“Birthday, anniversary, or apology?”
Cooper Dayton looked up from pretending to check his phone while loitering under one of the young trees that lined Ann Arbor’s streets. A large older Black woman stood, leaning against the doorway of the shop behind him. How long had she been watching him? He felt a flare of annoyance with himself when he realized he had no idea. He was distracted today. Off his game. But then, when was the last time he’d been on his game?
Cooper gave her his best confused look. “Sorry?”
She smiled knowingly at him and tilted her head at Simpson’s across the busy street, her long, beaded braids clacking pleasantly. “You’ve been standing here staring at that flower shop for fifteen minutes. So is it for her birthday or anniversary, or are you making up for a fight? Because I’ve been married for thirty-two years, and believe me, there are different bouquets for different occasions.”
Cooper smiled, relaxing slightly. “Yeah? How so?”
“Anniversary has got to be something sexy. Roses. Roses are good. Classic. Hot. If you’re married and had flowers at the wedding, add some of those. She’ll be impressed by the thought.”
“Not married.” He paused, then added, “And he’s a him.”
She simply smiled and nodded. “All right. If it’s an apology, go with his favorite flower. A lot of them.”
“I don’t know his favorite flower.” She sucked her teeth mock disapprovingly. “I’m not sure he even has one,” Cooper added defensively. “What about birthday?”
“Something that goes with the gift you got him because you better not just be walking in with some lousy flowers. So which is it?”
Cooper laughed. “What if I want to get him some flowers just because?”
She raised an eyebrow and sniffed. “Uh-huh, right. You-fucked-up-flowers it is, then.”
Cooper’s smile froze on his face and he gave a little reflexive jerk of his head. “No,” he said.
Well. Maybe.
There was, of course, that whole unwitting accomplice to a psychotic serial killer hell-bent on destroying the entire werewolf species thing four months ago. If anyone was keeping track, that definitely counted as a fuckup. But Cooper doubted there were enough flowers in the cramped corner shop across the street for an apology that size. And Sorry I almost got you killed just wouldn’t look right on one of those teensy tiny cards they stuck to bouquets.
Besides, the incident was on the list of things he and Park Did Not Talk About.
“Hmmm.” The woman eyed him knowingly. “Not an apology, you were saying?”
“No, really. What kind of flowers for just because?”
“That depends on just because what. Just because you love him?”
Cooper coughed. “Oh, well. Let’s not get crazy. What are my other options?”
She snorted. “Like that, is it? You sound like my second husband, Gary. He couldn’t handle looking like he cared either. A man like that gives daisies. Dead by the end of the work week. Don’t be a daisy man, friend.”
“I thought you said you’ve been married for thirty-two years.”
“And I was. Just not to the same man or for consecutive sentences.” She cackled. “Anyway, before you go sending messages, maybe you better figure out what it is you want to say. You better hurry up, though. Looks like they’re closing.”
Cooper followed her gaze, and sure enough, Donny Simpson was pulling the outside display of autumnal arrangements back into his shop.
“Damn it. Excuse me. Uh, thanks for the advice,” Cooper muttered.
The woman waved him on. “Just tell him how you feel and the flowers won’t matter,” she called after him as Cooper crossed the street.
Easier said than done. He wasn’t sure how he felt. He did, however, have a pretty good idea how Park was going to feel after this. Cooper checked his phone with a curse. Park was supposed to meet him here with the search warrant while Cooper made sure Donny Simpson stayed put. Only now Donny was closing shop forty-five minutes early and Park wasn’t back yet.
“Don’t go in without me,” Park had said before they’d separated.
“Then how am I supposed to intimidate and threaten innocent wolves into confessing while you’re not looking?” Cooper had replied. “I’m joking.” He’d put his hands up at Park’s grimace. If by joking he meant repeating verbatim the things his BSI colleagues said snidely about him behind his back. And to his face.
Park’s sense of humor was apparently too refined for that. “I just don’t appreciate my partner confronting a dangerous suspect on his own. So wait for me outside, okay?”
