Page 19 of Handcuffed to the Bear (Shifter Agents #1)

CHAPTER 19

Casey napped on and off throughout the afternoon. She’d thought she would never need to eat again after stuffing herself on meatloaf, but it was only a couple of hours later when she woke up enough to push the nurse call button and ask for a sandwich. “Or a hamburger. Rare.” She’d never craved meat this badly, even in lynx form.

On the bright side, this place was used to dealing with injured shifters. No one blinked twice at feeding her a full meal’s worth of food every few hours.

Her dreams were full of Jack. Sometimes he was reaching for her, sinking beneath the waves of an endless black ocean, and then she’d wake gasping and shaking, only to discover the unsteady, rocking boat had been replaced with the solid stability of the hospital bed. Sometimes she couldn’t find him at all, and wandered through an endless forest, the empty handcuffs dangling bloody from her wrist.

But some of her dreams were not unpleasant at all. These dreams were full of gentle touches and heated kisses. There were no words, only the small noises that lovers make, the wet slide of skin on sweat-slick skin and the little gasping cries she gave when she came. Her injuries were gone and so were his, because this was dream country, where the perils of the real world could be left behind at the door.

From those dreams she came awake with her left hand reaching out, groping for the hand that should have been there, the fingers that had always slid into hers to hold her steady on the island. And for an instant, in the soft haze between dreaming and waking, she could almost believe he was there in the bed with her, his arms wrapping around her, his body warming hers.

And then she surfaced enough to know that he wasn’t there, and slipped back down into dream country, in the hopes of finding him again.

* * *

She woke in early evening, a little more clear-headed, to find that Cho was back—bringing food this time, a large bag of Greek takeout. They both ate and then Cho recorded the rest of her statement.

It was weirdly easy to talk about it. She kept thinking the full impact was going to hit her eventually, and maybe it would. But for now, she found herself explaining the events on the island dispassionately, as if they’d happened to someone else.

By the time she got to their rescue, she was yawning again.

“You should sleep all you can,” Cho said. “It helps a lot. I’ll be back in the morning. In the meantime, do you have anyone who can swing by your place and pick up some clothes for you? Anyone I should call?”

Casey tried to think. There was a neighbor she was kind of friendly with. Hadn’t she given Mrs. Hung a key that one time, when she needed to have the plumber let in and couldn’t stay home? Maybe Mrs. Hung could send one of her sons over ...

And this made her think of something even worse. “Oh, my God. My keys and my wallet and all of that. I have no idea what happened to any of it.”

“Yeah, we ran into that with Jack, too,” Cho said. “Most likely, the Fallons dumped your things. Probably destroyed them. I’m sorry. You’re going to be in for a hassle, getting your driver’s license and all of that again. I’ll see if the SCB can help expedite the process.”

“Thanks.” Casey rubbed a hand through her hair, noticing in passing that it was clumpy and stiff. God, she needed a shower. “My neighbor has a key, I think. I don’t know her number, though.”

“Do you have any family nearby?”

“No,” Casey said. “No family.”

She wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow this turned into Cho promising to go talk to Mrs. Hung and pick up some clothes for her to wear the next day. “If it’s any trouble, you don’t have to,” Casey said for what felt like the tenth time.

“It’s no trouble, really.” Cho grinned impishly. “Otherwise I’d have to go back to HQ and fill out forms. This way I can claim I’m on an errand related to a case—it’s kinda related to a case, right?”

When Cho got up to go, Casey chewed her bottom lip for a moment before bursting out, “How is Jack doing? I mean, Agent Ross.”

She was never going to be able to think of him as Agent Ross, but they were back in the regular world now, and she didn’t know what he would want her to call him. Especially around his co-workers.

“The idiot actually talked them into letting him go home this evening,” Cho said. “Mostly by making a pain of himself until they did, I expect. They’re used to dealing with him.”

“Oh.” That hurt, an unexpected sharp pain. She would have thought he’d at least stop by to say ... hello? Goodbye?

What happens on the island stays on the island, I guess.

She was not at all in the mood for company after that. Seeming to recognize her mood, Cho quietly withdrew.

* * *

In the morning Casey was finally allowed to take a shower. Even with her leg wrapped in plastic and nothing to change into afterward but a clean hospital gown, since Cho hadn’t come back with her clothes yet, it was pure bliss. Then, at Dr. Lafitte’s urging, she did some walking practice in the hall to get used to the crutches.

