Chapter Two
The metro swayed unexpectedly and Cooper cursed when he almost dropped his coffee. The caffeine was veritable nectar at this time of day and he didn’t have time to buy a replacement cup. A woman sitting nearby gave him a sympathetic look and nod. Her heels were a little too shiny and her shirt a little too rumpled to be heading anywhere but home this early on a Sunday morning. Cooper was dressed in a crisp suit, but without a tie on he looked less business, more wine bar, and she clearly thought they were in the same boat.
I wish, Cooper thought. But he gave her a friendly and hopefully commiserating nod back. He’d rather be trudging home from a one-night stand than rushing in to work on a Sunday feeling underdressed and underprepared. Or, more accurately, rushing in late to a mysterious last-minute work meeting on a Sunday with a coffee-stained tie stuffed in his pocket.
Cooper tried to get the coffee cup to his mouth without letting go of the metro pole or dropping his breakfast sandwich and fancy new briefcase, a ridiculous impulse buy he regretted now as it kept slipping from under his arm. The metro jostled again and a little bit of coffee splashed down his chin and spotted his button-down. A scruffy-looking, possibly homeless man sitting nearby smirked at him and Cooper scowled back. God, could this day be over now?
It was a miracle he’d gotten himself this far by this time considering the amount of wine he’d drunk last night, not expecting to need a functioning brain until Monday.
But Special Agent in Charge Santiago, his direct supervisor, had phoned early that morning, waking Cooper and demanding he come in for an emergency meeting with her and Director Furthoe regarding a new case.
“And Dayton,” she’d said. “Get here a little early. I need to talk to you beforehand.”
Cooper had garbled his assurance that he would try, though God knew if that’s what came out. During the night the wine had grown fur, birthed a litter and dug out a nice little two-story burrow between his mouth and the back of his skull. A little early? He’d be lucky if he was on time at all. The metro was surprisingly crowded for a Sunday morning. There were small groupings of chattering young people, men with the sort of facial hair usually seen on 1800s weightlifters and women in an excess of headbands, all holding posters. Hipsters in D.C. for some march or another.
Cooper tentatively let go of the pole to begin unwrapping his breakfast. He thought he’d have time to stop outside the office to eat, but that wasn’t going to happen. The train slowed suddenly to make a stop and he stumbled forward into a tall, broad-shouldered man standing with his back to him. The man was very warm and solid against Cooper’s chest. A wall of muscle that immediately tensed, and Cooper quickly pushed himself backward.
“Sorry,” Cooper muttered. The guy didn’t turn around, and if he said anything in return it was lost in the sounds of the opening doors and turnover of passengers. A mother with a stroller moved to stand behind Cooper, and he reluctantly inched closer to the man again, whose posture had not relaxed. Cooper was close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from the guy’s suit jacket. He had a pleasant smell that reminded Cooper weirdly of Passover and playing with his cousins and brother Dean on his grandparents’ dirt lawn. That peculiar mix of spring soil and the fresh, clean linen of his boyhood “fancy” clothes. The rich scent of fresh growth, earth and man.
Cooper cleared his throat, embarrassed at the tingle of heat that raced down his body. Had it really been so long that he was huffing on some guy like a train car pervert? Christ, Dayton, pull it together.
He stepped back as much as the stroller behind him allowed and the broad lines of the man’s back relaxed a bit. Cooper went back to unwrapping his breakfast.
The scruffy seated man was still watching him. He had that semi-twitchy, self-reflective look that many people who’ve spent a lot of their time alone do, but at the moment he was eyeing Cooper’s breakfast sandwich with a detached sort of interest. As Cooper watched, the man inhaled deeply and sniffed the air. Cooper’s first absurd thought was he was also admiring the intoxicating smell of the broad-shouldered man.
Then he wondered if the scruffy guy could be a wolf.
There was a glint in the man’s eyes that could almost be described as wild. Or desperate.
Cooper’s gut tightened painfully and the four thick scars running down his lower belly tingled. His hands dropped automatically to cover them.
When the doctors told him they’d had to remove six and a half feet of eviscerated small intestine, Cooper had thought life as he knew it was over. He saw IVs and colostomy bags, leaving the job he’d worked his whole adult life to get and never being allowed to chew his own food again. But apparently six and half feet meant he still had around seventy percent of his small intestine left. He was on nutritional IVs for a few horrible days, but after that, with some changes in diet and an adjustment period of about a year, he was expected to be back to his previous level of function.
