heel and marched into the bedroom.

  ... or maybe she didn't. Fletcher pursued her and found her stuffing her things back into her suitcase.

  "Debi, just listen for a minute."

  "I've heard every word you said, Fletcher. It's not that I don't understand. It's that I understand all too well." She straightened up, gripping the suitcase handle so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "You know I'm risking a hell of a lot helping you with this money-laundering thing, right? My parole officer told me to stay away from the Sperlins. They're dangerous, and more than that, even a hint that I'm involved with something illegal could land me in prison. But I was willing to do it, Fletcher. I'm risking my life and my freedom, and you're not willing to—to risk your reputation?"

  Fletcher felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. "No! I mean—what I'm trying to say—"

  And he faltered as a horrible, scalp-tingling wave of shame crept over him, because ... what if it really was about that?

  He'd spent his entire life building himself up from nothing. Everything he had, everything he was, relied on a public perception of himself as a dependable businessman, a person with money, a person others could
trust.

  Standing up in front of everyone and putting his entire reputation on the line for Debi—

  But I have so much to lose. My company. My little girl.

  He was still standing there, trying to find the words, when Debi shoved him out of the way. She was trembling, and to his shock and horror, he realized she was not just angry, but hurt: terribly hurt, hurt down to the bottom of her soul.

  "Please. Please don't go. We'll talk about this. We'll fix it—"

  "There's nothing to fix, Fletcher. I finally see who you really are. I wish I'd seen it earlier. And—I can't believe I'm saying this, but ... I deserve better than this."

  With that, she strode out of his apartment, and out of his life.

  ***

  Debi's carefully preserved calm lasted all the way downstairs. In the lobby of the building, she stopped, threw her head back, and let out a rage-filled scream with a deep-throated hint of lioness underneath.

  A startled-looking elderly woman, just coming in with an armload of groceries, stopped in her tracks and asked, "Honey, you okay?"

  "No," Debi snarled. It came out barely comprehensible. She had to fight her lioness down; it was right under her skin, struggling to come out. Numbly she pushed past the human woman, hearing the faint buzzing of other words spoken to her, but right now all she knew was that she had to get away. She had to give the lion inside her something to focus on other than her rage and hurt, or else it would get away from her.

  She strode down the street. People instinctively avoided her, veering out of her path.

  I could kill all of you. I could tear you apart.

  But she didn't want to, not really. She didn't even want to hurt Fletcher. All she wanted to do was shift and run, run, run.

  Chapter Eleven

  Something was buzzing in her ear. Annoying, like a mosquito.

  Debi cracked her eyes open and immediately regretted it. Even in her crappy apartment with no east-facing windows, the light was way too bright.

  Stupid morning. Stupid world. Stupid everything.

  Stupid Fletcher.

  She sat up stiffly. She'd fallen asleep on the couch watching a Netflix marathon on her laptop. Now the laptop was on its side on the floor, next to two empty wine bottles. No wonder her head hurt so much.

  Yesterday was a blur, and not just because of the alcohol. She'd walked and walked, until it started raining on her, and then called a cab. When the cab came, she realized that she didn't even know where she wanted to go. In one short weekend, Fletcher's condo had started feeling more like home than her cluttered, lonely apartment ever had. And she didn't think it was because of the nice furnishings and the big east-facing windows—well, okay, having those things didn't hurt. But ...

  It had been so nice to feel like part of a family again.

  Her phone started buzzing again. Debi snatched it up. "What?!"

  "Uh ... hi?"

  Nia Veliz. Great. Debi sighed and scrubbed her hand over her face, trying to pull some brain cells together. She took the phone away from her ear to glance at the time display. 8:14.

  "I'm late," she said. Her voice emerged as a throaty croak. "I know I'm late. I was just on my way out the door—"

  "Well, actually, I didn't think we needed to meet at the usual time since we've seen so much of each other lately. I left you a couple of messages and didn't hear back, so I thought I'd call and make sure you weren't waiting for me at the coffee shop. Uh ... are you okay?"

  "I'm absolutely peachy."

  There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "Do you ... want to talk about anything?"

  "No," Debi said and hung up on her.

  Which of course was not the best way to convince Nia she was fine. I could've just said I'm ill. Why didn't I say that? Shifters got sick rarely, compared to humans, but it wasn't impossible. Now she'll call me back and pester me, she thought, staring balefully at the phone.

  But Nia didn't call. Debi stared at her phone for a couple of minutes, and when it failed to detect any more incoming calls, she checked her messages. Two from Nia. None from Fletcher.

  Not that I'd answer if he called.

  Maybe I should block him just to be sure.

  But if I block him, then I won't have the satisfaction of hanging up on him if he does call.

  She was supposed to be at Fletcher's office at nine to finish doing his books. Now, of course, she'd rather be set on fire than darken the door of Sperlin-Briggs ever again.

