Chapter 2
MIKA
I was still tired on Monday morning after Bruce's joint bachelor-bachelorette party. My former neighbor and his bride-to-be partied late into Sunday morning with us. Afterward, I'd slept through most of the day and lay awake at all hours of the night, staring at the time on my phone.
I couldn't stop thinking about the beaming couple.
Bruce looked so fucking pleased. I wanted that for myself someday, somebody who made me happy but who also did their own thing.
Becca left Bruce with their loving group of friends at the first nightclub and ran off to get a tattoo of his animal, a wolf.
The only disappointing part about that: she took the cutest omega at the shindig with her. When she came back, she said he'd felt sick after the tattoo session and went home, which sucked. I'd wanted to get to know him better.
I didn't have time to worry about missed chances. After lazing on Sunday and staring at my ceiling most of the night, I had a court appearance first thing Monday morning. If traffic hadn't eased up a little, I would be late. I fucking hated being late.
Thank all the gods, I found a spot near the parking ramp stairs.
I had no patience for the elevator. I ran down the steps two at a time and crossed the street before the lights started blinking to let me pass.
I met up with my coworkers and our lawyers outside the courtroom with minutes to spare.
We didn't have time for anything beyond greetings before the bailiff opened the courtroom door.
"Sonoma County versus Northwestern Geothermal Excavating," the judge began. "May the record show today is the second day of testimony for the defense. Ms. Haskins, you may call your first witness."
I hated days like these. I would much rather develop plans for the next big geothermal plant from my office. Better yet, I would rather work in the field, confirming our blueprints fit the terrain.
Though I loved my job, sometimes we came up against citizens who didn't want us digging in their backyard, or who wanted more money before they sold their prized land.
Today's lawsuit was over eminent domain, something I would have understood if the land wasn't already almost uninhabitable.
The lack of rainfall in the last few years had made it all dry scrub brush and bare rock.
It was perfect for a geothermal plant, but trying to grow anything else on it was far-fetched at best. As the environmental engineer on the project, my only concern was endangered-species habitat, but we planned to build miles from the nearest one (a type of forest fern).
After calling a few belligerent landowners on the first day, the prosecution had rested.
Then, it was our turn. Friday's testimony had been our partners with the state energy board.
Today, our contract negotiator was called to the stand.
Then, our vice president, Shannon, who had garnered all the permits, including the ones from the witnesses.
Then it was my turn to explain why we had chosen this land to build our energy plant.
It seemed strange to be sued by the county when the state had asked us to build the facility in the first place, but I wasn't a legal expert.
While the bailiff swore me in, I got a better look at the court stenographer and sketch artist. This case had garnered some attention in the news. I only hoped I wasn't the subject of a sketch on tonight's local broadcast.
The two court employees couldn't have been more different.
The stenographer sat prim and polished, her red-lacquered nails poised over the keyboard while she waited for me to take my seat.
Her brown skin shone with care, her sleek brown hair curled into a bun at her nape, and her tailored plum suit hugged her curves.
Beside her, the sketch artist's pencil flew, shaking his explosion of blond curls into his pale face and rumpling his dress shirt more with each line.
He looked familiar. Was he the cute omega from this weekend, Becca's best friend? I hadn't caught his name before she whisked him away to get tattoos.
The courtroom was already stuffy from the desert heat, and his rolled sleeves revealed fresh, full-color ink on his arm. A tail wrapped around his wrist, and dainty hind feet peeked beneath the white linen, but the distance kept me from telling the animal's type.
Haskins asked me the softball questions that began all court testimony, and I yanked my attention back where it belonged. I focused on giving clear and concise answers, but my tie felt too tight. I loosened it a notch and shook my shoulders while waiting for the next question.
It was about the design plans. I let my enthusiasm for the project shine through, giving Haskins a smile before launching into the specifics of the dig and how much energy we would pump directly from the earth.
She then asked why we'd chosen the site. I detailed our ideal spot to build and why this was one of the best. She stopped me occasionally to define words for the court, but otherwise let me talk. When I finished my testimony, she gave me a nod and a grin, her highest compliment.
The artist flipped the page in his notebook when the lawyer said, "No further questions, Your Honor." His pencil flew across the paper without stopping, and he never lifted his gaze from the sketch.
The prosecutor cleared his throat, drawing my attention away from the artist. Cross-examination was harder, but I told the truth without embellishment. He had only a dozen questions, and then it was over.
Haskins was still smiling: a good sign. She asked me a few follow-up questions on redirect, and then she rested our case.
The judge dismissed the court for lunch before closing arguments. When I looked up from our table, the sketch artist was nowhere to be found. I tried to catch a glimpse of his blond curls in the hallway outside, but either he blended in or went another way.
We walked to the food truck parked down the street from the courthouse and ordered sandwiches. Several wooden picnic tables sat in the building's shade, and they were starting to fill up. I snagged an empty table while I waited for the others.
Haskins scarfed down her meal while the rest of us munched leisurely on our chips and savored every bite of delicious sandwiches. We rarely took an hour for lunch.