“The body is an amazingly resilient thing,” his doctor had said. “Just take care of yourself and don’t go losing any more intestine. You don’t have a lot left to spare.” She’d laughed like that was unlikely to happen. So had he. That was before he’d joined the BSI and learned he was surrounded by people who could constantly take out the rest of his gut without blinking an eye.
And his doctor thought a trip to the therapist could fix him.
The man sniffed again, gaze lowered, and sighed. Cooper looked down at his sandwich and kicked himself. Of course the guy was just picking up the smell of fresh bagels, tomato and melted cheese on egg. This job was making Cooper see things. Again.
The train slowed to a stop and his briefcase slipped from under his arm to the floor.
“Shit,” he said, and then added, “Sorry,” to the frowning mother behind him. He scrambled to collect his case, which had continued to slide under the seat of a clueless young woman in a painted T-shirt. Damn it, and this was his stop, too.
If Dad or Dean could see him now, they’d say it was his own fault for having such a hoity-toity bag. Who do you think you are, James Bond? More like Maxwell Smart.
Of course, if they saw how flustered he was from smelling some man, they’d have a whole lot more to say and it wouldn’t be at all funny.
“’Scuse me,” Cooper muttered to the young woman who eyed him with distaste. He scooped up his briefcase from under her, turned and shoved the uneaten sandwich at the scruffy man, ignoring the tightening in his gut. “Hey, do you want this?” The guy eyed it suspiciously. “I didn’t eat it. I don’t have time—” The doors were going to close and he shook the sandwich. “Yes?”
The man took it delicately and Cooper ran for the closing doors. If he missed his stop he could forget about being even fashionably late for this meeting.
“Wait. Hold the door please.” He shoved past a few yawning, dead-eyed people. “Hold the—”
The doors were abruptly prevented from closing by a broad shoulder. The guy who had been standing in front of Cooper before leaned casually against them, looking more appealing from the front than he had from the back, and that was saying something.
He had dark chestnut hair that, despite the fashionable suit, was a little too long for a businessman but a little too short to be one of the hipsters. Too old for that, too. Cooper’s age or a little older. No hipster mustache either. His rather square, masculine face was clean-shaven, his skin a warm honey brown just a few shades lighter than his eyes, an odd amaretto color.
He was looking at Cooper with open curiosity, and when Cooper’s roaming gaze finally met his, the man gave him a crooked, closed-mouth grin. Cooper stiffened at being so obviously caught out, but the man just continued to watch him smiling and then tilted his head questioningly. Cooper realized he’d been standing there like an idiot for too long.
“Uh, thank you,” Cooper said, and he almost blushed at how warm his voice sounded.
The man hummed politely in response, which Cooper could practically feel as a vibration under his skin as he brushed past him to get out of the metro. The platform was crowded, so they walked side by side toward the exit to street level.
Say something to him, Cooper thought. Say anything at all. But he was horrible at this. Couldn’t tell when men might be interested in him, didn’t know what to say when they were. He was an actions-over-words type of guy, and the metro stairs was no place for getting any action.
He glanced to the side and was surprised to catch the man still looking at him. Cooper made a startled, nervous sort of noise that was something between an exhale and an awkward laugh, and came out like a honking sound.
Okay, say anything but that.
He’d missed his chance anyway. They’d reached the street, which was even more crowded with young marchers with signs than below. Cooper paused before pushing into the crowd and so did the man. “Well,” Cooper said. He jerked his hand up in a little wave and immediately spilled coffee on himself, burning his skin.
“Aw, shit,” he muttered, embarrassed, and stared stupidly at the rapidly cooling liquid soaking into his cuff, his briefcase in one hand and his cup in the other. His fuzzy brain struggled to decide what to do. If he put the cup down on the ground, what were the chances of it not getting knocked over?
“I wouldn’t risk it,” the man said, watching him with barely contained amusement. “If I were you,” he added pointedly but smiled to take the edge off and pulled a paper napkin out of his suit pocket. “May I?” He dabbed at Cooper’s wrist. Cooper froze, surprised, and concentrated on not spilling more on the both of them. The man’s fingers dipped just inside the cuff and tickled the hair on his arm.
Cooper’s breath hitched. He cleared his throat hastily and said, “This really hasn’t been my day.”