I can take care of myself. I was doing this job just fine before you. You should trust me. None of that true. Not now. But they didn’t talk about that either. “Fine. Understood.”
Park had hesitated, looking uncharacteristically unsure, and began to say something else, but Cooper cut him off, gently grabbing his arm and rubbing his thumb over the crook of Park’s elbow, his sensitive spot. “I won’t go in without you. Ollie,” he added playfully, using Park’s childhood nickname.
Park had snapped his mouth closed and blushed. Still, his expression was...troubled? Disbelieving? But thankfully he hadn’t pushed it.
And now? Cooper walked into the flower shop and a cluster of bells announced his arrival, unnecessarily, as Simpson was standing right at the front window display, unplugging the neon open sign.
“Hi there!” Cooper said brightly, and continued into the store without pause, scanning the bouquets. Park didn’t want him confronting a dangerous suspect, fine. Cooper didn’t relish the idea either. He just needed to stop Simpson from closing in order to buy Park some time. What kind of small business owner would kick out a potential paying customer?
He perused the store and made his way toward the back, letting himself imagine, just for a moment, that he really was here buying his boyfriend some just-because flowers. What would he get Park? No, what would he get Oliver? Ollie?
He smiled slowly, remembering the night they’d spent together watching movies at his place right before getting called out to Michigan for this case.
Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee once. The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, will make man or woman madly dote upon the next live creature that it sees.
Cooper had frowned at the TV, trying to follow the loopy language. “So basically he’s telling that naked kid to go get him a roofie?”
Park had punched him lightly and readjusted on the couch so that his head was in Cooper’s lap facing the TV. “It’s not a roofie, it’s Cupid’s flower. Love-in-idleness.”
“A flower that drugs you into thinking you’re in love. Uh-huh, right. So are there Athenian police in this forest or what?”
“Shh, you’re going to miss the best part.”
Cooper had shut up and run his fingers absently through Park’s hair, too relaxed to make another teasing comment. Usually a fairly hard-core movie fan—or obsessed according to a certain wolf—that night he couldn’t stop his attention from drifting away from the screen to watching Park instead, who was mouthing the occasional line along with the actors. He wondered if Park ever missed being a professor and teaching Lit classes. He was always bringing over books for Cooper to read and wanting to talk about them. Cooper hadn’t really been much of an English student, but watching Park explain them excitedly afterward and then having him listen so intently when Cooper ventured his own tentative opinion had recently given him a new appreciation for the subject.
When Park had shown up with a literal tome of Shakespeare’s plays, though, Cooper had drawn the line and suggested a compromise.
Park could pick a film adaptation of a Shakespeare play as long as he then sat through a real classic movie of Cooper’s choosing.
Cooper had to admit some of them weren’t too bad. Unfortunately, the most interesting part of this 1930s A Midsummer’s Night Dream so far was a totally wild, full-body sparkle suit. “King of the fairies is right,” Cooper had crowed. That got him another punch, but it was weak and shaking with laughter.
When the credits had finally rolled, though, Cooper was troubled. He tucked Park’s hair behind his ear, thinking. “If you knew the person you loved had fallen in love with you because of some psychedelic magic herb—” he asked hesitantly.
“Cupid’s—”
“Yeah, yeah, Cupid’s flower, oxlips, wild thyme, brier rose and eglantine, I got it. But if you knew they loved you ’cause of magic would you stay with them anyway? Keeping in mind you’re not the one who squirted Love Potion Number Nine in their eyes to begin with and curing them is not an option.”
Park had gone very still in his lap and Cooper couldn’t see his expression at this angle. Not that it would have mattered. Park had a skill for keeping secrets behind that mask of his.
“I don’t know,” Park said eventually. “I’d like to think I wouldn’t. But people are stupid in love.” Cooper snorted an agreement. “Lucky for me, magic doesn’t exist, so I don’t need to find out.”
