"I stood there with my hands up, Jim. Like this." I raised my hands. "I didn't pull my sword. I didn't make any threats. I just stood there like a submissive bitch and asked them to please let me speak to you. And this is what I got?"
Jim said nothing. Asshole.
"Show me an Atlanta shapeshifter who doesn't know me. Your crew, they recognized me.
They know who I am, they know what I do, and they still fucked me up. You've worked with me for four years, Jim. I fought with the Pack and for the Pack. I fought with you. I'm an ally, who should have earned the trust by now. And you and yours treat me like an enemy."
Jim's eyes went ice-cold. "Here you have trust when you grow fur."
"I see. So if a loup bites me tomorrow, it will mean more to you than everything I've done up to this point." I rose. Fire laced my thigh. "Is Derek okay?"
Stone wall.
"God fucking damn it, Jim, is the kid okay?"
Nothing. After all the shit we'd gone through together, he shut me out. Just like that. The loyalty that bound me to Derek meant nothing. The years I'd spent looking out for Jim while he looked out for me as we teamed up on Guild gigs meant nothing. With one executive decision, Jim had cast aside the slender standing I had clawed and fought for with the Pack for the last six months. He just sat there, silent and cold, a complete stranger.
The words dropped from Jim's lips like a brick. "You should go."
I had had just about enough. "Fine. You won't tell me why your crew worked me over. You won't let me see Derek. That's your prerogative. We'll do it your way. James Damael Shrapshire, in your capacity as the Pack's chief security officer, you have permitted Pack members under your command to deliberately injure an employee of the Order. At least three individuals involved in the assault wore the shapeshifter warrior form. Under the Georgia Code, a shapeshifter in a warrior form is equivalent to being armed with a deadly weapon.
Therefore, your actions fall under O.C.G.A. Section 16-5-21(c), aggravated assault on a peace officer engaged in the performance of her duties, which is punishable by mandatory imprisonment of no less than five and no more than twenty years. A formal complaint will be filed with the Order within twenty-four hours. I advise you to seek the assistance of counsel."
Jim stared at me. The hardness drained from his eyes, and in their depths I saw astonishment.
I held his stare for a long moment. "Don't call; don't stop by. You need something done, go through official channels. And the next time you meet me, mind your p's and q's, because I'll fuck you over in a heartbeat the second you step over the line. Now return my sword, because I'm walking out of here, and I dare any of your idiots to try and stop me."
I went to the door.
Jim stood up. "On behalf of the Pack, I extend an apology . . ."
"No. The Pack didn't do that. You did that." I reached for the door. "I'm so mad at you, I can't even speak."
"Kate . . . wait."
Jim walked to me, took the door, and held it open. Outside three shapeshifters sat on the floor in a hallway: a petite woman with short dark hair, one of the Latino men, and the older bodybuilder who had stopped me at the first murder scene. A short, dark gray line marked the woman's neck, where Lyc-V had died from the contact with silver. Hello, Brenna. They probably had to cut her throat to get the needle out. The cut had sealed but it would take the body a couple of days to absorb the gray discoloration - the evidence of dead virus.
Shapeshifters had trouble with all coinage metals - that was why most of their jewelry was steel or platinum - but when it came to toxicity to Lyc-V, silver beat out gold and copper by a mile.
The shapeshifters looked at Jim.
Muscles played along his jaw. His shoulders tensed under the black T-shirt. He was pushing against a wall only he could see. "My bad."
"My bad?" That was all he had? That was it?
He thought about it for a second and nodded. "My bad. I owe you one."