Chapter Three
Cooper fidgeted in his seat and tried to focus on what Santiago was saying. He refused to look to his right. Even so, he could just make out the wolf’s presence in his peripheral vision, leaning casually back in a chair that was just a tad too small for him, seemingly engaged in Santiago’s briefing. Meanwhile, Cooper’s eyes were borderline crossed with the effort of not glancing to the side.
Focus, Dayton.
“Hikers discovered the remains of two males in the White Mountain National Forest. Preliminary cause of death appears to be blood loss. No sign of sexual assault. Both victims had multiple slash wounds made by something sharp.”
“You mean claws,” Cooper corrected. If they were going to dance around the subject because his wolf “partner” was too sensitive to hear how one of his kind had killed two men, this experiment didn’t deserve to work.
“I mean something sharp,” Santiago said; her voice had a hint of a warning. “Nothing else has been confirmed yet. Local ME thinks they’d both been out there for a couple days at least, so animal foraging has complicated things. They’re still trying to determine what damage was pre-mortem and what was post.” Santiago paused and then admitted, “But victim one had his throat ripped out, which is how we got flagged.”
The most common sign of a wolf kill. Unless Florence had a Jack the Ripper copycat, chances were the BSI was being brought in for a good reason.
“Did the ME determine time of death?” Park asked, giving Cooper an excuse to glance at him. He looked totally at ease.
“John Doe has been dead four to five days. There’s a lot of damage to the body and they haven’t been able to get an ID on him yet. The other victim died approximately a week ago. PD identified him as Kyle Bornestein. Local guy. This morning another local man was reported missing, Robert Gould.”
“What makes you think Gould’s related to our vics?” Cooper asked.
“Florence doesn’t have a lot of serious crime,” Park offered. “If the local authorities think they’re related, it’s probably just due to proximity of time.” Cooper stared into Park’s unblinking amaretto eyes.
“Well, that’s for the two of you to find out.” Santiago clapped her hands. “I’ve emailed you both all the case details along with your travel information. You can look it over on your way out.” She looked to the door, effectively dismissing them both. Cooper tried to catch her eye, but she ignored him and he left her office still feeling out of sorts.
He and Park walked down the hallway shoulder to shoulder in silence, an awkward echo of the metro station that made him prickle with humiliation all over again. Park moved with an easy assurance. He seemed totally unruffled by the morning. Maybe he wasn’t as surprised as Cooper. Maybe Margaret Cola was more open with her plans for her agents than Furthoe was. Hell, maybe the whole Trust had been planning this since before the coming-out and Park was just following a timeline he’d known about for years.
“Do you need a ride to the airport?” Park asked. The first sound he’d made since leaving Santiago’s office. He had a disturbingly silent stride for such a big man. Perfect for stalking, Cooper thought.
He said, “No.” He’d get a taxi. Or beg Jefferson for a ride if his real partner was still bouncing around the office somewhere.
“It doesn’t look like we’re flying out on the same plane.” Cooper glanced at Park, who was studying his phone as they walked. “Should we meet at Reagan or—”
“Portland Airport is fine,” Cooper interrupted. Silence.
“So, Cooper. How long have you worked with the BSI?”
“Long enough.”
“Do you—”
Cooper halted abruptly and faced Park. The fluorescent lights of the hallway made Park look harsher than he had in Santiago’s office or even the metro. His face was ostensibly neutral, even smiling slightly, but there was a shuttered wariness in his eyes. The amaretto had shifted to a colder, hardened, dark amber. An unforgiving color where things got trapped and impressions fossilized for millennia. The narrowness of the hallway had them standing close, and Cooper realized he wasn’t actually much shorter than Park, an inch or so. Something about the way the wolf carried himself made him seem taller. He was too close.
Cooper took a step back and Park’s face relaxed, eyes warming again. So the wolf wasn’t into confrontation. Cooper wasn’t sure why he felt oddly disappointed. For an absurd moment he was almost tempted to get back up in Park’s face again.