  I wonder what Fletcher is doing right now.

  I hope he's sitting alone in his office, wondering where I am. Maybe he's hoping I'm thinking about him.

  As if I would waste a single minute doing that.

  So. Plans for today. The Sperlin-Briggs job was only supposed to last a week or two, so it wouldn't be too weird if she showed up at Chang & Luntz this morning to pick up a new assignment. Just like a good little peon. Though she'd need to file a report on it ... and everything she needed to do that was back in Fletcher's condo and his office ... plus she'd have to spend the entire day thinking about Fletcher, which was obviously out.

  And she'd left her briefcase in his condo. Buying a new one seemed preferable to trying to get the old one back.

  Calling in sick to work it was, then.

  She made the call, her voice still rough enough that she only had to put in a little extra effort to sound like she was suffering from the flu and teetering on the edge of death. Nia would probably give her a disappointed look for faking being sick just because she couldn't face ... well, anything right now. Nia had probably never faked a sick day in her life. Nia was probably the sort of person who hummed happily in the shower because she couldn't wait to go to work.

  Debi slouched her way through a very sullen shower, discovering in the process that in her hasty packing yesterday, she'd forgotten to pick up her bag of toiletries from Fletcher's bathroom. Fortunately she had spares of everything, but Fletcher currently had possession of her favorite shade of bombshell-red lipstick and the comb-hairbrush set with inlaid mother-of-pearl that Mara had given her as a sweet sixteen present.

  I hope he sees it and it makes him feel guilty. SO guilty.

  I hope he bumps into it and knocks my lipstick onto the floor and slips on it and breaks his—no—hmmm ... Here her imagination hit a snag, because she didn't want Fletcher to hurt himself badly. Just enough to regret everything.

  ... falls down and bruises himself right on the tailbone, so it hurts every time he has to sit down, and every time it hurts, he has to think about me.

  Much better.

  Except it didn't really help, because thinking vindictive thoughts about Fletcher just made her miss him. She didn't want petty revenge on Fletcher. She wanted him to take her in his arms and nuzzle at her neck and listen to her talk about her problems. She wanted to play with his dark curls and—

  —was not thinking about Fletcher, absolutely not. Not his curls, not his abs or his shoulders or any other part of him.

  With a towel wrapped around her hair and another around her torso, she picked her way through the mess in the bedroom to stare critically at her wardrobe. It all seemed so ... pointless. There was nothing to dress up for. Not Fletcher, not work.

  Nothing to do all day except lie around on the couch watching Netflix, eating microwave pizza, and feeling sorry for herself.

  What was the point of any of it? she thought angrily, pulling items out of the closet and flinging them onto the bed. What was this all for? Say she worked her way through her penance, got the anklet off, and then what? She'd still be struggling to work her way up the corporate ladder and living in a shitty apartment.

  She'd still be alone.

  Except ... she wasn't completely alone, was she? The rift with her family wasn't entirely their doing. She hadn't been doing a whole lot to fix it.

  Maybe it was time to mend fences with what remained of her lion pride.

  Time to go see Mara and Rory in prison.

  She ret
rieved her phone from the coffee table and called Nia.

  "Okay, you just talked to me half an hour ago, so either something terrible has happened or—"

  "I want to see my brother and sister," Debi said.

  Nia went silent. Then she asked quietly, "When?"

  "As soon as it can be arranged." After a moment, Debi added something she'd almost never said to anyone outside the pride. "Please."

  ***

  According to the conditions of Debi's probation, the only reason she was permitted to leave Seattle was to visit her family in prison. She was allowed to do it no more than once a month, and had to be accompanied by an SCB agent.

  So far she'd only done it once. Not long after her family's incarceration, she had driven from Seattle to Wyoming in the grim company of Agent Jack Ross, who happened to be (not coincidentally, she suspected) one of the people her siblings had tried to kill. He was also a grizzly shifter and one of the few people at the SCB who had a good chance of being able to take down her shifted form if she managed to get the anklet off. Ross was the agent who had killed her brother Derek and had been partly responsible for Roger's death.

  All in all, it was an excruciating experience: marathon cross-country driving in the company of a stone-faced Ross, followed by a brief visit with family members who wanted nothing to do with her, and then an equally long and miserable drive back. It took four days, and she hadn't had the slightest urge to do it again.

  Until now.

  This time, she and Nia planned to fly from Seattle to Casper, Wyoming, and take a rental car from there. On her earlier trip, she'd felt like a prisoner, but this one felt more like a road trip or a vacation, even if she was distracted by thoughts of Fletcher and dreading what awaited her at the end of the trip.

  And yet, even with that cloud hanging over her head, she couldn't help being dryly amused by Nia's giggly delight over everything from the cheesy tourist swag in the airport shops to the view of the concourse out the windows. As they took off from Sea-Tac, Nia pressed herself to the window and took photos of the Seattle skyline.