In the process of wandering around, she learned that the clinic wasn’t quite what she’d thought. When she’d heard “private clinic,” Casey had immediately thought of a sort of spa, a rich person’s getaway so they didn’t have to mingle with the riffraff of a regular hospital. Nothing could be further from the truth, she found. The clinic did have some wealthy clients, but it was also a source of first care for the local shifter community, with payment on a sliding income scale. Some of the SCB agents, as well as various former patients, volunteered here when they had the time.

Cho and Avery showed up around midday. Avery carried a brown paper bag with a couple of sausage McMuffins in it. Casey fell on them like a starving wolf; breakfast had been hours ago. And Cho had a bundle of clothing for her, as well as her phone.

“Oh, hey!” She’d forgotten that Roger Fallon had instructed his employees not to bring their phones on the cruise. Let’s not mix work and play , the email memo had said. Quite a few people violated the guideline and brought them anyway, but Casey had obediently left hers at home. At least it was one thing she didn’t have to replace.

“Do you have a car?” Cho asked. “I asked your neighbor, but she didn’t know.”

“No. I take public transportation.”

Actually, she hadn’t realized how little of a footprint she’d left on the world until stepping out of it and coming back. There were no new messages on her phone, no new personal emails.

She’d gone missing and almost died, and no one had noticed.

And Jack, who she’d fought with side by side, who had kissed her and held her hand, wouldn’t even say hello to her before leaving the clinic, and probably her life, forever.

Maybe it was all of a piece with her lack of reaction to her near-death experience. The devastation she’d expected, that everyone else seemed to expect for her, still hadn’t set in. She’d accepted some referrals from Dr. Lafitte for therapists who dealt with the clinic’s patients, but wasn’t sure if she was actually going to call them.

She escaped into the bathroom under the pretext of changing into the loose sweatpants and sweater that Cho had brought for her. But mostly, she just wanted to be alone.

What’s wrong with me?

All was quiet outside the bathroom door. Probably they’d left.

Maybe there was something broken in her, something that no amount of therapy could ever fix. Other people couldn’t connect to her because she wouldn’t, couldn’t , reach out to them.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Other people’s faces had smile lines. Hers didn’t. Her heavy brows made it look like she was frowning even when her face was neutral, like now.

When she a teenager, people used to say to her, Cheer up, Casey! and What’s wrong? Are you okay?

I’m fine, she’d say in response, baffled. She’d never been able to understand why other people went around smiling for no reason. She liked to smile, but only when she had something to smile about.

Maybe other people have things to smile about all the time. She thought of Dr. Lafitte’s warm and ready smile, of Cho’s friendly and inviting grin.

But Jack wasn’t like that. Jack didn’t smile all the time, either. His smile meant something. When he’d smiled at her on the island, it had felt like she’d won a prize.

And then he’d just left, without saying goodbye ...

Stop it, she told her reflection firmly. The eyes looking back into her own had begun to glitter with the beginnings of tears. That would never do.

Stop pining like a lovelorn teenager. Jack’s gone back to his life, and you’re going back to yours ...

What life, though? She hesitated in dismay. She hadn’t even thought about that. What would happen to the company, with all its founders and major stockholders in prison? Probably it would be broken up and sold to its creditors. She was almost certainly unemployed.

The blows just kept coming.

You are a McClaren, Casey , she thought firmly. And, even more importantly, a Balam—the last name of her mother, that brave jaguar shifter who had crossed the Mexican border alone as a teenager, coming up from somewhere in central America. That side of Casey’s heritage was hidden, now, beneath her white father’s surname and a first name that her mother must have believed would help her fit in. She’d learned no more than a few words of either Spanish or her mother’s native Mayan tongue, at least very little that she remembered now, after being raised by her father’s mother in Portland.

But thinking of her undauntable mother and grandmother gave her the courage to tilt her chin up and march—well, okay, limp very carefully, hanging onto her crutches—back out into her empty hospital room.

.... which turned out not to be empty at all. Avery was in the chair by the bed, reading a newspaper, the cane leaning against his leg.

He was so impossibly quiet. It went beyond mere physical quiet and into a sort of psychic stillness, like he barely made ripples in the world around him. Jack had that kind of still quality about him too, she couldn’t help thinking. There was something about it that she found very peaceful to be around.

Stop thinking about Jack Ross, Casey. Right now.

Avery folded the paper with a snap, looked up and smiled at her.

He’s another one, she thought suddenly, a bit startled. She could tell, she wasn’t quite sure how, that Avery was not a person who smiled a lot, normally. But he seemed to smile at her quite a bit.

