Cooper sighed. Why did every conversation with Park end like this? Why did Cooper have to snap like a wounded animal every time Park reached out?
He watched Park slam into the house with an uncharacteristic display of emotion. Well, he’d managed to make the most unflappable man he’d ever met look mad enough to kill.
Get in line.
“Shit,” he muttered with realization. He’d neglected to tell Park that someone on Baker’s property had just tried to murder him.
Chapter Ten
Despite the reinforcements, nothing of much use was found on Baker’s property and despite Cooper’s best efforts he didn’t get a chance to talk to Park about his suspicions that someone had tried to kill him.
Every time he managed to catch Park’s eye, Park would immediately look away, and when Cooper tried to get him alone he’d scamper off. Or whatever the Park equivalent of scamper was. Gracefully glide elsewhere.
Oliver. Oliver Park. It suited him. Or rather, it was unexpectedly gentle, refined and sweet-sounding, and that suited him.
Cooper realized he was smiling to himself while sorting through Baker’s toolbox and quickly stopped. BSI had a hard enough time keeping up appearances without the locals seeing him grinning over a serial killer’s potential torture tools. Talk about bad press.
He finally managed to get close to Park while he was crouched and examining the tires of Gould’s bike. “Find anything?”
Park startled, spinning in the dirt. His face only relaxed for a second when he saw it was Cooper before tightening into a neutral and distant expression.
“Did I just manage to sneak up on you?” Cooper teased, trying to ignore the queasy feeling of rejection bubbling in his gut. “What happened to that bloodhound nose?”
Park snapped, “It’s not like we’re sniffing everything all the time. I’m not actually a dog, despite what you think. Sometimes I’m busy doing other things. Sometimes thinking, even.”
“Whoa. Okay.” Where’d that come from? “I didn’t mean—” As usual, Cooper couldn’t sort out the right words to apologize. He wasn’t even sure what he’d be apologizing for. “Listen, I’ve been trying to get you alone. I need to talk to you about something—”
Park brushed his hands off and stood. “Not necessary. I get it. You weren’t thinking clearly. You were freaked out. Don’t worry about it.” An ugly grimace flashed across his face. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Cooper blinked. What...? “Do you—are you talking about the, uh...” The kiss? his brain provided. But was that what it had been, exactly? The time I sucked on the back of your hand was more accurate but not very appealing-sounding.
“...the thing?” he finished lamely, but Park was already backing away.
“I don’t expect anything. It’s already forgotten,” Park said, and retreated.
Cooper watched him walk toward the house and get flagged down by a uniform who seemed to ask a question. Park turned and pointed at Cooper.
Arrest that man if he tries to talk to me again. Sexual harassment. Hand-sucking with an intent to distribute.
Cooper flushed. Was that his...intent?
Park clearly thought Cooper regretted “the thing” at the top of the crevice. He was offering an out. It never needed to be talked about again. Cooper should take it and be grateful. Park was right, he hadn’t known what he’d been thinking. He should be relieved Park was willing to pretend it never happened.
He probably would be relieved if he wasn’t too busy wondering if Park regretted it.
Cooper ran a hand over the leather seat of the Yamaha, looking for a distraction.
Correction, looking to stop being distracted and to focus on the case, which is why they were there and the actual reason he had needed to talk to Park. Park, who thought “the thing” was a mistake?
Or did Park think Cooper thought it was a mistake?
He sucked his teeth, disgusted with himself. This was juvenile. Enough.
Without putting too much thought into it, he mounted the Yamaha. The bike was the only thing tying Gould to Baker. This bike that Gould loved, took better care of than he took of himself, according to Christie. Cooper grasped the handles, the textured rubber fit nicely in his palms.
“I’m a twenty-three-year-old male. People used to respect me for my physical prowess, but that changed when I didn’t make the cut and had to move back home with Mom. Now I’m a joke around town. I cling to my golden days, high school. People pity me. Christie gave me part-time work because he pities me. Or because he’s trying to get into my best friend’s pants.
