by Paige Tyler
Even though he was in his SWAT uniform, he still flashed his badge at the heavily bearded guy behind the counter who was staring at the TV on the wall. The office smelled like two-hundred-years’ worth of beer and cigarettes. The smell was so bad it made Cooper wish his crappy nose was even worse.
The man turned his head enough to see the badge. When he realized Cooper wasn’t likely going to rent a room, he turned his attention back to the TV.
Cooper pulled out a photo of Jim he’d printed at the office. One he’d shown around Dallas hundreds of times in the past few days.
“Is this guy staying here?” he asked, hoping he could get the man to unglue his eyes from the TV long enough to look at the photo. “He’s older than in the picture, so he has some gray hair and wrinkles around his eyes now.”
The man’s gaze flicked to the picture, then back to the TV.
“Room nineteen on the back side of the building,” the man grunted without taking his eyes off the screen and the frigging infomercial on vacuum cleaners. “There ain’t no numbers on some of the doors, so you have to count the rooms as you go.”
Cooper thanked the man and headed for the exit, his heart thumping a little harder at the thought of finally talking to Jim.
“Hey!” the man called from behind the counter.
Cooper turned back just in time to catch something flying at him. He opened his hand to see a room key attached to a beat-up piece of plastic.
“Don’t break down the door,” the man said as the announcer on the TV demonstrated how useful the vacuum was at picking up marbles—since that was what everyone dropped on the floor all the time.
Cooper nodded and left the office. It took a few minutes to locate room nineteen. You had to find at least two room numbers before you could establish a pattern and start counting doors. But a few minutes later, he was standing in front of a room he was sure was the right one, mostly because even his crappy nose could smell Jim’s scent wafting through the cracks around the door. Jim’s rental car was parked a few spaces from the room.
Cooper knocked, tensing as footsteps approached the door. This could go bad in so many ways. Jim could be drunk off his ass and belligerent to boot. He might realize why Cooper was here and try to run. Hell, his friend might even pull a gun and try to shoot his way out of this situation. All of those scenarios were likely to end up with Jim dead, and Cooper really didn’t want his friend’s blood on his hands. This week had been shitty enough already.
He braced himself as the door opened, ready to protect himself, if Jim came out shooting.
But he didn’t come out shooting. In fact, he didn’t come out at all. He merely stood there, looking like he’d just come back from a job interview, if the tan pants, button-down shirt, and conservative tie were any indication. Cooper took a quick sniff, waiting to be bowled over by the odor of booze, but he didn’t smell any alcohol on his friend. And rather than looking crazy and belligerent, Jim seemed surprised to see him.
“Hey. What the hell are you doing here?”
Cooper peeked past his friend into the motel room. It definitely wasn’t much—dirty walls, dirty carpets, and dirty beds. But the place wasn’t trashed, and the suitcase lying at the foot of the bed looked organized and clean. A suit jacket was hanging on a chair over by the room’s desk, and Cooper could see an electric razor sitting on the vanity by the bathroom. One look at Jim’s face showed that his friend had just shaved.
Cooper had spent the last two days building an image in his head of how Jim would look when he found him, and this wasn’t it. Not even close.
“Coop, you okay, buddy?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” he said. “I thought I should come find you since I haven’t heard from you in a while.”
Jim frowned as he motioned Cooper inside the room. Cooper stepped in and closed the door. The scent of stale cigarettes immediately assaulted him. There was a plastic sign on the wall stating this was a non-smoking room, but it looked like someone had used it to put out their cigarettes.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Coop,” Jim said as he turned to face him. “If you’d said you were worried I was lying dead in a pool of my own vomit, I might have believed you. But I was your supervisor long before I was your friend. I know bullshit when I smell it. Why did you really come looking for me?”
Cooper thought about claiming he’d simply been worried about Jim’s drinking problem, but why the hell screw around? Jim had given him an opening. He might as well use it. But this was a lot harder to bring up than he’d thought. Outside of his pack and his biological family, there weren’t many people in the world more important to him than this man—except Everly, of course.
“I came to talk to you about Ryan North.”
Jim frowned. “Ryan North, our former commander, the one who ran our EOD company into the ground? Why the hell would you want to talk to me about that piece of shit?”
“Because somebody tried to blow him up—twice. Both times at the DOD contractor offices he works at here in Dallas. I’m helping the feds find the bomber.”
“And you think I might have some idea who…?” Jim’s voice trailed off, his eyes widened. “Holy shit! You tracked me down because you think I’m the one who tried to kill him?”
“Did you?” Cooper asked bluntly, still trying to sense whether Jim’s reactions were legitimate or not.
“Of course not!” Jim snapped. “I didn’t even know that dickhead lived in Dallas. Why the holy hell would you even think something like that?”
“Because I’m having a hard time believing it’s a coincidence that North is being targeted by an extremely skilled bomb maker at exactly the same time you show up in town looking for a job,” Cooper said.
“That’s your problem then.” Jim let out a derisive laugh as he leaned back against the desk. “If the only requirements necessary to make it into your suspect pool is knowing how to make a bomb and being in Dallas, then maybe I should point out that there are about thirty or forty different local, state, and federal bomb techs working in this city—and that includes you. Can I assume you’re on the suspect list?”