“Look, I didn’t join the bureau for the politics. I don’t know about you, but I just found out about this today. I don’t give a shit about policy or the pandering and I especially don’t need—” Cooper stopped. Make it work. He took a deep breath.
Park watched him, still unbothered. He was smiling pleasantly. Not for Cooper’s benefit but as if something secretly amused him. That just pissed Cooper off more.
“You especially don’t need...?” Park prompted.
“We both know this is a temporary situation. Let’s find this missing guy, catch a killer and avoid braiding each other’s hair in the meantime. I don’t need to know how good at singing ‘Kumbaya’ you are.”
“Okay.”
“I want to keep this professional and catch a killer as soon as possible.”
“Copy.” Park’s eyes drifted down and zeroed in on the coffee stain on Cooper’s shirt cuff. Cooper just knew Park was thinking about their brief run-in at the metro station. No way had he missed Cooper’s sleepy-eyed appraisal broadcasting his entirely non-professional thoughts and inept attempt at flirting. Park had probably known exactly who he was. That would explain the way he’d been watching him before. Not sexual interest but professional. He’d been playing with him the whole time.
Cooper’s face burned. He snapped, “And it’s Special Agent Dayton.”
Park nodded, expression so sober it was mocking. “Of course. Then I’ll see you this afternoon. Special Agent Dayton.”
Cooper turned and walked away before he could say something even more childish, like Not if I see you first.
* * *
Cooper stepped off the plane in Portland, swung his carry-on over his shoulder and headed straight for the bathroom. No matter how short the plane ride was, he got off feeling tired and grimy as hell. He could probably walk into a plane cabin, walk right back out and still look like he hadn’t slept in days. Walking corpse was not a good look to inspire confidence in the local law.
Cooper examined himself in the mirror and was dismayed, though not exactly surprised by how tired he looked. His eyes were more noticeably red than green and seemed resigned to sinking into the dark Hefty bags waiting under them.
Thin-skinned, his father would say. His little idea of a joke. Not one he made often though, thankfully. Cooper’s tendency to look punched in the face the moment he missed a little sleep was inherited from his mom, and anything that reminded Sheriff Dayton of his late wife was a sensitive topic.
Cooper massaged the corners of his eyes. It was more than tired, he looked worn-out; his hair was so dirty he could be mistaken as a brunette and he was still uncomfortably underweight. Not an intimidating look. Though for this case the wolf was packing enough brawn for the both of them.
Not that again. Cooper scowled in the mirror. He’d spent the entire plane ride obsessing over working with Park.
Jefferson had been especially quiet when Cooper told him the situation. “Watch your back and keep me updated every step of the way,” Jefferson had said, unsmiling for once, as he dropped him off at the D.C. airport. “Even if nothing seems suspect, an outside pair of eyes and ears doesn’t hurt. Remember, every wolf has had a lifetime of practice hiding the truth. They’re good liars.”
Cooper wasn’t ready to go quite that far. He doubted the Trust would have assigned anyone they thought wouldn’t be professional. It was in their best interest that this partnership work, too. But Jefferson had been in the BSI a lot longer than Cooper had, so he promised to keep an eye out. Cooper just had to take his own advice and solve this case as quickly as possible so things could go back to the way they were.
He splashed cold water on his face, dried off with a scratchy bathroom paper towel and checked his reflection again. Minimal damage control and absolutely no help for his mood. He put his sunglasses on and walked into the airport terminal.
With all the traveling Cooper had done for the bureau, both FBI and BSI, he’d decided you could tell a lot about a city from their airport. Portland Jetport’s ceiling was made entirely of polished wood beams and the walls were all glass. A giant modernized log cabin, which was pretty much exactly what he’d expected of Maine.
He eyed the various kiosks. Cooper wanted coffee, and he was supposed to eat frequent small meals to keep his gut happy and relatively healthy, but he wanted to get on the road more. He pulled out his phone to leave Park a message. They might as well rent two cars. He didn’t want to wait around for the guy and he’d feel more comfortable having his own means of transportation and not have to ride all the way to Florence with the wolf.