“You know, I thought the same thing this morning. But mine just recently started to turn around.” The man looked at him from under his eyelashes. “Perhaps yours will too...?” He smiled at Cooper and seemed to be waiting for something.
“Ah, Cooper. Cooper Dayton. I’d shake your hand but then I might not have any coffee left.” He took a deep, fortifying breath and added, “Maybe we can save that shake for another time.”
A strange expression flickered across the man’s face. Surprise and, to Cooper’s sudden and painful discomfort, something like disappointment. “Maybe.” He pulled his hand away and his gaze didn’t quite meet Cooper’s as he looked distractedly over Cooper’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said abruptly, and pushed into the crowd. Despite the man being so broad and tall he quickly managed to melt between the people and disappear while Cooper’s hand still hovered, outstretched stupidly in the air.
Right. Okay then. Message received. That was...fine. Cooper stared into the crowd where he’d disappeared and squeezed the cup so tightly the top popped off, splashing him again. This time the coffee felt just lukewarm against his skin, flushed with embarrassment and rejection.
“Idiot,” he said to himself, for more reasons than one. He tossed the pathetic remains into the nearest trash, wiped his hand viciously on his briefcase and shoved into the crowd. His shirt cuff felt cold, sticky and wet on his wrist, a caffeine headache was setting in and he was still blocks away and already late to the meeting.
Perhaps the man was right and his day would get better after all, Cooper thought dryly. Because right then he didn’t see how it could get worse.
* * *
“You really can’t stay away, can you?”
Cooper turned toward the speaker along with most of the other people in the BSI main office. His partner, reclining at his desk, had a commanding voice.
“Jefferson. You get called in for this mystery meeting too?”
“Meeting? No.” Jefferson frowned and spun slowly in his chair. “Not me. Though the high-ups have been all in a flutter this morning, so I wondered if something was going on.” He grinned at Cooper suddenly. “Looks like you’re passing me up the ladder, kid. Don’t forget us little people when you’re calling the shots, okay?”
“I doubt that,” Cooper protested, awkwardly. “Santiago said something about a new case. But if you weren’t called in, I’m probably just in trouble.”
Jefferson snorted. “Trouble? For what? Everything you do is by the book.”
It didn’t sound like a compliment when he said it and Cooper felt a flash of discomfort. “I froze,” he said. It had been hanging heavily on his mind since Friday. “In Bethesda. If you hadn’t been there on the other side of the fence, Pultz would have gotten away. Because I froze.”
Jefferson didn’t argue it. He regarded Cooper for a long time. “Why? ’Cause he was young? You felt bad for him?”
“No,” Cooper said quickly. Though truthfully that hadn’t been far from his mind either. “When he was running I—there was a moment that I thought he was going to...ah, shift.” Cooper lowered his voice and glanced around. But his colleagues were busy with whatever dismal work had dragged them into the office this early. “I’ve never seen an actual full shift before and I just—I mean, sometimes it’s hard to remember they’re...” He trailed off, embarrassed.
Jefferson’s face was sympathetic. “Hey. I get it. Five years on the job, I’ve only seen it happen once, and if I ever get to see it again you couldn’t pry me away. Not with a bar of topless dancers.” Cooper smiled weakly and Jefferson slapped his arm. “Don’t fret, kid. There isn’t an agent here who wouldn’t get distracted by a shift. It’s only human. So to speak.” Jefferson barked a laugh and then added, overly casual, “Pultz got released yesterday anyway.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Bethesda says he’s got an alibi. Spent the whole day at an arcade, apparently. Shows up on a couple of security tapes. It’s the flimsiest alibi I’ve ever heard. Mark my words, that wolf’s guilty, but Bethesda already cut him loose.”
“So we’re going back?”
“Nah, Santiago said she’s sending Carver. Fresh eyes. More like bleeding heart.” Jefferson rolled his eyes. Carver seemed to always have more open cases than closed and was known to be an adamant “Trustee,” or supporter of the Trust and wolf rights. “Speak of the devil.”
Cooper turned around. SAC Santiago was striding toward him. She’d been a legend in the FBI before moving to the BSI at its conception. The opportunity to work under her had been one of the reasons Cooper had agreed to sign up for a job he hadn’t fully understood. He wondered if she’d known what she was getting into. Did she have any regrets? Right now she just looked pissed.
“Dayton,” she said, as if in answer to an unspoken question. If that question was who is on the top of your shit list today. “You’re not early.”
