The Wolf at the Door

by Charlie Adhara

  Park’s grip on him tightened. “Take a hot shower and then you need food.” He made a face suddenly. Like he’d just seen something unpleasant. Cooper realized Park was sniffing the air.

  Cooper’s body was covered in schmutz and scrapes and what could only be described as slimy rock gunk. Even he could smell himself at this point.

  “You really do smell like death,” Park confirmed.

  “Yes, thank you. I will shower. I can take a hint when it’s shoved repeatedly in my face.”

  Park shook his head. “No, I mean—” His hand moved up slowly and hovered by Cooper’s ear. “May I?”

  Cooper’s throat was suddenly too tight to speak, so he nodded. He was unsure as to what he was agreeing to, but Park wasn’t going to hurt him and anything else, well, anything else was fine.

  Park’s fingers gently held Cooper’s head in place. He leaned forward, tilting Cooper’s face to the side. Cooper’s breathing stopped altogether. What—?

  But Park didn’t kiss him. He gently sniffed Cooper’s hair.

  “Ummm...”

  “I didn’t notice before because there were too many other more immediate factors,” Park said quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself. “Your blood, your fear, that fucking bug spray. But it’s still there after everything else faded. It lingers. Death.”

  Park met Cooper’s eyes and they stared at each other for a moment as Cooper struggled to process Park’s words. Ugly words so contrary to his enticing touch.

  Park dropped his hand and stepped back.

  “You think someone’s down there, at the bottom of the crevice? Gould?” Cooper was proud of how unaffected his voice sounded. Or how he thought it sounded. It was hard to tell over the thumping house party his heart was having in his ears.

  Park shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t tell getting it secondhand like this, hours later. It could be a dead animal. It’s probably a dead animal.”

  Cooper thought about the dried blood on the rock’s surface. He’d assumed it was from the various scrapes on his own body. Now he wasn’t sure if any more assumptions should be made on this case. “I think you and I need to talk. About the case,” he added quickly.

  Park agreed. “Over dinner, though. You haven’t eaten all day.” He smiled faintly. “And I always need to eat.”

  “Somewhere more private than Bear’s Den.”

  “Please. That tourist trap?”

  “You were there too.”

  “Because I was keeping an eye on you,” Park explained in an aggravatingly patronizing voice. As usual he looked unfazed by Cooper’s indignant grunt. “Well, chop chop. Aren’t you going to shower? I can take you to a more private restaurant, but clothing is still required.” Park looked pointedly at the sheet wrapped around Cooper’s waist and then, to Cooper’s surprise, sat on the bed.

  “You’re going to wait here?”

  “You just told me someone tried to kill you today,” Park said, his expression a grim and forbidding argument. “Maybe Miller. Maybe Whittaker. Maybe Baker. All of those people could get into this room easy, either by brute force or with a badge. You better believe I’m waiting right here.”

  Cooper intended to rush in and out of the shower, but the moment the hot water cut through the day’s grime and started to soak into his stiff muscles he accepted that just wasn’t going to happen.

  He let his head loll forward, groaning as the water cascaded over him, thawing his very bones. Park was right, he couldn’t hear anything under the water and would have been totally vulnerable if someone came after him.

  But then why would someone come after him? Why had someone gone after him? It had clearly been an impulsive strike. But why? They must think he knew more than he did.

  He only wished that were the case.

  It had been kind of Park to stay, Cooper thought as he massaged soap into his aching muscles and over stinging cuts. Even if it was odd showering with someone waiting in the other room, standing guard in his bed.

  Cooper’s half-hard dick didn’t think odd was the right word for what this was at all. He gave himself a couple sympathetic tugs and sighed. The steam of the shower in the closed bathroom amplified the scents. The sharp tang of his body wash mingled with the almost heady smell of his own arousal. He groaned very softly again. It would be too weird to get off quickly with Park in the other room, right?

  On the other hand, it might help him control these inappropriate impulses Park seemed to inspire lately, not to mention calm him down. He still felt jumpy and unsettled. His heart continued to flutter unpleasantly, an almost nauseating sensation, even though logically he knew there was nothing to fear at the moment. Nothing life-threatening, anyway. Stupid anxiety was the worst party guest. First to show up and the last to leave. Cooper craved a drink. But truthfully, jacking off offered nearly the same soothing relief.

  He cupped his balls and bit his lip to muffle a grunt. Well, why not? Who would know? Half worked-up already, he could be quick enough. Especially knowing Park was in the other room.

  Unless—could Park hear him? Smell him? He glanced at the closed bathroom door. Christ. His dick thickened even as his nerve faltered.

  Cooper turned the water down punishingly cold and finished washing in less than a minute, studiously avoiding his groin. He got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, wishing he’d thought to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom. Not that Park hadn’t just seen him in nothing but a sheet fifteen minutes ago. But now it felt different.

  He left the bathroom releasing a small cloud of humidity with him.

  Park was sitting on the bed where Cooper had left him, leaning back on his hands, staring at him with a slight tilt of his head.

  Cooper pointed to the drawers. “I’m just going to...”

  Park didn’t say anything. Didn’t even acknowledge Cooper had spoken. Just continued to watch him with heavy-lidded intensity that completely negated any progress the cold water had managed to make on Cooper’s body. If Cooper had any doubt that Park knew exactly what he’d started to do in the shower, it was gone now.