Cooper flipped into the folder Santiago had emailed him of all the case information, including Park’s contact. As soon as he opened the page, his phone started to ring. Unknown number.
“Dayton.”
“This is Park. You’ve arrived.” It wasn’t a question and Cooper couldn’t help but glance around. He wondered if he was being watched. “I’m in the visitor parking lot. I’ve taken the liberty of getting us a car.”
“Right. On my way.” Looks like they were driving up together after all. At least the environment would be happy.
Park was leaning against a dark SUV. Like Cooper, he’d changed into something more casual. Unlike Cooper, he somehow still managed to look just as powerful and authoritative in jeans, a T-shirt and a light jacket as he had looked in his suit. Despite the quick freshening-up in the airport restroom, Cooper felt more bedraggled than ever.
Park nodded at him. “Special Agent Cooper Dayton.” He said it seriously enough, but the graveness of his voice and expression made Cooper sure Park was laughing at him.
Cooper realized he didn’t know Park’s first name. Assuming Park was his last name and not his first. Was Park reminding him of this disadvantage? What kind of disadvantage would that even be? They weren’t going to be monogramming anything so what did it matter? The less they knew each other, the better.
“Ready?” Cooper said tersely, as if he wasn’t the one just arriving. Park gestured—after you—and they both got in the car.
The air conditioner was on low and the cool air seemed to sharpen the scents in the car. The leather seats, the tantalizing coffee in the cup holder, Park’s own smell of spring and fresh linen. Mud and detergent, Cooper corrected himself.
It was going to be a long car ride.
As Park pulled out of the parking lot, Cooper opened the case file. The first victim, Kyle Bornestein, was twenty-eight, recently fired from a sporting goods store and an avid hunter. The missing kid and potential third victim, Robert Gould, was twenty-three and worked part-time for the Forest Service. The second victim, still a John Doe, had suffered a lot of post-mortem damage that was making identification a bitch but according to the medical examiner he had also been healthy, fit and under forty.
Three relatively young men in prime shape. Not your typical victim type. But then maybe that was the point. They all seemed like possible alpha males. Maybe that’s why the unsub had taken them out.
Being an alpha may just be considered a malleable personality type with humans, but it was an actual status with real sway in wolf packs. The Trust refused to acknowledge it, as they did with anything that sounded too animalistic, but Jefferson had told him fighting for status was a bloody business in the wolf world and Cooper himself had once had an assault case between two loudmouths he was sure had been a rival alpha situation between two wolves.
Between a wolf and a human, though? Would killing human alpha-type men carry any weight in the wolf culture? This seemed exactly like one of those questions Park could answer. But would he? He worked for the Trust, after all, and was a wolf himself. He might not want to give away too many of his own secrets. Not if it made wolves look bad. Not while they were trying so hard to promote this idea that werewolves were no more dangerous than anyone else.
A sudden pain in his belly so sharp Cooper almost needed to vomit protested that. He bit his lip hard and ignored it. No medical reason, it’s all in your head. He went back to reading the file. Bornestein had been reported missing by a fellow hunter he’d been supposed to meet up with a week and a half before he was found dead. Gould lived with his mother, who reported him missing this morning after he never came home last night. No one had reported John Doe missing, which indicated he was a lower-risk victim than the other two. The unsub was escalating. Getting bolder with his kills.
Cooper looked at Park. He seemed...tranquil. Like they were road-tripping to a resort, not to a gruesome, possible triple homicide.
“Did you read over the files?” Cooper asked.
Park didn’t blink. “Yes.”
“Do you think there’s any weight to this missing Gould kid being another victim of our wo—unsub?”
“Maybe. Which could be a good thing.”
Cooper looked at Park sharply. “A good thing to be taken by a sociopathic monster? I think our definition of good and bad are at odds, Park.”
