Chapter 3

Cooper sat in the chair across from Doctor Hadley Delacroix’s desk, watching as she jotted down notes. He had no idea what she could possibly be writing. They hadn’t said more than ten words to each other in the fifteen minutes he’d been there. All she’d done was introduce herself and tell him to have a seat in the chair across from her big cherrywood desk…or on the leather couch along one wall. And there was no way in hell she was getting him on that couch.

He’d pleaded his case last night to Gage, telling him this shrink session was a huge waste of time, but the Pack’s lead alpha wasn’t interested in his opinion on the subject.

“With all the crazy crap SWAT has been involved in lately, it’s not surprising Coletti is toeing the line on this return-to-duty evaluation and psych assessment,” his boss said. “What the hell did you think was going to happen when you threw a two-hundred-pound guy ten feet through the air and into a plate glass window in broad daylight? You’re damn lucky Becker was able to hack into the bank’s security servers and fuzz up those videos, or you’d be looking at more than a couple days with a shrink. IA would have you down at the hospital drawing blood three times a day until they figured out what kind of drugs you’re on. Just play the game, talk with the psychologist the department assigns to your case, then get your ass cleared for duty.”

Play the game. Right. Obviously, Gage had never met this particular shrink. It looked like the last time this woman had played games was when she was three years old—and she probably hadn’t liked them even then. Cooper could be charming when he wanted to be, but something told him that his werewolf charisma would be totally wasted on her.

As they sat there in silence, interrupted only by the scratching of her pen and the occasional rustle of a piece of paper, Cooper took the time to study Hadley Delacroix. She wasn’t like he’d pictured. He knew that was shallow as hell, but he assumed she’d have a mousey hairdo and horn-rimmed glasses, as well as a lab coat to go with her ultra-conservative, take-me-serious outfit.

He’d been way off target. For one thing, she wasn’t wearing a lab coat, and her leopard-print blouse screamed anything but conservative. For another, her fingernails were extremely long and painted a flashy color. And while he’d been right about the reading glasses, they weren’t horn-rimmed. She had a seriously distinct fuck-off vibe that was hard to miss too. If Delacroix had been a werewolf, she would have been an alpha for sure.

Thank God she wasn’t. That was all he and his pack needed—a shrink on the department payroll who knew the entire SWAT team was made up of werewolves.

As the minutes wore on, Cooper tried to keep his rising anger in check. He didn’t have a problem with psychologists per se. It was just that he’d dealt with enough of them after getting blown up in Iraq to know they couldn’t do a whole hell of a lot for most people. They’d tried to get him to come to grips with life as a cripple when it looked like the lower half of his body was going to be nothing but a bunch of dead weight. Then, after the “miracle” had occurred and his back had healed, they’d spent months trying to medicate his nightmares out of existence with drugs he couldn’t stand.

Ultimately, he never blamed the shrinks for not getting anything right with him. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t have a clue how to deal with a blown-up, screwed-up EOD tech, much less one who was discovering he was a werewolf.

He forced himself to think pleasant thoughts of Everly and their dinner plans, when Dr. Delacroix finally looked up and fixed him with those sharp eyes of hers.

“Why don’t we start by you telling me what happened in the bank yesterday?” she said bluntly.

So much for the getting-to-know-you chitchat. “Don’t you have the report already?”

She nodded. “I do. But they’re just words on a piece of paper. I’d rather hear the events from your point of view instead.”

“Why?”

Delacroix lifted a brow and regarded him in silence for several long seconds. “Why what?”

He rested his ankle on his knee. “Why do you need to hear it from my point of view? You’ve read the reports about what happened in the bank. I’m sure the one from IA was especially interesting. Maybe you’ve even seen the videos from the bank’s security system. After all that, I’d think a person with your obvious intelligence would have already come up with plenty of opinions on exactly what happened in there, and what that says about me and my ability to do my job.”

Cooper hadn’t intended for his words to come out quite so confrontational, but he had to admit that after all the time he’d spent talking with the doctors from the Veterans Administration, he wasn’t really a fan of sharing. In his experience, doctors liked to ask a lot of questions, only to toss you in some neatly labeled box regardless of how you answered.