“Funny, but no, I’m not,” Cooper said. “Because unlike you, I don’t have a motive. I never even met Ryan North, and I certainly don’t have as much reason to hate him as you do.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Spoken exactly like a person who has never had to work with him. Everyone who’s ever met the guy hates him. Besides, hating a guy isn’t a reason to kill him. For example, I’m starting to hate your ass right now, but that doesn’t mean I plan on killing you.”
“Maybe because I never fucked up and got a bunch of our friends killed, then let you take the heat for it,” Cooper pointed out.
Jim went deathly still. “You asshole. I can’t believe you went there. Yeah, I was pissed the investigation team was made up of a bunch of desk jockeys who didn’t know a damn thing about field operations. I always thought more of the blame for what happened should have been laid on North’s shoulders, but that’s not how it worked out. I got over it.” He looked Cooper straight in the eye. “And I didn’t try to kill North.”
Cooper studied Jim, looking for some sign that his friend was lying. Elevated heart rate, change in breathing pattern, nervous tick—anything. Cooper wasn’t as good at picking up on this stuff as some of the other werewolves in his pack, but he could do it. And Jim wasn’t putting off any signals that indicated he wasn’t being entirely honest. He was tense and more than a little pissed off, but he wasn’t lying.
It hit Cooper then that he might have been wrong about Jim. Before coming here, he’d been so sure his friend was the one behind these bombings, but now, he didn’t know. It just didn’t feel right. Then again, Cooper wasn’t so sure how much he trusted his gut these days. After all the crap with Everly, his head wasn’t exactly screwed on straight.
While he didn’t want to keep going down this road, he didn’t have a choice. There were still some questions he needed answers to.
> “Where were you last Monday morning at 0530?” he asked.
Jim glared like he was some kind of frigging monster. Cooper’s gut clenched. He was getting that look a lot lately.
“You’re seriously going to ask me these questions?” Jim demanded. “Doesn’t our friendship mean a damn thing to you?”
Cooper ground his jaw. “Our friendship is why I’m here talking to you instead of arresting you. Now just answer the fucking question.”
Jim stared at him for a long time. Muttering a curse, he turned and opened a leather-bound notebook on the desk and flipped through a few pages. “I was having breakfast at the IHOP off 360 because I had an interview at 0630 at Lockheed Martin for an analyst position. About eighty people saw me at the restaurant, including the waitress.”
Cooper felt himself relax. “What about this past Monday at 0600?”
“I was over at Lockheed again, waiting around for hours, only to be told I’m not the kind of person they were looking for. And before you ask, I spent the rest of the day drinking. Remember, you picked me up the next morning?”
Cooper walked over to look at Jim’s calendar. He had appointment times, names, addresses, and phone numbers listed for just about every defense contractor in the area. It shouldn’t be too hard for the FBI to verify his story.
He took a deep breath then let it out slowly. He’d never been so happy to be wrong in his life. Not that Jim was likely to forgive him, but Cooper could deal with that.
“Look, I know this isn’t going to mean much now, but I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” he said. “Unfortunately, there’s one more thing I need you to do, so you can be completely in the clear on this one.”
“What’s that?” Jim asked suspiciously.
Cooper pulled out a business card and set it on top of the calendar. “I need you to see the FBI agent in charge of the bombing case and tell him everything you told me.”
Jim snorted. “You’re shitting me, right? Why the hell do I need to talk to the FBI?”
“Because the FBI has a composite sketch of the person who bought the explosives used to build the bombs, and it looks a little like you. Not a lot, I’ll admit, but it’s in the ballpark.”
Cooper had seen it when he’d stopped in to see Dennis before going from motel to motel. As sketches of suspects went, it wasn’t great, since the guy who’d bought the explosives from the Burke brothers had been wearing sunglasses and a ball cap at the time. But Jim was nondescript enough for the FBI to think it might be him.
“They’ve also got a list of every military person Ryan North has ever had a run-in with,” Cooper added. “Something tells me that your name is on that list. Pair that with the fact that you rented a car from the airport only a few days before the first bombing, not to mention that you’re hopping from one motel to another like a criminal trying to hide out, and you start looking like a really good suspect. I’d rather you go talk to the FBI now, rather than wait for them to kick in your door.”
Jim picked up the card and stared at it for a long time, then tossed it down with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll stop by tomorrow between interview appointments.”
Cooper frowned. “Tomorrow might be too late. I can go with you right now, if you want.”
Jim pinned Cooper with a glare. “I liked you so much better when you were just a bomb tech, you know that? I’ll stop by and see your FBI boyfriend today then. But it will have to be this afternoon. I have two places to drop off my résumé before the weekend. And no, I don’t want you to come and hold my hand.”
Cooper ignored the barb. “Fine. Dennis will probably be working until at least 1800 hours. Just call his cell if you need to. It’s on the card.”
Jim didn’t say anything. Then again, there wasn’t anything more that needed to be said. Cooper tried to apologize again before he left anyway, but Jim wasn’t in the mood to listen.