True to her billable hours, Haskins went over her case notes while the rest of us ate. "We've got them on the run," she said after a few moments. "If you all would stay for closing arguments, I'll remind them to remember your testimony over that of the disgruntled landowners."
The prosecution had argued more against renewable energy than for their land. The case, and their testimony, seemed politically motivated to me. I was glad I wasn't our lawyer, having to try these cases all over the Pacific Northwest.
She was good, though. When we returned to the courtroom, she made a point-by-point counterargument to the prosecution's case in her closing statement. The jury responded to her passion and left the room with their heads held high.
"Are we sticking around for the verdict?" Shannon asked.
"Either they'll have it within the hour, or it will take days," Haskins said.
"Drinks at the bar down the street!" Shannon shouted so loudly that the sketch artist lifted his gaze from his sketchbook to glare at us.
I didn't like to day drink, but we weren't returning to the office either way. It would be at least an hour before I got behind the wheel and drove back to my apartment.
Even when I stayed at my own place six nights out of seven, I didn't think of it as home. I loved the hustle and bustle of Costa Diablo, but I missed our clan. Home would always be ten miles east of town, where my family lived. At the bar, I raised a glass to them, and my coworkers drank with me.
Our compound butted up against a nature reserve.
We were the largest meerkat shifter family in North America, so large that they didn't need me to stick around.
I'd always known my fate called from beyond our homes and tunnels.
I couldn't explain it exactly, but when I'd described it to my mom, she said it was the drive toward my fated mate.
"You'll find your mate on the outside and bring them back to us," she'd said.
That drive had been stronger than ever since Saturday night. Now, I felt as if invisible strings tugged me back toward the courthouse. The shot of whiskey didn't take the edge off, even when I chased it with a beer.
Haskins got the call an hour and a half later. "Verdict's in."
Shannon was a little unstable on her four-inch heels. I steadied her with an arm around her shoulder until we returned to our seats. Then, we waited in silence for the jury.
The stenographer and sketch artist were already seated at their table. For once, the artist's pencil remained down. He'd slicked his hair back during the break, too. I missed the sheer bouncy volume, but it was easier to focus on his smoky blue eyes, slightly upturned nose, and plump lips.
I was staring. Taking my seat, I scanned the room for something, anything, to hold my attention until I felt his gaze on me. Then, I glanced up and grinned.
His eyes widened, and he looked down at his sketchpad. A deep blush spread across his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. I followed his gaze down to the tabletop, where his crossed arms rested, his sleeves shoved halfway to his elbows.
The tattoo on his left arm was definitely a meerkat. Its belly markings looked a lot like mine when I shifted. It sounded ridiculous, but what shifter hadn't stood before a full-length mirror to catch a glimpse of their other self?
There it was again, the pull of longing in my chest. Thankfully, before I hopped out of my seat to go talk to him, the jury returned, and he lifted his pencil to begin again.
It was over in an instant. After the pomp and circumstance of the verdict reading, my mind reeled. They'd decided for us, the defendants. Even with our flawless testimony, I'd expected them to rule for the landowners.
"Looks like we'll be building that geothermal plant within our timeline." Shannon patted me on the back. "Good work, Mears."
"I can't take all the credit."
"No, but your testimony called upon the jury to find their sense of the greater good." Haskins grinned. "Without you, closing arguments would have been much harder."
I shrugged off their praise and motioned for the rest of our team to lead the way out. At the door, the insistent invisible string pulled tight, tugging me back into the room. With most of the bystanders outside, each step echoed on my way to the sketch artist's table.
He was still seated. The stenographer gave him a curt, "See you tomorrow," and dashed to the exit the bailiff and judge had used.
"Good to see you again," I said, offering my most disarming smile.
From this distance, his blue eyes sparkled, the light catching on the lighter streaks of bluish-gray. "I didn't catch your name this weekend."
Thank the gods, he remembered me. It would have been super awkward if he hadn't.
"It's Mika Mears." I'd stated it for the court less than two hours ago, but who knew if he heard it. He'd been so intent on his sketches.
"Mika Mears," he repeated.
Our last name was a little on the nose, but our ancestors had moved to the United States without knowing what a surname was or why we needed one. We were lucky they didn't tack "cat" onto the end.
"I'm Gabe Edwards," he said, extending his right hand to me. Too bad the tattoo was on his left arm. I wanted to examine it, to see if the strings pulling me ever closer to Gabe were visible or only in my imagination.
When we touched, an electric current ran up my arm. I'd never felt anything like it.
"Come have a drink with me," I blurted before my common sense could kick in. Maybe I'd had more to drink than I thought. I didn't ask strange men to bars, not even the cute ones.
"Me? Why?" The instant blush across his pale cheeks sent me into protective mode, even if I was the one who had embarrassed him.
"I want to know more about you." I was still holding his hand. I loosened my grip, not wanting to let him go. "So, um, how do you know Bruce?" Not my best opening question. I wished Haskins had prepped me for this conversation, too.