Cooper made a noncommittal noise. But to him, the existence of magic was in the eye of the beholder. And according to his own eye, looking down at an honest-to-god werewolf drooling on his jeans, magic was a lot closer to being real than it had been a mere year ago.
Park twisted his head in Cooper’s lap so that he was looking up and wiggled his eyebrows. “Not that I need supernatural help to really appreciate a good ass.”
“Idiot.” Cooper had spanked him playfully and the evening might have gotten interesting if Santiago hadn’t called moments later about a vicious werewolf attack in Michigan.
In Simpson’s, Cooper ran his fingers gently over a bouquet of yellow roses. He wished he remembered what Cupid’s flower was actually supposed to be. Pansies, maybe? He could get some for Park. As a joke, of course. And obviously not in the middle of a brutal homicide investigation. Maybe when they got home. His home, not Park’s. Though more and more his DC apartment felt unbalanced without Park’s big body sprawled across the furniture...
Stop that. Dangerous. Don’t go there.
He let his fingers drop. He had to pay attention to the case or there was a real possibility he didn’t make it out of here at all, never mind home.
It wasn’t a sound, but a familiar prickling low on the back of his neck that told him Simpson had finally followed him back into the store. Cooper threw his hands to his heart dramatically anyway when Simpson cleared his throat right behind him.
“Oh, yikes. You startled me.”
Simpson peered unapologetically at Cooper. His faded blue eyes shifting to gray as he stepped even closer, into a shaft of late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the flowers. “We were just about to close,” Simpson said, but even he seemed unsure.
“Oh, please,” Cooper said loudly, injecting some whine into his voice. “I won’t be long—I’m on my way to my boyfriend’s house and I can’t show up without flowers. I fucked up big-time, you see, and I have it on good authority that apology flowers have to be big, and my baby deserves the biggest.” He winked at Simpson.
Simpson stared back at him, no flicker of humor or even recognition in those blank eyes. Like social interactions were something he’d learned to wait out but did not care to participate in himself, which for a shop owner couldn’t have been too lucrative. No wonder the guy had gotten mixed up with money laundering. Allegedly.
“So, uh, what kind of flowers do you recommend?”
Without looking away from Cooper, Simpson reached to his right and grabbed a small bouquet of daisies dyed—or perhaps genetically modified—bright, unnatural fall colors. The thought of giving them to Park made Cooper snort.
Don’t be a daisy man, friend.
“Uh, actually I was thinking something a bit bigger and, uh, flashier. I want it to look expensive, you know what I mean?”
Simpson studied him for a moment, then put the daisies back and walked past him toward the back of the store. Cooper trailed behind. Most of the overhead lights back here had already been shut off, and heavy plastic curtains had been rolled down, covering the coolers where the more delicate flowers were kept. Cooper noted an unmarked door tucked behind a display of ferns.
He quickly checked that his Taser, modified to take down wolves, and his gun were available and hidden at his shoulder and hip. It would be bad enough when Park found out he’d broken his promise to not approach the suspect alone. To do so unprepared...well, maybe buying some big flashy flowers wouldn’t go amiss after all. Not that Park seemed like a flowers kind of guy, all jokes aside. Nor was he technically Cooper’s boyfriend. Possibly. That too was on the list of things they did not talk about. It was a long list.
“Lilies are very popular amongst fighting couples,” Simpson said, pulling back a rubbery plastic sheet to show a couple dozen beautiful lilies.
“I have a cat.” Cooper shrugged apologetically, and couldn’t help himself from glancing over Simpson’s shoulder toward the front door. Park, where the hell are you?
“I thought these were for your boyfriend?”
“Yeah, he, uh, lives with me. And my cat.”
Simpson blinked once, slowly, looking almost like a cat himself. No, not a cat. But a predator was waking up behind his eyes. His face, however, remained eerily blank as he stepped directly into Cooper’s space, forcing him to back up against the plastic curtain. The hum of the flower cooler drowned out the noise from the street, and the delicate fragrance of lilies became choking this close, like perfume in an elevator.