He swore as he walked back to his Jeep. In the past week, he’d not only lost the woman he loved, but one of his best friends. On the upside, Jim wasn’t the bomber. That was something at least.
* * *
Everly sat on her stool in front of her easel, gazing at the sketches she’d done of Landry a few days ago. It was pure torture, but she couldn’t make herself stop. She gently ran her fingers over one picture, pretending she was touching the real thing. He was so damn mesmerizing to look at, even in her simple line drawings.
She’d dragged her miserable butt out of bed a little while after Tristan left, deciding she’d wallowed long enough. She’d showered off, eaten a little something, and then come into her studio, figuring she should actually get some work done. Since then all she’d done was look at the sketches she’d drawn of Landry and think about how amazing she felt when they were together. She was seriously thinking maybe Tristan was right about Landry putting something in her blood—like a werewolf curse or something. And if she didn’t get past this overwhelmingly horrible feeling soon, she might start looking for a witch who could remove the curse. After all, if werewolves existed, why not witches?
She was trying to convince herself to put away the sketches of Landry when the doorbell rang.
Everly groaned. No doubt it was Tristan coming back with more unhelpful advice. Or worse, what if her brother had told their father that his one and only daughter had fallen in love with a werewolf? He was so crazy he might show up with a priest to do an exorcism.
She reluctantly slid off the stool and walked out of her art studio and through the living room. When she got to the door, she peeked out the peephole.
But to her surprise, it wasn’t her father or her brothers. It was Jayna. Her long, blond hair was down and she flipped it over her shoulder as she waited.
Everly sighed with relief, but then frowned. She’d never told Jayna where she lived, which meant Landry must have. Had he sent her here to convince her to take him back?
She hesitated, torn between letting her friend in or not. Then she yanked open the door before she could change her mind.
“Hey. Eric told me what happened,” Jayna said. “I wanted to come over and see how you were doing. I thought maybe you might want to talk.”
Everly opened her mouth to say she didn’t feel like talking, but stopped herself. She felt closer to Jayna than anyone—even closer than she felt to Mia in some crazy way. So instead, she nodded and stepped back to let Jayna into the apartment. Besides, talking to Jayna about Landry had to be better than being alone with her own thoughts right now.
“Do you want something to drink?” she offered.
Jayna shook her head as she sat down on the couch. Everly collapsed on the other end, curling her legs under her.
“So…” Jayna said. “You broke up with Cooper because you found out he’s a werewolf, huh?”
Everly stared at her friend, sure her exhausted and confused mind had twisted Jayna’s words. She couldn’t possibly have heard right? “Wh-what?”
Jayna held up her hands. “I’m not judging, and I’m not taking sides. I’m your friend, no matter what. Eric didn’t go into any details, but he did tell me that your mom was murdered by an omega, and that you witnessed it, so I understand why you feel the way you do about werewolves.”
Everly finally gained control over her vocal cords enough to spit out two words this time. “You know?”
Jayna slowly nodded. “That Cooper is a werewolf? Yeah. ”
Everly stared at her. “And you’re okay with that?” she blurted out. “He has claws and fangs and glowing eyes. My brother stabbed him in the chest, and he pulled the knife out like it was nothing. The wound healed in hours. Jayna, he’s a monster.”
Jayna regarded her thoughtfully. “A monster, huh? Is that what you thought he was when he saved your life last week in that bank? Or when he refused to retaliate against your brothers even though they stabbed him?”
Everly didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
“Was Cooper being a monster when he helped Eric save my friends and me from Albanian mobsters?” Jayna
persisted. “How about a couple months before that when he crawled through a maze of pitch-black tunnels filled with homemade explosives to save a kidnapped little girl? Or before that when he was shot multiple times trying to protect Mac from a low-life thug who wanted her dead?”
Everly’s heart seized in her chest at the thought of Landry getting shot, but that had nothing to do with him being a werewolf. She wanted to explain that it was more complicated than that, but she couldn’t find the words.
Jayna pushed her hair behind her ear with a sigh. “Look. I’m not saying Cooper’s an ordinary man. We both know that’s not true. And I’m not making light of what happened to your mother. What I am saying is that just because he has claws and fangs, that doesn’t make him a monster. The werewolf who killed your mother was a monster. For all you know, he could have been a cold-blooded killer before he became a werewolf.”
Everly knew all the things Jayna was saying were true because she’d had those same thoughts swirling through her head for two days. But it didn’t matter that Landry was a good man. Every time she closed her eyes and thought of him changing into that monstrosity, she almost lost it.
“How did you figure out Landry was a werewolf?” Everly asked. Anything to distract herself so she’d stop picturing him with claws and fangs. “Did he turn into one in front of you?”
Jayna shook her head. “No. Once you know what a werewolf smells like, you can pick one out of a crowd at a couple hundred feet away, if the wind is right.”
Lack of sleep was obviously affecting her ability to think clearly because what Jayna was saying simply didn’t make any sense. Everly had been extremely close to Landry—multiple times—and she hadn’t noticed anything unusual about the way he smelled. Except that he smelled good.