“Sam Whittaker. Sam knew me when I was somebody. He still looks at me like I’m somebody. I’m desperate to hold on to that. I lie to my mother and hide our friendship. Relationship? Friendship. Sam wishes it was more. Do I know that?”
High school crushes were hard to hide. All those hormones, all the ignorance and stuttering and fumbling inexperience. In Cooper’s experience, the object of affection usually picked up on the crush, sometimes sooner than the person who was crushing on them knew themselves. Gould had known. And Gould had used Sam’s affection to his advantage. Was that what had driven Sam over the edge?
Cooper sighed. It was easier this way. Everything was so much more understandable wearing someone else’s shoes. He wished it was this simple navigating his own life.
Cooper leaned forward on the bike and imagined driving back to the Pumphouse to try and convince Sam one more time to come with him on this mystery job. Why? Sam had already said no. What did it matter if he came or not? Gould needed the money. Badly, if he was willing to agree to such a sketchy setup. Why would he want to split the pay with Sam?
“Sam’s got secrets. We fight about the secrets, but he still won’t tell me what he’s hiding. Sam, who puts up with all my shit, hiding him as a friend, all the fights, holds this one thing to himself. I can’t let it go. Why? The last time his secrets put a stop to our friendship. I don’t want that to happen again. I can’t let it happen again because Sam is the only one who has a good word to say about me in this town.
“What did I want more than anything else?”
Money? No, why try and share the payday with Sam?
Respect? Sure, relive the glory days. When people respected me physically.
Answers? Definitely. But how did getting Sam to come with me to Baker’s give me answers?
Unless Gould had already made the connection between Whittaker and Baker. And bringing Whittaker here would have accomplished...what?
Or...
Baker was the one who wanted Whittaker here. Baker was in the position to give Gould the answers he craved. Cooper had been there once himself, on the verge of grasping a huge secret that haunted his nightmares. Given the opportunity to get answers, what wouldn’t Gould have agreed to do? If asked, would he have tried to lure his best friend into potential danger?
Cooper had risked his life, given up his dream job and signed away his career to the BSI for a flimsy chance at the truth.
But why would Baker want to lure Whittaker here? He didn’t even seem to be living here for the last week. And why would Gould trust Baker of all people? How would he even know him? He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be talking to him on the phone about trying to convince Whittaker again either. Baker, who didn’t have a friend in the world? It just didn’t fit. But who would Gould have trusted besides Sam?
Cooper fingered the key still in the ignition. After a moment he tried it. The engine spluttered and gasped a couple times, and he gave up. Totally out of gas.
“I loved this bike. I would never treat her that way. I may not think about a lot, but I think about this. So Baker emptied the tank. For what? There wasn’t another vehicle on site. Why leave the bike here to be found?”
“Agent Dayton?”
Cooper startled. Two EMTs had approached him without h
im even noticing.
“Yes?”
“We were called and told you took a bad fall and required medical attention.”
Cooper scowled. He may not have figured out much, but he was pretty sure he knew exactly who had ratted him out.
* * *
Someone was trying to break into the room.
Cooper sat up, heart racing, confused and cold. He was naked on his motel bed, on top of the covers. It took him a moment to remember how he’d gotten there.
By the time he’d escaped the EMTs and begged a ride with a uniform back to his motel, he’d felt so drained and aching he could barely move. He’d sat down to take his clothes off before hopping in the shower and had only meant to close his eyes for a minute. The deep shadows spilling through the room and clammy gooseflesh all over his body suggested he’d fallen asleep for a lot longer than that.
Another pounding on the door sounded—loud and aggressive, definitely not a polite room service sort of knock—and then a violent jiggling of the doorknob. Cooper jumped out of bed, dragging the sheet around his waist, and paused frozen in the middle of the room. He felt paralyzed by indecision, which was odd because there wasn’t really much here that required deciding. He must have been woken from a deep stage of sleep. Or was more shaken by the day’s events than he’d realized.