Park just tilted his head, calmly, unfazed by Cooper’s biting tone. “Kyle Bornestein was last seen thirteen days ago, but he was only killed last week. John Doe’s autopsy indicates multiple injuries that were days old by the time he died. I think we can assume the unsub keeps them alive for several days after taking them. Robert Gould hasn’t been seen since working on the forest trails yesterday around noon. If our unsub does have him, there’s a good chance he’s still alive and we have a couple of days left to find him that way. If he’s not one of ours, something else happened to him, probably out there in the forest, that’s prevented him from returning home or contacting anyone. In which case I’d say there’s a good chance he’s already dead. So yes, Special Agent Dayton, in my humble opinion, better tortured and alive than dead and rotting.”
It was the longest speech of Park’s yet, but he never looked away from the road or raised his voice. “Okay,” Cooper said after a moment. “Good thinking.”
Park’s eyebrow twitched. A faint hint at surprise and the first emotion besides pleasant neutrality he’d shown so far.
Cooper asked, “What do you think he’s holding them for?”
“No clue.”
“Less helpful,” Cooper snorted, but he didn’t mean it as criticism. He didn’t have any ideas either. They lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive.
The possibility that Gould was still alive somewhere out there for a limited amount of time put a new fire under Cooper’s ass. He may not be happy being the guinea pig for a publicity ploy, but he sure as hell was going to do everything he could to make it work for Gould’s sake.
And god knew it wasn’t like he didn’t agree that something needed to change in the BSI. He’d been sickened at the news of Syracuse.
Two BSI agents, Barret and Johnson, had been investigating a string of suspicious robberies. The only thing the jobs had in common was no possible point of entry and some animal tracks on the scene. A footnote in the eyes of the Syracuse PD, but one that had flagged the BSI.
Barret and Johnson had set up a sting, and sure enough, the wolves showed up. Two of them, in wolf form. And then something had tipped them off. They’d run and Barret had fired his gun, killing one and critically injuring the other.
Both wolves were just eighteen. Teenagers being stupid and trying to make some quick cash.
That was one version of events, anyway.
Barret and Johnson first claimed the wolves had attacked them. Then Johnson retracted his statement and said the wolves had been running away.
Barret insisted it only seemed they were running away because they were circling them. Version after version floated around the BSI office and leaked beyond.
Whatever the truth, one thing was clear: Barret had panicked and a kid was dead because of it. The wolf community was outraged and Cooper didn’t blame them. It turned his stomach to think about. As far as he was concerned Barret was guilty. His fellow BSI agents fell into two camps about it, however. The people who defended Barret had protested that he couldn’t tell they were just teenagers when they were shifted. The people on the wolves’ side had said that didn’t matter. The burglaries were nonviolent. The suspects had not been threatening. Barret should never have opened fire.
But when it came to wolves, what was considered threatening? Their claws and fangs meant they were always armed and dangerous.
Cooper had talked to Barret around the office a few times before Syracuse. He didn’t seem to hate wolves. Never said a bad word about them. Jefferson had even called him a Trustee a couple of times behind his back. But when faced with two hundred pounds of muscle, fang and claw, Barret had made a snap decision. One he’d probably be regretting for the rest of his life.
If partnering with Trust wolves could help identify when a suspect was about to attack and when they were just shifted but nonthreatening, then Cooper was on board.
He just wished he wasn’t the one in the spotlight.
They probably entered Florence a lot sooner than Cooper realized. The outskirts of the town were bare, a mere handful of houses that played peekaboo between the trees. Eventually, they arrived in the town proper. It was more...full than he’d been expecting for Maine. But then he’d been expecting a post office, the police station and maybe a diner. Cooper’s knowledge of the state pretty much started and stopped with Stephen King novels.
“It’s only three blocks of this,” Park said, accurately reading his expression of surprise. “The rest is really rural.” Cooper hadn’t even realized Park had been watching his reaction. He pointedly turned his back to him and watched the town out of the passenger window.
Restaurants, cafés, shops and galleries crammed together in brick buildings with cheerful white trims. Most shops had a carved wooden statue of some kind propping open their door, anthropomorphized carvings—a bear wearing a suit, a manic-eyed coffee cup, a smoking cat. Probably from the wood gallery by the corner, Wood It Work. Cooper rolled his eyes. The town clearly took charming as an edict rather than an adjective.