Delacroix leaned back in her chair and regarded him with a look that seemed to suggest she’d anticipated his answer.

“Officer Cooper, I think you have some misconception concerning my role in this fitness-for-duty evaluation,” she said calmly. “I’m not an employee of the Dallas Police Department. I’m a completely independent psychologist paid on retainer by the State of Texas to perform various forensic and mental health tasks within my field of expertise. I’m not being paid to judge your technical performance during the robbery or provide psychiatric treatment. You were just involved in a traumatic incident that required you to shoot two men and physically engage with three others. Your departmental leadership is concerned these encounters could have an adverse effect on your ability to do your job. You aren’t here for therapy. My task is simply to ensure you’re mentally and emotionally fit to return to your SWAT duties, as well as recommend additional resources should you need them.”

Cooper couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. “Which is a nice way of saying you’re supposed to figure out if I’m insane, right?”

A slight smile curved her lips, but then it was gone, replaced with her usual professional expression. “I’m not really a fan of that word. My task is to understand what happened in that bank and determine if your reactions and emotions at the time—and now—are in line with those of other people in your profession. Anything you tell me of a personal nature is protected by doctor-patient confidentiality and won’t be provided to the department. They simply get my final report concerning your suitability to return to duty.”

“And if I don’t feel like talking about what happened in that bank?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She shrugged. “I certainly can’t make you talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m getting paid to conduct an undefined number of one-hour sessions until I arrive at a suitable determination. If you’d rather spend our sessions talking about the weather, that’s fine with me. I get paid a large sum of money from the state regardless.”

“But if we spend all our time talking about the weather, you won’t be signing my fitness-for-duty certificate, will you?”

She shook her head. “No, I won’t.”

Cooper ground his jaw. This was going to suck pond water, but he couldn’t see any way out. “So, what do you want to know?”

She sat up straight and picked up her pen, holding it poised over her notepad. “Instead of asking you to recount the entire event, maybe it would be easier if I started with a specific part of it, just to get the ball rolling.”

He shrugged at the innocent offer, even though his instincts warned him that he was walking into a trap. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Let’s start with how you knew the bank was about to be robbed. It wasn’t noted in the IA report, but I noticed on the video that you looked up and scanned the bank at least forty-five seconds before the first suspect pulled out his weapon. Tell me about that.”

Cooper smothered a curse. When he’d walked in here, his biggest worry had been letting Hadley Delacroix poke around in his head. But now he had to worry that if he slipped up and said the wrong thing, she might figure out there was something odd about him. If that happened, how long would it take her to figure out he wasn’t the only unusual cop on the Dallas SWAT team?

He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to answer. He would have to be careful because right then, Hadley Delacroix looked pretty damn dangerous.

* * *

The moment Cooper walked into the steak house where he and his pack mates usually went for lunch, the aroma of perfectly grilled beef made his mouth water. He picked up Becker’s and Jayna’s scents, along with some of the other guys’ wafting from the room in the back, and headed that way.

He weaved through the tables, thankful his first session with Delacroix was over. It had lasted only an hour, but he was flat worn out. That question about how he’d known the bank was about to be robbed had been the first among many. She’d let him do most of the talking, but every once in a while she’d hit him with a probing question that proved she wasn’t merely focused on what he was saying. She was dissecting it. He liked to think that he’d done a good job deflecting her suspicions, but it was hard to tell. She gave absolutely nothing away, no matter what he said. He doubted even an experienced werewolf like Gage would be able to get a read on what she was thinking.

As he walked into the back room the SWAT team usually commandeered for lunch, Cooper saw that more than half weren’t there. No doubt out on incidents. It was good to see the ones who were there. Knowing he couldn’t work with his teammates for days, maybe even weeks, was already making him feel ostracized and out of sorts. And the grilling he’d gotten this morning at the hands of Delacroix hadn’t helped.

But he forgot about all that the moment he soaked up the vibe coming off the other werewolves. This was his pack, and when he was with them, everything was right with the world.

