Bearly Hanging On (The Jamesburg Shifters #6)(57)

"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 deeply 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."