Page 50 of License to Kill

“Dare I ask why you’re making so many paper airplanes?”

“They are a reflection of my opinion.”

“About?”

“Reading paperwork I’ve read countless times before.” I scanned the next page, folded it up, and sent it on a pitifully short flight before it crashed to the floor.

“Find anything interesting?”

“Nothing new. Should I find something, I’ll let you know.”

The Thomas trio stayed put, staring at me while I worked. Their scrutiny annoyed me, and after I made five more planes, I clenched my teeth. “What is it?”

Jake sighed. “I don’t know about them, but I’m a bit surprised you didn’t need a nudge back to human after being a fox for so long.”

Maybe if they hadn’t written me off as an inferior species unworthy of their pack and lives, they’d know more about me. Then again, had I been included in their lives rather than excluded, I may not have figured out the trick to shifting without help. I shrugged and scanned over the next page to confirm there was nothing new.

I crumpled it and chucked it into my airplane fleet.

“The last ten pages contain the material you haven’t read yet,” Pauline offered, dodging around my airplanes on her way towards the kitchen.

If the FBI had only gotten ten new pages since I had walked out of Jake’s home, then the case was either dead in the water or they didn’t trust me with all of the material. I suspected both, as the file on the warehouse hostage situation probably had at least fifty pages dealing with me and Amelia storming the building alone.

It didn’t surprise me, nor did it bother me all that much.

I had no intention of returning to the FBI in any of its branches, and I couldn’t have cared less if the group came and finished what they had started in London. The missing pages made no difference to me.

Trust was a two-way street, and since I had no intentions of working at it, I held no expectations anyone else did, either. When would they figure it out and let me move on?

“People at work have been asking about you,” Jake said, picking his way across the living room to flop onto his father’s armchair.

“How many of them are in your pack?”

“Most of them,” he confessed.

“They’ll just have to wonder, then. As soon as I’m out of here, I’ll be finding work as far outside of the scope of the FBI as possible.” I almost said humanly, but I wasn’t human anymore and never would be again.

“What do you want to do?”

I shrugged. Returning to my mountain and the den I had left behind seemed like the best idea to me, although I understood I couldn’t. Jake knew where it was. I’d have to find a new place to call my own.

I’d pick a boring, tedious job that paid well enough to get by and be satisfied with it.

“We could really use you.”

I had heard those words before, spoken by the CARD team that had delegated me to serve as the anchor of a sinking ship. “I find that highly unlikely.”

“It’s true.”

“Nothing has changed, Jake. We’re still through. I’m only here because none of you will let me leave. I’m not stupid. If you had actually needed me, you wouldn’t have discarded me when I was no longer convenient. If you had actually needed me, you wouldn’t have relegated me to basic support. Been there, done that. Didn’t like the ride, so I’m not getting back on again. Find someone else who has a single fuck to give, because it’s not me.”

One week later, I got my wish. Either Jake’s parents had tired of my unwillingness to bend or someone had convinced Jake the only way for me to move on was to move on, but I had the keys to an apartment in New York City and a bus ticket to get there.

It hurt him, but I refused to change my mind. Maybe one day I would reconsider.

If he were wise, he wouldn’t hold his breath.

In an agreement I loathed but had no choice about, I ended up with a conditional pension. As long as I made myself available if someone needed to ask me questions, I’d receive a monthly payment sufficient to cover my expenses if I pinched pennies and took care. In what I classified as a victory, I managed to convince them to communicate by email.