They passed a souvenir shop with a hen in a Hawaiian shirt outside. “Does Florence get a lot of tourists?”
“Fair amount. The White Mountain National Forest attracts hikers, some rock hounds hitting up all the old gem mines thinking they’re going to find the next big amethyst. Route 2 runs right through here, so Florence gets a lot of people passing up to Canada.”
Cooper nodded absently. He wondered how Park knew Florence. He looked like he could be a dedicated hiker with that body. “Seems like there are more direct ways to get to Canada.”
“A lot of werewolves who like to head north for the summer come through this way. It’s a longer route but more discreet than passing through Portland, and there’s the forest, of course.”
Cooper blinked at Park’s candidness. It was the first time he’d said the W word. “Do a lot of wolves head north for the summer?” What were they, geese?
“Those who can usually do. Heat can be...unpleasant.”
“What if our unsub is a wolf passing through?” Cooper thought out loud. He may have already moved on.
“Most only stop off here a day or two. Anyone here longer than a week would have drawn attention. I made some calls and there haven’t been any lingering outsiders. So if all three victims are related, our unsub’s a local.”
Now that was helpful. Park didn’t look like he was expecting praise, so Cooper didn’t offer any. “Do a lot of wolves live up here?”
Park nodded.
“I’m surprised I’ve never known an agent to get called to a case in this area before.”
There was silence in the car so long that Cooper jumped a little when Park responded, almost cautiously. “It’s mostly packs up here. Old ones.”
He said it like that explained it. Maybe it did. Larger, well-established packs could be like miniature communities to themselves with their own laws and their own swift justice. No need for outside authority. Well, no want for it, anyway. The BSI had a whole department that focused on sanctioning packs that took on governing. Cooper privately thought the sanctions were more trouble than they were worth. Stopping wolves from policing other wolves pissed off the community and just made more work for the already overtaxed BSI. It had never made sense to him. But Jefferson said the wolves’ idea of justice was frequently violent and wasn’t always limited to fellow wolves.
“These old packs, are they the sort of wolves who would join the protests against the BSI?” Cooper asked.
Park cocked his head. “More like the sort who opposed the coming-out to begin with.”
Cooper looked at him, surprised. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“A big thing. Especially with the larger, older packs who still rather pretend it didn’t happen.” There was an odd tone in Park’s voice. Almost bitter. But he didn’t offer any more insight and Cooper didn’t ask.
Soon they pulled into the police station parking lot. Florence PD was a two-story wood building with a dark green roof and an American flag hanging still in the breezeless summer day. Nestled between huge pine trees, it looked more like a large, rustic fishing cabin than a police station. It didn’t help that the parking lot was dirt and practically empty of cars.
“Lovely,” Cooper muttered as their SUV dipped comically low into a pothole.
“Welcome to Florence,” Park said.
Maine was a good deal cooler than D.C. and despite the clear crispness of the air, there was a permanent gray tinge to the sky. Not cloudy. Just not blue, either.
Cooper walked beside Park into the police station in silence. They didn’t discuss a game plan, but he was used to that by now. Jefferson wasn’t big on talking either and he would normally take the lead on their cases, being the senior partner. Especially when it came to coordinating with local law. Now, he assumed, that would be his job.
Inside, the station was eerily quiet. The front desk was empty. A tall oak monstrosity flanked by another American flag on one side and Maine’s bright blue state flag on the other. An honest-to-god bell hung from the desk’s corner. Were they supposed to ring for assistance like for a concierge? Cooper started to speak, but Park turned abruptly and looked behind them just before an unfamiliar voice called out, “Hey there!”
Cooper turned as well. A door to the side of the lobby had opened and a young man in a police uniform and dusty boots waved at them. He was solidly built, if a little soft-looking, and had a ruddy, friendly face.
Cooper pulled out his ID. “Special Agent Dayton with the BSI. And this is Pa—uh, Agent Park.”
The guy rushed forward to introduce himself. “Sure, sure. Officer Miller. We’ve been expecting you.”