In addition to Becker and Jayna, Xander and Khaki were there too, along with Alex, Remy, Brooks, and Carter.

Jayna was an alpha female like Khaki, but they couldn’t be more different. Cooper supposed that made sense since Jayna had been a beta werewolf until a few months ago. He still didn’t understand how a werewolf could spontaneously change stripes from beta to alpha, but it happened with her. While Khaki was as aggressive and assertive about stuff as any male werewolf in the Pack, Jayna was only aggressive and assertive about two things—Becker and the beta members of her own pack. Her world revolved around them.

He pulled out the empty chair between Alex and Brooks, sitting directly across from Becker. A motherly waitress appeared with a glass of his usual iced tea, setting it down in front of him and handing him a menu.

“Where’s everyone else?” he asked his teammates as he scanned the menu.

He didn’t know why he bothered looking at it since he already knew everything on it by heart. But he was a visual guy. He never knew what he wanted until he saw the pictures on the menu. In this case, his stomach growled when it saw the image of the half-pound burger the steak house was well known for.

“Out helping the FBI round up persons of interest related to the bombing yesterday,” Alex said. A former marine, the team’s dark-haired sniper was also their resident medic. “The guys on their list aren’t the ones you generally send one or two unaccompanied uniformed officers after.”

Cooper nodded. While the FBI might not like working with SWAT, they didn’t mind letting them do most of the heavy lifting when it came to bringing in the initial wave of suspects for questioning. That way the feds got the best of both worlds. They could talk to the scary people who tended to be associated with bombings while the DPD got the bad rap for rousing people simply because they had bad reputations.

He was about to ask if they’d heard whether the FBI had any good leads on the bomber’s identity yet, but Becker cut him off.

“Wait until you hear about what happened to Zak and Megan down in Galveston.”

Cooper frowned at his best friend. While he loved Becker like a brother, sometimes he had an irritating way of leaving you hanging.

“What about Zak and Megan?”

He tried to keep the worry from creeping into his voice, but wasn’t sure if he succeeded. Zak Gibson, best friend and coworker of Gage’s fiancée Mackenzie Stone, had been crushing on Megan Dorsey, the diminutive beta from Jayna’s pack, for months now. While they made a cute couple, they had one big obstacle working against them—Zak didn’t know a damn thing about the existence of werewolves. Cooper wasn’t too sure how the guy would handle finding out werewolves really existed, and that his sweet little wisp of a girlfriend had fangs and claws.

“Don’t worry. They’re fine,” Jayna assured him. She flipped her wavy, dark blond hair over her shoulder and leaned against the arm Becker draped over the back of her chair. “Things at the quaint little B&B they were staying in got a bit crazy, and they ended up getting held hostage by some criminals trapped on the island after a robbery.”

Cooper felt his jaw drop. “Seriously?”

Becker nodded. “It all worked out for the best though. No one got hurt, and in the end, Zak found out Megan’s a werewolf, and that we all are too.”

Cooper did a double take. He looked around the table, surprised to see that no one seemed freaked out. “So, I take it he’s dealing okay with it?”

Jayna smiled. “Better than okay. He’s going to move into the Beta House with all the rest of us.”

Huh. Cooper and the other SWAT alphas were really close—like family, but Jayna’s beta pack took that to a whole new level. There were already six werewolves sleeping in the small loft they’d dubbed the Beta House located over by Baylor University’s Dallas campus, including Becker. Cooper supposed bringing in a normal human wouldn’t make it much more crowded—as long as they enjoyed each other’s company.

But he kept those thoughts to himself. “I’m glad it’s all working out for those two. If anyone deserves a happy ending, it’s Megan.”

Becker and Jayna lifted their iced teas in a toast to Megan and Zak’s happily ever after. Cooper picked up his glass and clinked it with everyone else’s.

“I just hope we can get Zak to give us details on what happened down there,” Alex added as the waitress came in to take their orders. “Something tells me it’s going to make for one hell of a story.”

The SWAT team had been going there so long none of the waitresses even batted an eye at the crazy amount of food they ordered—Khaki and Jayna included.