The day’s events. That’s right. When someone had tried to kill him.
Cooper grabbed his gun out of the holster, quickly checked the barrel, turned off the safety and stood by the door. He took a steadying breath, blinked the last grub of sleep out of his eyes and yelled, “Who’s there?”
The pounding stopped. “If this is you trying to make some kind of three little pigs joke right now, I am going to smack you right in your chinny-chin-chin, Dayton.”
Cooper sighed and lowered his gun. He quickly unlocked the door and opened it to an extremely annoyed-looking Park.
Park had his hands braced on either side of the door frame and was staring upwards with an expression epitomizing why me?
“What the hell were you doing trying to break my door down for?”
“If I had wanted to break your door down, it’d be down. I was knocking. For ten minutes. Why didn’t you—” Park stopped, just noticing Cooper now.
More accurately, what Cooper was wearing. Or not wearing.
Park’s brows went up while his eyes went down. And up. And back down again.
“I was sleeping,” Cooper said, trying not to fidget under Park’s assessing gaze. His dick was taking notice of the attention, and he awkwardly bunched the sheet up tighter around his waist to get more coverage. He bit out, “Here’s a tip on the house—normal people don’t knock like they’re beating a war drum.”
Park’s eyes, which had been lingering on the mess of scars on Cooper’s belly, shot back up. “Normal people don’t take a quarter of an hour to answer their door. You weren’t responding, and after your fall today I was wor—” Park cut off, and to Cooper’s astonishment a faint pink tinge warmed his cheeks. “Well, you could have been concussed.”
“I’m not concussed,” Cooper said. He stepped back and gestured Park inside so he could close the door behind him. The night air felt unpleasantly sharp on his already chilled skin. “I have a clean bill of health thanks to those damn EMTs you sicced on me. Thanks so much for that, by the way.” He was trying for sarcasm, but frustratingly it came out weak—Christ, almost sincere-sounding. He felt disarmed knowing Park had been pounding down the door out of concern for him.
That warm and fuzzy feeling disappeared fast when Park said, “Well, you were sitting on that motorcycle talking to yourself for a long time. Brain damage didn’t seem like a stretch.”
“Why, Grandma, what big fucking ears you have,” Cooper said, slamming the motel door. Why had he invited Park in?
“The better to hear you complai—What the hell is that?” Park pointed, sounding appalled.
For a horrifying moment Cooper thought maybe the sheet had slipped, but Park continued, “Is that a gun you’re hiding in that sheet or are you really just that unhappy to see me?”
“Oh.” Cooper shrugged and awkwardly put the safety on and his weapon away while trying to keep a hold of his sheet. “I didn’t know who was knocking.” If possible, Park looked even more astounded by this. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Cooper said dryly. “I’ve never seen you so expressive, Agent Park.”
Park’s face immediately returned to its normal bland neutral. “Who did you think was knocking?” he said slowly and seriously, as if speaking to a child.
“I was sleeping. I wasn’t thinking. But I didn’t want to risk it if whoever tried to kill me today was inclined to finish the job.”
“What?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you at Baker’s,” Cooper said tiredly. He had to fight the urge to crawl back into bed and have this conversation from under the covers. He was so cold. “Someone untied my climbing rope.”
Park’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“I thought I saw something in the crevice, out of reach. I used Baker’s rope, tied one end to the tree, the same one you were using, and then I fell. But the end of the rope wasn’t frayed, it didn’t break, the tree didn’t break. Someone untied it.”
Park seemed to pick over his next words carefully. “What if the rope just...loosened?”
Cooper snapped, “I know my knots, Park. I’ve been climbing for years. Trust me, it didn’t just loosen. Someone else was there. I heard them.”