“I thought you said you were on your way to your boyfriend’s place,” Simpson murmured. His hands quickly closed around Cooper’s wrists.
Fuck, Cooper thought. He should have drawn his weapon before this. He shouldn’t have let Simpson get this close. Really, truly, he should have just gone with the fucking lilies.
The four deep scars on Cooper’s belly pulled unpleasantly as his skin tightened to gooseflesh, a primitive awareness of danger kicking in too late, the memory of claws slicing flesh forever carved into his skin. He hunched in on his belly slightly as it cramped.
“Who are you?” Simpson said.
“Let go of me, man. What’s your problem?” Cooper tugged but Simpson’s grip on his wrists tightened. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t unnaturally strong yet, either. Simpson was still trying to hide what he was, which meant he didn’t suspect who Cooper was. Cooper could still fix this.
“You lied to me. Why did you come here really?” Simpson said.
“Look...” Cooper affected an embarrassed look. “I, uh, wasn’t lying about living with my boyfriend, but I’m on my way to see this, uh, other guy. And I was just being cheap and going to split the bouquet between them, get it?”
Cooper was surprised to see a flicker of disapproval escape Simpson’s blank mask, but the grip on his wrists slowly loosened and then dropped away altogether.
“Someone’s going to get hurt,” Simpson said finally.
Cooper huffed. “Yeah, me.” He held up his wrists and tried to grin.
Simpson turned and walked away toward the counter. Cooper could easily take out his Taser now. Disarm the suspect, cuff him, and wait here safely for Park to arrive with the warrant.
But that wasn’t how the BSI did things, arrest first, investigate later. Not anymore, and that was a good thing. There was an order of due process to follow.
Some pollen from a rare flower sold only in this shop had linked Simpson to the body of a man suspected of running a money-laundering scheme with an unknown partner. A partner who had torn his throat out rather than split the payday. A classic wolf kill. Simpson was a wolf. What’s more, a witness had placed Simpson’s car at the scene. That would have been more than enough to get him booked four months ago. Cooper’s last partner, Jefferson, would have Tasered and cuffed him before the bells above the door had stopped ringing.
And that’s not all Jefferson would have done.
Cooper swallowed the hot, acidic anger, guilt, and shame that threatened boil over and burn him alive there on the spot.
Follow procedure. He, more than anyone, couldn’t step out of line. So far all Simpson was officially guilty of was acting a bit weird. He couldn’t be arrested for terrible customer service.
Cooper straightened his jacket and didn’t take out his weapon. “Are you—is everything okay?”
Simpson was staring at some long-stemmed sunflowers and didn’t seem to hear Cooper’s question. He plucked a single yellow petal and rolled it between his fingertips. “I saw you,” Simpson said.
“Sorry?”
“Across the street. Watching. I know. I know who you are.” Cooper reached slowly for his badge, but Simpson continued, “He’s downstairs.”
Cooper paused, then retracted his hand, leaving his badge in his pocket. “Who? Who’s downstairs, Mr. Simpson?”
Simpson finally faced Cooper, who stumbled back in surprise. His face wasn’t a blank mask now. It was transformed with fury and pain. His irises were larger, the blue-gray bleeding out into the white as the wolf peeked through.
“Don’t fuck with me!” he screamed, and shoved a display shelf of sprays proclaiming to keep flowers alive twice as long. The bottles rolled across the floor. “I know. I’ve known for weeks, and I can’t take it anymore, okay? So just take him and—”
The discreet door behind the ferns opened and a short, burly, bald white man burst into the room. “Babe? I heard a crash. What’s—” He cut off and stared at Cooper, who stared back.
Brian Fasser. The wolf who had come forward claiming to witness a silver sedan speeding away from the scene of the crime. Donny Simpson’s car. Simpson, who Fasser had claimed not to know. He’d lied.
Cooper saw the exact moment Fasser realized he’d been recognized. Unfortunately, Cooper’s reflexes weren’t quite as fast. He was still reaching for his Taser when Fasser tackled him to the ground, pinning his arm between them.