“So, how did it go with the shrink?” Connor asked curiously. “Did this doctor guy make you sit on a couch and tell him about your mom?”

Connor was Cooper’s age—twenty-eight—and they’d both been werewolves for four years. But Connor had only been with the SWAT team for two, so sometimes he seemed younger than his age. And when he was asking corny-ass questions like this one, he seemed even younger.

“This doctor guy is actually a woman, and no, she didn’t ask me about my mom,” Cooper said. “She spent most of the session asking questions related to all the skills I seem to have that most cops don’t.”

That took the levity right out of the room.

“You don’t think she realizes what you are, do you?” Brooks asked.

Cooper shook his head. Someone discovering their secret was the one thing all of them worried about. The humans who had recently come into their lives—first Mac and now Zak—might accept them, but it wasn’t a given that everyone would. There were people in the world who would hate them simply because they were different. None of them ever forgot that.

“No, I don’t,” Cooper answered. “She’s about as aggressive and blunt as any person I’ve ever met. If she had even an inkling of a suspicion, I think she’d confront me to see how I’d react.”

“She sounds absolutely charming,” Remy said in his slow Cajun drawl as he added more sweetener to his tea. “How are you going to handle her?”

“Carefully,” Cooper said. “She’s sharp and picks up on stuff even Coletti and the other detectives in IA missed. I have to filter every single word I say, which is hard. When I hesitate too long before answering her questions, she picks up on that too. Right now, she seems more interested in what she calls my hypervigilant tendencies and overly aggressive reactions. She’s read my military record and knows I went through some stuff over in Iraq, so she probably assumes I’m dealing with PTSD. If that’s where she wants to take the sessions, I’ll let her.”

Xander frowned. “Be careful. The last thing you want is some psychologist diagnosing you with severe PTSD. That could get you booted off the force in a hurry. Gage wants you to treat these sessions seriously, not get yourself medically discharged.”

No kidding. “My gut tells me she’s not interested in getting me booted from the force. It really seems like she wants to help me so I can get back on the job faster.”

“All the more reason to be careful around her,” Xander warned. “I hate to sound cynical, but she doesn’t seem like your typical bureaucratic shrink pulling down a fat consultation fee. She might be setting you up.”

His squad leader was right. He needed to keep his guard up. “I know. I’ll be careful.”

They fell silent as the food arrived, and the next few minutes were taken up with trying to make space on the table for all the dishes, second round of iced teas, and various condiments.

“What kind of pie do you have today?” Cooper asked as the waitress set down his cheeseburger.

“Apple. You want me to bring you a slice after you eat your burger, hon?”

“Nah, you can bring it now. I’ll eat it with the burger.” Cooper grinned. “Fruit is an essential part of a healthy diet, you know.”

The waitress shook her head and scribbled on her order pad as Alex and Brooks asked her to add apple pies to their orders too.

“Okay, enough about this psychology crap,” Becker said as the waitress left. “I’d much rather hear about Everly Danu. Where are you taking her to dinner tonight?”

Cooper chuckled at the eager faces around the table. “I asked Gage to get me into that fancy French restaurant he goes to all the time. She said she likes French food, so I’m hoping she’ll like that place.”

“Fancy.” Connor dumped more steak sauce on his plate. “You think she’s The One?”

Cooper snorted. “Let’s tap the brakes a bit on the whole soul mate thing. We just met last night.”

“But you like her, right?” Jayna asked.

“Of course I like her,” he said around a big bite of his cheeseburger.

Cooper remembered a time not so long ago when most of the Pack’s conversations revolved around weapons, criminals, and the various werewolves on the team getting into fights with one another. But ever since Gage had met Mac, they spent most of their time talking about women and who might find their soul mate next. Not that Cooper had a problem with it, but sometimes it seemed like the guys were starting to see stuff that wasn’t really there just because they all wanted it so desperately.

“I’d be stupid not to like her,” he added after he swallowed the bite he was working on. “She’s attractive as hell and fun to talk to, but it wasn’t like there were bells and fireworks going off when we met. Let’s see where this goes before everyone decides I’ve met my one-in-a-billion already. It wouldn’t be the first time one of us has met someone we like, only to find out it wasn’t the person we thought.”