Park looked him over and then nodded. “Okay. I believe you. But who? No one knew we were going to be there except the station and there’s no one besides Baker living up there who could have seen us on the property.” He frowned. “I guess... I guess Baker may have still been nearby. I must have been wrong. I’m sorry, Dayton. But why didn’t you tell the others?”
Cooper, gearing up for an argument, was thrown for a moment, especially by Park’s ready apology for something that wasn’t even his fault. “Baker? Oh. I don’t—” He paused. A long pause. “I didn’t have proof. I didn’t actually hear anyone. Not exactly. But—” He shifted. “Do you ever get that feeling that you just know you’re not alone? But you can’t pinpoint how you know. It’s just a—a feeling,” he finished lamely. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me.”
Park surprised him by smiling softly, but his eyes were serious. “That’s healthy animal instinct. Believe it. But that wasn’t what you were going to say, was it?”
True. Creepy that Park knew it, but true. “I don’t think it was Baker,” Cooper said before he could second-guess himself again.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think Baker was there today. I don’t think he’s the one who untied my rope. It just doesn’t add up. You were right. That house didn’t feel like someone was living there. You said the bed hadn’t been slept in for a week, more, and I believe you. But somehow he knew we were going to be there today?”
“Maybe he was watching the property.”
“Why? Because he thought the cops might come knocking? Then why leave Gould’s bike out plain as day? No, it can’t be a coincidence. It has to be someone who knew we were going to Baker’s.”
“You think Sam Whittaker planted Gould’s bike for us to find? And then waited around to get rid of you? Why?”
“If Gould never made it out of the Pumphouse, Whittaker would need to dump his bike somewhere. He sets up a suspicious story about Baker, knowing we’ll check it out. Drives it up there during the night. Waits nearby to watch and impulsively seizes an opportunity to get rid of a BSI agent. Or—” Cooper stopped.
“Or?”
Just say it. “What do you think about Miller?”
Park tilted his head. “That’s the second time you’ve asked me that. Why?”
“The thing I saw—what I
thought I saw in the crevice, it was some sort of bracelet. I didn’t get a very close look and lost it when I fell, but I think it could have been a medical alert bracelet.”
“Okay,” Park said slowly.
“Miller is allergic to nuts. He told me that at Bear’s the night Eagler was abducted. He was into her. Was trying to flirt with her and she wasn’t interested.”
“Miller’s not a wolf,” Park said.
“I know. But the doctor said Jenny had stun gun burns on her body. Why? Would you need a stun gun to overpower an average human female?”
Park frowned but shook his head.
“And what about the leftovers in the fridge—pad thai with no nuts?”
“That’s a serious stretch. I told you that wasn’t pad thai. Just some noodles. They’re probably Baker’s.”
“Yet they seemed fresh. So someone’s eating takeout there but not wearing the clothes or sleeping in the bed. Either Baker the naked hermit just can’t resist lo mein—I get it—or someone is lying low and using Baker’s place to do it. What about eager-to-impress Miller, not coming in to work two days in a row during the biggest investigation Florence has ever seen? Am I seriously the only one who thinks that’s suspicious?”
“You think Miller’s our unsub.”
“I think there are two unsubs. Two crimes. We both saw the photos. Bornestein and Doe were killed by a wolf or wolves. We suspected Jenny’s abduction was unrelated to our case from the start. Two unsubs. One a wolf serial killer, the other Miller.”
“But why would Miller be on Baker’s property then? Him or his bracelet? If these are two separate crimes, why are they both tied to Baker? And where does Gould fit in?”
Cooper didn’t have an answer to that. He shook his head, and the movement made him sway slightly as the room shook back.
Park stepped toward him and put a warm steadying hand on his elbow. Cooper couldn’t resist leaning into the warm palm a bit. “Easy. You’re freezing. And when was the last time you ate?”
He couldn’t remember. For once his guts hadn’t been bothering him. In fact, they hadn’t twinged once the entire time at Baker’s. Cooper shook his head again and immediately regretted it.
The Wolf at the Door Page 19