Page 88 of Frank's Felon
“There’s more, if you’re sure you want to hear it,” Damien said.
“All of it.”
“Liam suggested I bribe people, except I didn’t have Drake’s network. Wasn’t even sure where to start. Nonetheless, I went to Drake.”
Damien had been desperate. Going to Drake was always a last straw.
“Let’s just say nothing ever worked. By your fourth year, we even considered taking WSSO members as hostages, if we could locate the right people. By this point your dad was really sick.”
While he was in prison, Frank had thought about his dad often. He had always held out hope that he'd see him again, despite the fact that his health had been failing. None of the few letters that had reached Frank had mentioned his dad, but Takara told him later on what she had transcribed for his dad in those missing letters, at least most of what she could remember over five years. His dad had never given up, but he hadn’t been able to hold on either. He died a year before Frank’s release.
“The last time I saw your dad was the day before he died. He was afraid we’d do something to screw up your release. He begged me to walk away, to let you finish the last year. He made me promise, Frank. How could I admit to you that I did finally give up on you, because of your dad? I didn’t want you blaming him.”
Frank set the beer down and slowly rose. The pain, the resentment, the anger were gone, replaced by a numbness that he didn’t know how to handle. “I need to think,” Frank said, as he headed for the door.
As he gripped the handle, he looked back at what was left of the living room, and then his eyes wandered up the stairs to the railing of the second level. He kept expecting to see Delilah walk out of Tess’s bedroom, her fiery red hair bouncing as she faced him and graced him with a devilish smile.
The last memory he had was of her tucking her hair behind her ear. He had missed the tell. He should have noticed it before, but it was just as well. He would have known something was up, and he would have interfered. It was better this way. Let Sloan come for him; he’d keep an eye on Sloan and make sure the agent gave up on Delilah altogether. Frank would never be with his Delilah again, but she was free, and that was all that mattered.
“Thank you, Damien, for everything. For what you did in the past, for me, my dad, and for Delilah. Especially for letting Delilah go.”
“Oh, she’s not gone, Frank. Not entirely.”
Frank whirred around to face his alpha.
“I did what you asked of me, Frank. I gave her a chance to prove who she is.”
“Where is she, Damien?”
That annoying grin of Damien’s, the one that said this wasn’t over, surfaced. “Delilah’s showing Agent Sloan what it means to be a shifter.”
Chapter Nineteen
DELILAH
Delilah sat in the overstuffed leather chair. It was comfortable, but not as luxurious as snuggling on Frank’s lap. Her wolf snapped at her, reminding her to get her mind back on business. One of these days she and her wolf needed to have a heart-to-heart about manners.
The door creaked open and Agent Sloan punched in the alarm code. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he stilled.
Delilah hadn’t moved. Wasn’t even breathing. The house was pitch black, except for a sliver of streetlight peeking through the window. She was cast in the shadows though, no way he could see her. But he sensed her and for a brief moment Delilah wondered if Sloan was part shifter himself, even though his scent carried no trace of shifter. Then again, half shifters presented in different ways than pure shifters.
“Fifteen degrees left, eleven feet out, angle two feet down. . . if you intend to shoot to kill,” Delilah said. “I’d prefer you don’t shoot at all, however,”
The light snapped on. As expected, Sloan’s gun was aimed straight at her.
“I got tired of waiting outside, and this is more private that your office downtown,” she said, pulling her legs up onto the chair, all casual like. The chair was starting to grow on her.
Sloan edged his way along the wall, putting more distance between them.
“Right now, you’re wondering how many bullets it will take to put me down. The answer’s easy. One to the head or heart, just like a human.”
“I know your limitations.”
“Some perhaps. Not all.” Delilah rose, slowly, headed to the dining room where she grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl sitting on the table. “Hope you don’t mind. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Go right ahead.”
“You want to call in backup while I eat?” she asked as she started to peel the orange. The clean citrus scent of orange filled the air. For a moment, she was thrown back into a memory of Frank’s hand on her lower back, resting there as she peeled an orange in the cookhouse.