They all nodded in understanding, but looked dejected. Cooper swore silently. He felt like a jerk for trashing their dreams, but sometimes it seemed like he was the only one thinking straight. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been involved with women before Gage, Xander, and Becker found their mates. And every one of those relationships had failed miserably—something they all forgot when the legend of The One started going around.

Thing was, while there hadn’t been bells and fireworks, Cooper had felt something with Everly. The way he had such a difficult time talking to her when she’d first spoken to him, and the extremely protective feeling that had come over him during the bank holdup, weren’t normal reactions for him. But he didn’t want to tell the guys that, if for no other reason than he didn’t want to jinx anything.

Cooper wondered if he’d been a bit too harsh when Alex leaned over and thumped him on the shoulder.

“Well, if it doesn’t work out between you and Everly, would you mind if I ask her out?” He grinned. “She’s really hot.”

Cooper laughed with the others, but he couldn’t deny the surge of jealousy that stirred inside. He frowned. What the hell? He’d gotten a handle on his werewolf anger management issues years ago. Maybe Everly was getting to him more than he’d been willing to admit to himself. Scary.

“What are you going to do with all this free time you suddenly have on your hands?” Brooks asked. “When you’re not talking to your shrink or stalking Everly?”

He thought about that for a moment. He wasn’t the kind of guy who could go see a movie or sit around his apartment reading a book—even though he did have a few graphic novels he couldn’t wait to start. He supposed he could work out in the gym at the SWAT compound, but then he’d have to watch his pack mates go out on incidents without him. That would suck. No, he would need to find something else to keep him occupied.

“I thought I’d head over to the FBI forensic lab and see if they could use my help rebuilding that IED,” he finally said. “The agent in charge is a friend. He’ll let me nose around a bit and keep me off the entry logs.”

“I won’t tell you not to do it because you’d probably only do it anyway,” Xander said. “Just be careful. If Coletti or any of the DPD brass find out you’re moonlighting with the FBI while you’re under a fitness review, they’ll have a cow.”

“And if the FBI brass finds out, they’ll have a whole herd of cows,” Alex added. “Don’t give them any more reason to hate us.”

* * *

Cooper parked in the main lot, then walked around to the back of the forensic lab located behind the main FBI offices at One Justice Way. Special Agent Dennis Doyle, his friend and contact at the bureau, met him at the door. Shorter and stockier than Cooper, he looked like your typical fed, right down to the conservative suit, plain tie, and perfectly polished shoes. Even though they both worked in Dallas, they hadn’t met until a few years ago during a one-week explosive training seminar in Houston. Cooper had made some dry comment about the clueless instructor while they were both grabbing coffee on a break. Dennis laughed so hard he’d just about snorted the hot beverage out his nose. They’d been on each other’s speed dial since then.

“Good to see you, man,” Dennis said as they shook hands. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard you’d ended up in the middle of a bank robbery last night. What are the chances, huh? They said you handled yourself well. The DPD giving you a commendation?”

“I wish.” He stepped inside then waited for Dennis to close the door behind him. “If I’d simply shot all five suspects instead of throwing one through a window and giving the other two concussions, I would have been fine. Now IA seems to think I have some deep-seated anger management issues that can only be resolved with the help of a department psychologist. I’m on the bench until she gives me the okay.”

Dennis blew out a breath. “Damn, that sucks. Now I see why you wanted to come in the back way.”

“Yeah, this visit has to be completely off the books, for your sake as much as mine. You okay with me looking over the evidence, considering we’d both get jammed up pretty good if anyone knew I was here?”

Dennis led the way down the long corridor. “Yeah. Just don’t touch anything without gloves on.”

He grabbed some blue latex gloves from a box mounted on the wall and handed a pair to Cooper, then led him into one of the lab’s many workrooms. The debris picked up after the bombing was spread out on various tables, with those portions of the device already identified arranged on a light table in the center of the room. As Cooper pulled on his gloves, he looked around at the whiteboards mounted on the walls. Streets, buildings, and the outline of a parking lot had been drawn on them, along with photos of the crime scene.