“Brian!” Simpson shouted somewhere beyond Fasser’s snarling teeth inches from Cooper’s face. “What the hell are you doing?” And then, “Brian?” he repeated, sounding appalled as Fasser lifted his right hand and extended his claws, four-inches long, sharp as razors and strong as steel.
“Go lock the door, Donny,” Fasser said.
“What? No! Who is this?”
Fasser’s canines elongated and his eyes flicked back toward Simpson. “Just go lock the fucking do—”
Cooper slammed his head up into Fasser, feeling the sick give of his nose. Fasser bellowed, reaching instinctively for his face, and released Cooper, who bucked him off and scrambled to the side on his belly.
Fasser lunged after him, landing on Cooper’s legs while his claws tore through the side of Cooper’s jacket, snagging temporarily in the fabric. Cooper grabbed one of the fallen pesticide bottles and swung it in the direction of Fasser’s broken nose.
Fasser let out a screech, inhuman and wet. His weight disappeared from Cooper’s legs. Cooper rolled to his back, pulled out his Taser, and aimed at Fasser, who was struggling up to his knees while protectively covering his bloody, disjointed nose.
“Hands above your head!” Cooper said. “Weapons away!”
Fasser slowly put his hands up. His claws retracted, though his eyes were still all brown, no white, and shimmered a bit in the dim light of the shop.
Simpson, standing in place in shock, seemed to rouse himself and stumbled forward as if to stand between Cooper and Fasser.
“Sir, I need you to stay where you are,” Cooper said without looking away from Fasser, whose eyes narrowed. Cooper could practically see him smell an opportunity. He didn’t doubt Fasser would sacrifice Simpson if it provided the distraction he needed to escape. Whatever other issues Park and he had, these two made them look like relationship goals.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this to us?” Simpson choked.
Cooper tried to keep his voice calm and soothing. Just because Simpson was too shocked to be threatening now didn’t mean he couldn’t rip Cooper apart the minute Cooper tried to take out Fasser. He was a wolf, too. Stronger, faster and deadlier than Cooper on his best day. And this, quite clearly, was not turning out to be his best day. “My name is Special Agent Dayton and I’m with the BSI.” He ignored Simpson’s sharp gasp. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mr. Simpson, so I need you to back up against the far wall while I cuff Mr. Fasser here on suspicion of murder.”
“No,” Simpson said confidently. “Brian would never—”
“Brian killed a man and tried to set you up to take the fall.”
“No,” Simpson repeated, and took another step forward. Out of the corner of his eye, Cooper saw Simpson’s claws extending slowly. “You’re lying.”
“Think about it, Mr. Simpson. How do you think I got here? How do you think Brian recognized me? He’s been using your store to launder money, not caring that it could be traced back to you. He ripped out his business partner’s throat and then claimed to see your car leaving the crime.”
“Don’t listen to him, babe. The BSI just wants any excuse to round us all up and put us down.”
“Shut up, Fasser,” Cooper said. “Mr. Simpson, you know I’m telling the truth. You suspected Brian was lying about something, didn’t you? But you thought he was cheating on you, right? That’s why you were so suspicious of me before? Well, this is what he was hiding. Why else would he have attacked me just now? Just let me cuff him and we can figure it all out.”
“No,” Simpson repeated, though he sounded less sure now. Still, he took another step forward, effectively blocking Fasser.
Cooper tried to shift quickly, still on the floor, but almost too fast for his eyes to see, Fasser slammed his hands into the back of Simpson’s knees and his claws shot out, slicing through jeans and into skin. He then sprang to his feet in one fluid motion, too smooth to be human. Simpson howled and toppled over toward Cooper, who rolled out of the way just in time.
He fired his Taser at the now-standing Fasser from below. Fasser was back on the ground without a sound, unmoving and unconscious. A blessing, in Cooper’s opinion, considering the Taser prongs stuck to his groin. Cooper hurriedly cuffed Fasser’s hands behind his back while he could.