Cooper was relieved the officer didn’t ask what the BSI was. His supervisors usually fed the local chief some vague explanation of “special or particularly violent circumstances.” But it was not always an explanation that got disseminated through the ranks. Thankfully it seemed like Melissa Brown—the Florence chief for eleven years, Cooper remembered from the file—had her officers focused, if not totally present.
“Are you...” Alone here? Cooper struggled to figure out a way to ask without sounding ridiculous.
Officer Miller picked up what he was saying. “Chief Brown is at the ranger station, directing the search. She asked me to wait here for you.” He looked eagerly at Cooper, practically bouncing on his heels. “I can take you straight there if you’re ready.”
Cooper wasn’t used to being viewed as the partner in charge. It was nice. “Let’s head out.”
At Miller’s insistence, the three of them piled into his black Crown Victoria. Partner in charge or not, Cooper somehow found himself relegated to the back seat.
“Chief Brown is organizing a search of the forest?” Park prompted from the front. Cooper scowled at the back of his head. Park’s thick brown hair was a tad too long for bureau regulation, falling around his ears. He wondered if anyone outside the bureau would notice.
“Part of it, anyway. Gould was last seen working up on one of the east trails. Chief Brown thinks he could still be out there.”
“We were told you were able to identify one of the victims?” Cooper said.
“Yeah, Kyle Bornestein,” Miller said. “Turns out his prints were on file for a trespassing charge.”
“Trespassing?”
“He was a big hunter. There are a handful of private properties that butt up on the national forest, and Bornestein followed an animal into someone’s yard. The charges were dropped, but it helped us ID him. No such luck on John Doe.”
“And you think all three crimes are related,” Park said, voice thoughtful.
“Chief says so.”
“What about Bornestein and Gould? Any overlap there?” Cooper asked.
“If there is, we haven’t found it yet. They didn’t seem to run in the same circles.”
“What circles were those?”
Miller frowned. “When Gould’s not working he’s at the bar or the gym. Bornestein has a couple of hunting buddies.”
“And they reported him missing?”
“It wasn’t a formal report. But one of the guys he hunts with is on the force. Officer Harris. Great guy. For Gould, his mom called this morning saying he hadn’t come home all night. He’s an adult, of course, so there isn’t really anything we could do. Chief Brown is taking a gamble organizing the search party. But what with two bodies showing up, even if it is in a different part of the forest, everybody’s in full go mode.”
“You don’t approve?” Park asked.
Miller paused, his reluctance to disagree with a superior obviously at odds with his personal opinions. “Gould’s a twenty-three-year-old man. Could be a lot of reasons not to come home at night. He could still show up on his own.”
* * *
In contrast to the police station, the ranger station parking lot was packed with official vehicles. At first glance they all looked like the same service, but there were slight differences in the markings identifying state, National Forest Service and three different towns’ police. Around one car, consulting a map spread over the hood, stood a small crowd of various uniforms.
“Chief Brown,” Miller called toward the group. A woman in heavy-duty hiking boots looked up and squinted at them. She was of average height and build, with a sensible blond bun and had a pair of wireless glasses balanced at the edge of a slightly too-small nose. She took the glasses off, and for a moment the strain and aggravation lining her mouth relaxed. She muttered something to the others standing around the map and walked toward them briskly.
“BSI?” Brown said, shaking their hands. She had a firm, powerful grip, probably from a career of proving herself as a woman in uniform.
“Special Agent Dayton. This is Agent Park.”
“We’re glad you’re here,” Brown said, putting her hands on her hips and looking them over closely.
Cooper stood a little straighter. “Can you fill us in?”
Brown got right into it. “We’re not sure Gould’s got anything to do with our vics. This could just be a lost man. Gould was working on a trail not far from here yesterday and the bodies were found further south. Gould’s momma said she was expecting him home after his shift ended here at two. I’ve got four teams combing the area in case—” She broke off, looked behind her and beckoned one of the men standing around the map to come over.