What does that mean?

“Ready to get out of here?” he asked her, and she realized she’d been too busy puzzling over it to remember to smile back at him. And now she was puzzled all over again.

“Why are you still here?” Mental backpedal. “Wait, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just confused.”

“Understandable. I figured I’d drive you home. Thought you might prefer that to taking a taxi. We don’t have any reason to think you’re still in danger,” he added. “Your place has been checked out and there’s no sign anyone’s been around to bother you, and the Fallons are all in custody. Still, an SCB escort home from the hospital couldn’t hurt.”

She wished he hadn’t brought up that thought. Would she always have to keep looking over her shoulder, fearing the worst?

One day at a time, she told herself.

She filled out the discharge and insurance paperwork, crossing her fingers against the hope that her insurance would endure past the loss of her job. Then she crutched out of the clinic to Avery’s car. It turned out to be a little gas-electric hybrid.

“Jack makes fun of me for this thing,” Avery remarked, putting his cane in the back. He held out his hand for her crutches and helped her stow them. “Which is hilarious coming from a man who drives something that’s basically a land boat, with gas mileage to match.”

“This seems very environmentally sensible,” she said.

“ Thank you! Finally, someone with a social conscience.”

As the small car pulled smoothly, and almost noiselessly, away from the curb, Casey looked up at the eggshell-blue sky and couldn’t hold onto her gloom. It was one of those strikingly beautiful sunny days that Seattle summers were locally famous for ( our most closely guarded secret, Wendy used to say; don’t let them know or they’ll all want to live here ).

And suddenly she wanted to do something to celebrate, even if it was only a little thing. Alcohol was off the table, contraindicated for the assorted painkillers and antibiotics that Dr. Lafitte, by way of the clinic’s tiny pharmacy, had loaded her up with. But this was, after all, Seattle ...

“Could we stop at a coffee drive-thru, please?”

She ordered the biggest, most indulgent and sugar-laden frappuccino on the menu. Avery asked for a plain latte. As the barista withdrew to make their drinks, Casey gasped in dismay.

“What’s wrong?” Avery asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine, except I don’t have any cash on me. Or credit cards. Because fucking Fallon got rid of it all.”

“It’s okay,” Avery said. “I’ll treat you.”

She hadn’t meant to ask, but—”I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“Doing what?” He looked as confused as she felt.

“Helping me. Going out of your way like this. I get that it’s your job, I guess, but buying me coffee isn’t your job.”

She felt immediately foolish. But Avery just smiled, seeming unconcerned.

“Because I want to,” he said, and passed her frap over to her.

There wasn’t much she could say to that.

They drove away from the coffee place with the windows rolled down, the warm summer breeze coming in. “I should have said thank you,” Casey said. “That’s probably more appropriate than quizzing you about your motivations.”

“You’re welcome. Although, actually, I do have a slight ulterior motive. A very tiny one.”

Casey glanced at him sideways. He’d slipped on a pair of sunglasses as soon as they’d left the clinic, which meant she couldn’t see his eyes. The wind whipped his dark hair back from his forehead. “What’s that?” she asked.

“You made a big impression on Jack,” Avery said. “So I wanted to get to know you a little bit.”

She tried to figure out if he was joking with her or not. “I don’t seem to have made much of an impression at all. He hasn’t tried to get in touch with me, or come to see me, or anything. I think it’s safe to say Jack has decided there’s nothing else we need to say to each other.”

“Yeah,” Avery said, “you’re only saying that because you didn’t hear him at the hospital, grilling me and Cho for regular status updates on you. ‘How is she doing?’ ‘Have you seen her yet?’ ‘How did she look?’ ‘Oh, no reason.’ I told him we should just make a Twitter hashtag for Casey updates, so he didn’t have to keep asking all the time.”

“Really?” Casey asked. From the heat in her cheeks, she was very much afraid she was blushing. “I mean, he really asked about me. Not—the other thing.”

“Incessantly, for him. Not that he’ll cop to it.” Avery tapped his thumbs idly on the steering wheel as he drove. “The thing about Jack is, he’s a really personable guy. He gets along well with most people, and he can really turn on the charm when he feels like it. He’s got friends everywhere—or I should say acquaintances. Mementos of his, uh ...”

“Less than savory past?” Casey asked. “He told me about that.”

Avery’s eyebrows rose above the smoked lenses of his shades. “Wow, you two did get to know each other. He doesn’t even mention to with most people.”

Casey tried not to feel pleased about it. She failed.

