Bearly Hanging On (The Jamesburg Shifters #6)(56)

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 themselves 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.