“This is Ranger Christie with the Forest Service. He was the last to see Gould yesterday.” Christie was tall, taller than Park even, but much leaner. Sort of poky and angular-looking. Bright auburn hair peeked out from under his wide-brim hat, thin lips were set in a grim line and large sunglasses obscured a good deal of his face. Brown introduced them. Christie didn’t smile or offer to shake, keeping his hands shoved into his uniform’s pockets.
“BSI? What’s that?” Christie said as way of a greeting.
“Bureau of Special Investigations. We’re a branch of the FBI,” Cooper said quickly. “Can you walk us through what happened?”
“Robert Gould works part-time as a forestry technician here. Fancy title for trail maintenance and service work. He showed up yesterday morning and I sent him to Burberry Pass, one of the east trails. We had a storm a couple days ago and a tree came down across the path. Gould was to spend his shift clearing it.”
“By himself?”
“Yes. It wasn’t a hard job and we don’t have a large crew. I did rounds and checked in on him around noon. Nothing unusual. He asked if he finished up could he leave a little early. I said that was fine by me.”
“That was the last time you saw him?”
“Yes. When I passed that trail again around two, he was gone. I assumed he’d left for the day.”
“He didn’t come back by the ranger station here to report in or clock out?”
“I didn’t see him.”
“Was that normal?”
Christie hesitated. “For Gould, yes,” he said finally.
“Was Gould an experienced outdoorsman?” Park asked.
“Experienced enough. I hired him about a year ago. He learned quickly. It’s not exactly in the job description, but he knows how to track and how to stay out of the way of predators. He grew up here, so he’s got a pretty good handle on the land. I would say he could take care of himself. But some of those cliffs and crevices have a way of sneaking up on even experienced hikers.”
So did some of the predators, thought Cooper, and touched his own belly absently. Two bodies turn up ripped apart by a wolf and a capable man goes missing from the same forest right after? Brown may not be convinced the two were related, but Cooper was. “Where were Bornestein and Doe found?”
“About an hour and a half south of here off-trail.”
“I’d like to check the scene out,” Park said.
Cooper frowned. He didn’t disagree necessarily. He just hadn’t decided whether it would be a better use of their time going over the crime scene or joining the search. But Brown was already nodding and assigning them a guide.
“Christie, would you mind? You know the land better than anyone else.” Christie shrugged his pointy shoulders, face unreadable behind the sunglasses. “And—”
“I’d like to go with them, Chief.” Another one of the uniformed men standing around the map had joined them. He was a burly man, stood like a soldier and had good-looking if slightly coarse features, including a nose that had obviously been broken once or twice. He smiled broadly. “Excuse me for butting in. Officer Harris. You must be with the BSI. We’ve been looking forward to your arrival.”
Cooper nodded. “You’re who reported Bornestein missing.”
Harris looked surprised before his features smoothed into an unreadable expression and he glanced at Miller like he had no doubt who had been talking about him. “Not exactly. We’d hunt together sometimes. When he didn’t show up last week I can’t say I thought much of it, though. Bornestein could be, ah, unpredictable.” He shook his head and lowered his voice. “When we ID’d him... I can’t tell you how much I regret not saying something sooner.”
Brown clapped her hand to his arm. “You couldn’t have known, Tim.”
Harris smiled grimly at her. “Maybe not. But I’ve got to do what I can now.” He was older than Miller. Older than Brown, too. Cooper would normally expect a man his age to be a higher rank or even retired, though his own father had a decade on Harris and was still refusing retirement. Harris, too, had lifer written all over him.
Brown said, “I want Officer Miller to accompany the agents to the scene.” Harris frowned and started to protest, but she continued, “I need your tactical head here with the search, Tim.”
Harris nodded and smiled, easing any tension. “Understood, Chief.”
“Understood, Chief,” Miller echoed, and only the slightest flicker of annoyance passed Harris’s face. An old pro. He caught Cooper watching and shrugged a little as if in apology. Maybe he was sorry they were getting stuck with the rookie. Maybe Miller was more annoying than he looked.
“Good luck,” Harris said.