“Brian!” Simpson yelled, and scrambled toward his boyfriend.
“He’s fine. He’s just unconsciou—” Cooper began, putting a hand to Simpson’s shoulder and was promptly knocked onto his back with Simpson sitting on his chest, teeth fully extended and irises dilated to a full luminous blue.
Idiot, your boyfriend set you up. Twice, Cooper wanted to say, but with Simpson’s claws pricking at his shoulders, through his jacket, he decided calling the guy an idiot was not his best bet.
“Donny, don’t do this. It’s over. You don’t have to go down with him.”
Simpson took a deep breath somewhere between a snarl and a sob. “Why did he drag me into this? Why couldn’t he just talk to me? Why couldn’t he just tell me he didn’t love me anymore?”
“I don’t know,” Cooper said softly. Simpson’s hands relaxed their grip until they were just resting against Cooper’s chest.
“Did he really hate me that much?” Simpson’s voice cracked like it was too thick with tears, snot, and hurt to fit in his throat.
Cooper shook his head, reaching slowly for Simpson’s wrists. “I don’t—”
There was a flash of movement to Cooper’s right, and then Simpson disappeared with a sharp whimper, knocked off his chest by a blur too fast to be anything but another wolf. Cooper scrambled for his gun and turned to see Simpson pinned to the floor with a man kneeling on his back, ass waving in the air and cuffing Simpson’s hands.
Cooper left his gun holstered and flopped back on the floor with a sigh. He knew that ass. Knew it very well indeed.
“Cutting it a bit close,” Cooper said.
He heard a huff. “Our Bat signals must have gotten crossed. I could have sworn we said we’d meet outside.”
Park loomed into Cooper’s field of vision. Despite his light tone, Park’s face was not amused. His eyes were lighter than usual, a golden brown near-glowing themselves, and the corners were tense and wrinkled. He looked older than when they’d first met, Cooper realized, and far more tired. Perhaps that was what happened after four months of being partnered with Cooper did to a person. Or perhaps that was what happened after four months of...whatever their personal relationship was.
“I know there’s a lot of green stuff in here, so it can get confusing, but this is actually inside.” Park held his hand out. Cooper grasped it and was pulled to standing. “You’re bleeding.” Park frowned, reaching tentatively toward Cooper’s face.
“No, I’m not,” Cooper protested, and ran an exploratory hand over his face. Nothing hurt, but when he examined his hand, sure enough, there were smears of blood there. “Fasser must have snorted on me. Charming.”
“Who?”
Cooper gestured toward Fasser, just beginning to shake off the effects of the Taser. “Our killer, I think. He was going to blame poor Donny, his boyfriend, for everything.”
Park didn’t even bother looking over at Fasser. Just raised an eyebrow and pulled Cooper toward him so he could inhale the side of his neck, something he seemed to do whenever he didn’t believe Cooper wasn’t injured. “Poor Donny? When I walked in he was on top of you.”
“He was just talking.”
“On top of you?”
“Like you can judge.” Cooper caught a hint of smile against his throat.
“With his teeth out?” Park murmured.
“I tend to have that effect on people.”
Park stiffened and pulled away enough for Cooper to see his frown. “You really do. Which is why you should have waited for me.”
“They were closing early. If I had waited, we might not have made the Fasser connection in time.”
“You should have—”
Cooper pulled out of Park’s grasp, putting some space between them. “I had it under control, Agent Park.”
Park opened and shut his mouth, biting off whatever he planned to say. He looked away from Cooper. “Fine. Are you calling it in or am I?”
Cooper didn’t have many fans in the bureau. He’d lost a lot of credibility after his last partner had taken a one-way trip to maximum security. Today, with two injured wolves on the scene, plenty of people would expect Cooper to try and keep his name away from a potential clusterfuck like this. Park was giving him that choice. Offering to take care of him. Which was exactly why he couldn’t take it.
“I got this,” Cooper said. He turned away so he didn’t have to see Park’s expression of doubt.