Cooper sniffed the air as he walked over to the light table, trying to identify the particular explosive residue scent saturating the room. It was definitely some kind of plastic bonded mix, but he couldn’t say more than that. Unfortunately, his nose wasn’t nearly as good as some of the other werewolves on his team, thanks mostly to a call back in the summer when he’d been stuck underground with nasty chemical fumes. His sniffer hadn’t worked worth a crap since then. If Khaki were here, she probably would have been able to ID the exact explosive compound in seconds.

“What kind of explosive are we looking at?” he asked his friend. “Have you ID’d it yet?”

Dennis shook his head. “We don’t know for sure. The techs are still working to give us that answer. But they already found enough chemical markers to make them think it’s definitely high-quality stuff, maybe even U.S. military-grade C-4 plastic explosive.”

Plastic explosives made for the DOD had chemical taggants added so they’d be easy to identify it they were used later in a bomb. If the FBI lab was picking up on those taggants already, this case just got really interesting.

“That can’t be good,” Cooper remarked.

Dennis sighed. “No, it’s not. As you can imagine, the possibility of military explosives being involved has the people upstairs in a fit. This one’s gonna have some seriously high visibility.”

“Good to know, seeing as a DPD cop died,” Cooper said dryly.

Dennis didn’t bat an eye. “You know that’s not what I meant. Everybody’s freaking out these days worrying some fanatic wearing a suicide vest is going to walk into a shopping mall. They hear C-4 plastic explosive, and that’s the only thing they hear.”

Cooper spent two hours going through the hundreds of fragments with Dennis, helping identify pieces and putting them back together to make sense of them. It was like building a puzzle while looking at the backside. You had to know what you were looking at to do it right. Luckily, Cooper had lots of practice. It didn’t take long for him to pick up the trademark signatures of a bomb maker who really knew his business.

“Look how minimal and consistent his insulation stripping is on these pieces of wire.” Cooper pointed as he held them under a magnifying glass. “He wanted to make sure he didn’t have any exposed wires that might inadvertently touch and short out the system. Take a look at the triple crimp marks on the end of this blasting cap too.” He moved the magnifying glass to that portion of the wire. “Even though the cap looks like it was made recently, the bomber still took his time to seal it well so no moisture or humidity would get into it and keep it from going off properly. This isn’t some good ol’ boy just trying to blow something up. This guy is a pro.”

Cooper moved along the table, studying one of the circuit boards with its soldered wires. Shit. The more he dug, the more sophisticated the bomb appeared.

“This is some of the most complicated circuitry I’ve seen in an IED outside of Iraq and Afghanistan.” Cooper picked up one of the circuit boards on the light table to study it closely. “This part looks like a remote arming circuit, from a garage door opener or a key fob probably, while the firing circuit is motion-activated. That’s some serious technology.”

“Wait a minute.” Dennis frowned. “You said remote arming. Are you saying the bomber was someplace close to the garage when he armed the device? And if he was, how close?”

“Five hundred to a thousand yards maximum.”

“We have a ton of security and traffic cam footage from around the industrial complex,” Dennis said with a grin. “If we’re lucky, our bomber might just be on there.”

Cooper set down the circuit board. “If I’m right about this part of the firing circuit being motion-activated, it’s possible the bomber waited until he saw the target enter the garage before he armed the device.”

“You mean Swanson really was the target?” Dennis asked.

Cooper shook his head. “Not necessarily. It’s a large garage. The bomber could have armed the device without realizing an off-duty cop was doing a security sweep. Swanson was still an unintended target, but if you can figure out who else went into the garage around the time of the detonation, you might be able to figure out who it really was.”

Dennis clapped him on the shoulder. “I think I may owe you another dinner after this one, buddy.”

Cooper grinned and pulled off his gloves. “You say that now. But the last time I came over, you complained I was going to eat you out of house and home.”

Dennis laughed. “This time, I’ll remember to stock up.”