“But he isn’t good at taking it to the next level,” he went on. “It’s not even fear of commitment, exactly. It’s more like an instinctive pulling back. He has lots of superficial friends, but very few close ones. And he does the same thing with relationships. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be close to someone, or even commit to them for a lifetime. Actually, I think he wants it very much. He’s just absolutely terrible at it. This is your building, right?”

The car stopped. Casey looked up from contemplating her nearly empty frappuccino cup, and nodded wordlessly.

Avery unlocked the doors, but made no move to get out. Instead he sighed and looked over at her. “Look, I know you’ve got a ton of stuff to deal with, and I didn’t mean to give you more. I just felt like you might’ve got to know the social side of Jack, because that’s what he shows most people right off the bat, and then you might be thinking he’s not getting in touch because he doesn’t like you. Usually, with him, it’s kind of the opposite. The more he likes you, the harder he pulls away. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” She was surprised at just how much sense it actually did make. Because there’s something familiar about all of that, isn’t there, Casey McClaren?

“Is it okay if I get your number? I’m sure it’s in our paperwork somewhere, but I’d like to text you mine, in case you need to get in touch in a hurry.”

“ Should I need to?”

“Well, hopefully not,” Avery said. “Like I said at the hospital, we don’t believe you’re in any danger at all now. But call us immediately if you have any reason to think you are.”

Very comforting.

She told him the number. Typing into his phone, he said, “I think Cho warned you, also, that we’ll be needing your testimony against the Fallons, probably more than once as they process through the criminal justice system. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes,” she said. There were too many things to think about. Jack. The Fallons. The future.

Avery paused with his thumbs poised over the screen. “I can text you Jack’s number too, if you want it. If you think I’m being a pain in the ass, you can just say no.”

“I ... think I’d like his number very much.”

A tiny smile curled the corner of his mouth. “Will do. I’ll give you the address of his condo too, if you promise not to go all creepy stalker on his ass.”

“I promise.”

Her phone chimed. “There you go,” Avery said. “I’ve either done my good deed for the day, or ensured that Jack will be meddling with my love life until the end of time. Possibly both.”

He helped her get her crutches out of the backseat. “Want me to walk you up?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be okay.”

Casey hesitated, and then, screwing up all her courage, she did something she’d almost never done with anyone but Wendy before: she gave him a hug. His look of astonished pleasure made it totally worth it.

Then she crutched into her building quickly before he could say anything embarrassing.

One thing she hadn’t thought about was the stairs. There were two flights of them. A freight elevator in the back kept the building in technical compliance with ADA regulations, but she decided that she was going to need to tackle stairs sooner or later. The people at the clinic had showed her how to navigate stairs with crutches.

... which turned out to be easier in theory than in practice. By the time she got to the top, she was sweaty and exhausted and, god damn it, hungry again. Well, that’s what pizza delivery was for, and thankfully she always kept an emergency supply of cash in an envelope at the back of the closet, so the fact that she currently had no credit cards or ATM card wouldn’t be that much of a problem.

She unlocked her door and crutched inside. Everything was just as she’d left it: small, dark, dingy, and a little bit messy, with a faint lingering smell of cat pee from the previous tenant. Her apartment had always been more of a place to sleep than a place to live.

And she was unprepared for the awkward sense of dislocation she felt as soon as she stepped through the door. Had it really been only three days since she walked out of this place? She’d been through so much, and yet everything here was?—

—not quite the same, actually. There was a large floral arrangement in the middle of her rickety kitchen table, an extravagant explosion of tiger lilies, daisies, and other cheerful, sunny flowers.

Casey stared at it. Then she crutched carefully around it into the bedroom. The handgun was still where she’d left it, hidden in her sock drawer. She took it out and then realized she couldn’t carry it with the crutches, so she stuck it into a pocket of her sweatpants. Then she checked the closet, the bathroom, and looked out the window, before crutching over to the table and poking at the flowers.

There was a card with them. It read: Welcome home, Casey! I thought you might like something to brighten up the place. Call if you need anything. xoxo -Cho

There was a number below it.

Casey laughed aloud. Not some sort of homicidal-stalker Fallon thing. And, she thought, with the weight of the handgun heavy in her pocket, perhaps she had a little ways to go before she was all right, after all.

She looked down again at the card in her hand. Welcome-home flowers, for a complete stranger.

These people .

Standing there in the middle of her kitchen—so familiar, and so different—she finally lost the fight against tears, and she wasn’t even sure why.