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. The out-of-towners slowed me down.” Well, he’d bought last night’s bottle of red out of town, anyway. Who knew where the man on the metro was from. Hopefully far, far away.
“Walk with me,” she said, turning, and then called over her shoulder, “Jefferson, I thought I told you to go home.”
Jefferson saluted her and winked at Cooper, who hurried after Santiago. She moved like a bullet out of the main office and down the hall.
“Ma’am, I apologize again. I—”
“Shut up, Dayton.” Cooper shut his mouth and Santiago stopped a couple doors away from the Director’s office. “Now I don’t have time to pre-brief you the way I’d hoped and we both have to make do with the CliffsNotes.” She paused. For all her urgency a minute ago, she seemed unsure what to say next. “Look. You’re being assigned a new case. And the Director wants to try something...different.”
“What—”
“He’ll explain. I don’t have the time.” She shot him a quelling look. “But I know you’re not going to like it. So I’m asking you now, as your supervisor, to put your big-boy pants on and for fuck’s sake, keep them on for this meeting. You want to whine, we’ll talk about it after.” She reached out as if to grab his arm, but stopped. “This is bigger than you,” she said, and without any more explanation continued into the Director’s office.
Cooper followed.
“Ah, Santiago. You’ve found Agent Dayton, good, good.” Director Furthoe stood from behind his desk and shook Cooper’s hand with his big, soft paw. He was a bear of a man, with a bald head, thick gray mustache and a barrel chest, but he moved surprisingly delicately. Walking as if always tiptoeing across gravel in his bare feet.
Furthoe didn’t offer his hand to Santiago and she didn’t wait for it, moving to the side of the room and taking a spectator seat by the wall. The way she moved in the room told Cooper she and Furthoe had already been talking before he’d been collected. His unease increased.
“Sir. Sorry I’m late.” Was he? Or was he just late for the informal pre-briefing Santiago had wanted to have?
“Nonsense. We’re glad you could cut your weekend short. You’re a dedicated agent, Dayton. One of our best. Which is why we knew you’d be perfect for this case.”
Cooper relaxed a little at the praise and they took their seats.
“We got flagged for a couple of killings in Florence, Maine. Small town about an hour and a half out of Portland on the border of the White Mountain National Forest. A third person went missing yesterday. We’ve booked you a flight up there this afternoon.”
Cooper nodded. He was used to sudden trips. He kept a go bag ready and his neighbor’s kid, Ava, was always happy to feed Boogie. She was often coming by to feed him even when Cooper was in town. “Yes, sir. Is Jefferson flying out with me?”
“No. Jefferson hasn’t been assigned this case.” Furthoe exchanged a look with Santiago. “It’s a bit complicated. Which is why we wanted to have this...chat. We—the BSI, I mean—have been getting a lot of bad press recently.”
“Bad press, sir?” Seemed like a difficult feat for a secret organization.
Furthoe twirled his short, thick fingers. “Complaints from the wolf community, from the Trust, even from here within the bureau. Demands for change from every corner since Syracuse.”
Cooper shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Syracuse was a tragedy, sir. But are we going to change the entire system because of one terrible incident?”
“It’s not just one incident, though,” Santiago spoke up from the corner. “You haven’t been here long enough, Dayton, but this is a systemic problem. More and more cases aren’t being closed properly. The wrong werewolf is brought in. We have complaints of unnecessary force being used. Werewolves go missing. Run off the radar by poor agent conduct, while the actual criminals slip through our fingers because agents don’t take the time to look, or more often than not, don’t even know what they’re looking for.”
Cooper thought of Ben Pultz. Santiago had a point. He should just nod and let them get on with it. But that stupid argumentative streak was rearing its head. “I don’t disagree,” he said slowly. “But what else can we do? With all due respect, we’re overtaxed. There aren’t enough agents for all the flagged cases and when we do get there we don’t have the information or experience needed. Not to mention bad relations with the wolves don’t make them any more willing to be helpful.”
Surprisingly, Director Furthoe looked pleased, almost smug. “I’m glad you agree, Agent Dayton. When Cola suggested you for this, I knew you’d be a perfect fit.”
Margaret Cola was the head of the Trust. Hearing that the most powerful wolf in the country even knew who he was shocked Cooper. “This, sir?”
“For this case we’ve decided to pair one of our agents with a Trust, ah, agent.”
