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“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” He lifted a brow, pulling away from her.
“They wouldn’t believe you,” she shot back. “It was a survival strategy. Nothing more.”
He grinned. “Keep telling yourself that.” He rounded the table to the far side again, taking a seat. “So what’s it going to be, Princess? You ready to give me some more information so you can get out of here? Or would you prefer to deal with Chet?”
She wrinkled her nose. “God, is that really his name?”
Jace nodded. “Unfortunate, isn’t it?”
Princess eyed him for a long moment like she was trying to assess which was the bigger threat, him or the unknown behind the two-way mirror. “My pack is aware of these killings,” she said finally, “and we know that if you don’t find this monster soon, we’re going to get the blowback. I was trying to help, to catch him myself. It’s our jurisdiction. That’s it.”
“So that’s still your story?”
She nodded. “And I’m sticking to it.”
“Care to share a name to go with that statement?”
“I already told you. Francesca.”
“Sure.” He nodded. He didn’t believe that was her real name for a second. It didn’t suit her. But he’d go with it. For now. “And a last name?”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to give you that. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not anytime soon.”
Jace blew out a long sigh. “You know that doesn’t exactly look good, right?”
“You know what else doesn’t exactly look good, that you’re holding me with nothing to charge me on? How about I call Maverick Grey and tell himthat?”
Jace shuffled the file folder. “Per the North American Free Species Agreement, we have twenty-four hours to do exactly that. And which do you think will matter more? A deal with us that keeps Maverick Grey’s own protected or the fate of a she-wolf who’s not even his pack?”
“You’re the expert in wolf shifters,” she quipped. “You tell me.” She leaned back in her seat. “Better hope it’s not species before treaties.”
The way she said “tree-ties” it made the phrase rhyme.
It was a smart counter, and Jace would have said as much, but suddenly, the door to the interrogation room flew open and Chet stepped inside. His gaze fell toward Jace, his face beat red, and from the look of rage there, he hadn’t exactly found the jokes about his name humorous.
Chet sneered. “Get out.”
Jace glanced back toward the she-wolf. “Warned you it was going to come to that.”
He stood then, reluctantly yielding his chair, only for Damon to poke his head inside the room with a sour-faced grumble. “Jace’s stays.” Chet opened his mouth to protest, but Damon cut him off. “Protocol.”
In other words, Chet wasn’t remotely qualified to be in on this interview, and they all knew that.
“Fuck protocol,” Chet shot back. “Who do you think is in charge here, Brock?”
If Chet wasn’t so full of overinflated ego, the icy look Damon gave the region lead would have made him shiver. For a long beat, Damon glared at Chet, refusing to close the door until finally he nodded for Jace to follow him out.
Jace shook his head. No way. He wouldn’t buck the rules.
Not for Chet.
His region lead turned toward the she-wolf, ignoring Jace like he'd already been dismissed. The world seemed to still then, as if it were in slow motion. The moment Chet’s eyes locked on Francesca, Jace watched as a flicker of dark amusement filled the other man’s gaze, and for a moment, Jace was no longer in the interrogation room.
Instead, he was a child again. Alone and hiding in the shadows. Back in that too small dingy kitchen with the patterned linoleum tile that curled and cracked at the edges from age. Back to one of too many times when his asshole father had gripped his mother by her hair, until her cries shook through him. Filled him with fear.
His father had looked at his mother in that same way then. Like she was nothing. Like he could use her for his own twisted games. For his own fucked amusement. Jace had been too young, too weak and powerless to stop him then.