Furthoe continued talking about fostering goodwill and a new age of collaboration, but the words may as well have been coming out backward.
“A Trust agent,” Cooper interrupted.
“Yes.”
“But that means he’d be a wolf. Or she’d be a wolf,” Cooper amended. Though it seemed ridiculous to be gender-conscious when Furthoe was suggesting partnering with another sort of...species? Another sort of something, anyway. He shifted in his seat, desperate to be standing. To be moving.
“Yes. Agent Park is a werewolf.” Furthoe’s voice had a hint of impatience now. “He is also very familiar with the town of Florence. Ms. Cola and I have agreed that Agent Park will be extremely helpful during liaisons with the local wolves. And a public show of cooperation between the BSI and the Trust cannot come too soon.” Furthoe frowned, clearly thinking of Syracuse again.
Cooper opened his mouth, but Santiago interrupted. “As you said yourself, Dayton, the BSI is struggling. Not only are we understaffed but our human agents aren’t trusted by the wolf community. They don’t understand wolf politics or culture and are fumbling relations. Working with werewolf agents could help both sides.”
“Not to say we’re on opposite sides here,” Furthoe added quickly. “Just the law-breaking and law-abiding.”
Santiago stood before Cooper could comment on that. “Perhaps it’s time to introduce Agent Park, sir?”
“Yes. I agree.” Furthoe stood and Cooper quickly got up as well. He felt a bit dazed. “Agent Dayton, I’m sure you’ll represent the bureau well.” He shook Cooper’s hand firmly and beamed. “I have a good feeling about this. A really excellent feeling.”
“This is a disaster,” Cooper hissed after the Director’s door had closed.
“It could be. If you don’t make it work. But you will make it work,” Santiago said, leading him down the hall. They passed portraits of fallen agents and past supervisors. Their blank, uniform stares seemed shocked today under Cooper’s own wide-eyed bewilderment. He felt the familiar prickling of nerves and adrenaline he got before interrogating a suspect. But the wolf he was about to meet was no suspect. This would be his partner. He realized he was absent-mindedly tracing the four long scars on his belly, which seemed to burn and tighten more the closer they got, and quickly dropped his hand.
Cooper had never met a member of the Trust before. After the big coming-out, their work with the BSI had dropped behind the scenes, policy shit and putting together educational programs for agents about wolves that mostly involved Margaret Cola starring in corny little videos they showed new recruits.
We’re just like you. We’re your neighbors, your friends. Chances are you know a wolf even if you don’t yet realize it. And other equally useless tutorials.
Santiago interrupted his apprehensive musing. “Furthoe didn’t give you the whole story, but we’re on the edge of a cliff right now, Dayton. Tensions with the wolf community haven’t been this high since the coming-out and every ignorant comment and action on our part makes it exponentially worse.”
“But—”
“But nothing. There are whispers of rebel packs forming, protesting the very existence of the BSI, wanting to make a statement. Fringe groups for now, but every fuckup on our part is fuel to their fire. The Trust doesn’t want them gaining support any more than we do. You working with Agent Park is an experiment. If it works, we’ll pair more of our agents with theirs. It needs to work, Dayton.”
“Agents? They’re not agents, though, are they? How can I trust him to watch my back?”
“If you mean because he’s a werewolf—”
“I mean because he’s an office lackey. A PR guy. A politician. What’s he going to help me with, paperwork?”
Santiago smiled, a bit tight-lipped. “I think you’ll find Agent Park plenty capable. So if we could hurry this crisis of yours up, I’d rather not leave him waiting any longer.”
“He’s here already? Now?”
“He’s been waiting in my office. Got here before you, I might add.”
“Jesus...”
Santiago spun, forcing Cooper to come to an abrupt stop. “Big. Boy. Pants,” she said. “Any issues you’ve got with werewolves—”
“I don’t have—”
“Shelve it. Dayton, this—” She took a deep breath and shook her head a little. “This is bigger than us. Trust me. You need to make it work. All right?”
Cooper nodded and Santiago led him into her office.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a crisp gray suit stood by the window, staring out.
“Agent Park, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Santiago said.
The man turned around and Cooper exhaled sharply. He knew this wolf.
“Agent Park, this is Agent Cooper Dayton, your partner for this case.”
The guy from the metro smiled and held out his hand. “Looks like we’ll get that shake after all.”