  He grabbed some jeans and underwear and then walked to the closet by the bed to grab a button-down shirt. Park didn’t say anything, just watched him intently. They were close enough to touch.

  Cooper’s skin was flushed and his scalp prickled. That healthy animal instinct Park was championing before was bellowing now. He knew Park wanted him. Badly. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. He just stared at Cooper with a hungry, almost predatory gaze. A look that made Cooper want to do things, offer things, that made his cheeks flame just to consider. He was sure he only had to give the slightest signal and Park would pounce. Would probably take him right there against the closet door if he wanted to.

  He shivered. The image of that, Cooper scrabbling at the wall while Park claimed him in that calm, controlling way of his, was too exciting to think about.

  And that was the problem—Cooper wasn’t thinking. Only a day ago he had disliked Park, distrusted him.

  Hadn’t he?

  It wasn’t that Cooper had anything against wolf-human relationships per se, but it was obvious who would always have the upper hand in regards to physical power and control, and he had promised himself a long time ago he wasn’t going to put himself in an unbalanced relationship like that ever again.

  Not that a relationship was even on the table. Just sex. So what was the problem? It was really just a matter of whether or not he trusted Park.

  Cooper tugged the shirt off the hanger hurriedly and retreated back into the bathroom, closed the door and stared at himself in the sink mirror. His face was flushed, his eyes wild and a brighter green than usual. There was a difference between not distrusting someone anymore and trusting them to let yourself be totally vulnerable.

  He splashed cold water on his face. When he returned a few minutes
later, dressed and feeling more in control, Park was standing with his back to him, looking out of the motel window.

  “Where’s this restaurant then?” Cooper said, loudly, casually.

  Park turned and gave him a faint and cautious smile. “Do you like seafood?”

  “When in Rome,” Cooper said. “Or Florence. Close enough.”

  * * *

  The Ancient Mariner was a two-story waterfront building that seemed to spill right off the bank and into the lake, where its shaky back deck was propped up on thick stilts in the water. If the place had been smaller, Cooper might have called it a shack. But instead it was large and...precarious-looking.

  The inside was nearly empty of customers and startlingly dim. Dark wood walls had rusty harpoons and stretches of knotted rope net tacked to them so haphazardly it may have been imitating a ship’s hull or it may have been undergoing some sort of survivalist-run renovation.

  They were quickly shown to a very private table—inside at Cooper’s insistence and not on the deck that trembled in the wind—under a large wooden plaque with faded gold lettering. Another decoration hopefully, and not the latest safety and sanitation grade.

  Their waiter arrived, a sallow, unsmiling man who may have been auditioning for the role of ancient mariner himself. Cooper was relieved when Park ordered a Tom Collins so Cooper felt free to get a gin and tonic himself. His jumpiness hadn’t faded, a fact not helped by the eerie vibe of the restaurant. It had been a long, difficult day.

  Once they got their orders in, Cooper launched into everything he’d noticed the last couple of days which, when all was said and done, didn’t amount to a whole hell of a lot. Park listened thoughtfully, interrupting only occasionally with a question.

  When he was done, Park seemed willing to consider Miller a possible suspect in Jenny’s abduction and Cooper didn’t know if he was relieved he wasn’t being reproofed or terrified of the implications of his theory.

  “But why would Miller abduct Jenny and then release her practically unharmed?” Park said, finishing his drink and gesturing for a refill for them both. “Why had anyone? There was no monetary gain, no sexual assault.”

  “Maybe she had some part in this whole thing.”

  “No,” Park said. “Absolutely not.”

  “All right. Not involved. Maybe she saw something she shouldn’t have,” Cooper said in a conciliatory tone he’d rarely heard himself use. He was feeling oddly magnanimous. But after all, they’d know more soon enough when they could question her.

  The conversation paused when the food came with a second round of drinks. Cooper’s maple-glazed salmon was hot, flaky and melted in his mouth, and based on the gusto with which Park tucked into two appetizers and his large fish and chips, the salmon wasn’t a fluke. What the shack lacked in fire exits, it made up for in cooking.

  “We need to talk to Miller tomorrow,” Park said after a few minutes, nibbling on a fry. “Whether he comes into the station or not.”

  Cooper agreed. “But tread carefully.” It was a bad situation to cast suspicion on a fellow LEO. Miller seemed to hero-worship Harris, and though the constant attention might annoy the older officer, he likely wouldn’t take kindly to any accusations to his protégé. “We don’t have any solid proof. I was talking to Jenny the night she disappeared. So were you.”

  “Miller’s bracelet—”

  “Is at the bottom of the crevice. If it exists at all. The bracelet, not the bottom. Though I have my doubts about that too.”

  “You saw it, so it’s there somewhere. We should send a crew tomorrow to find it. A professional caver with backup keeping watch.”

  Cooper felt a rush of warm gratitude for Park’s faith in him. “Still, it could belong to anyone. It’s probably Baker’s.”

  Park shook his head. “It’s definitely not Baker’s.”

  “What, wolves don’t have allergies?”

  “Sure we do, in a way. But considering the typical reactions, a medical alert bracelet isn’t going to do shit.”

  Again Cooper’s curiosity was piqued. What did that mean? This wasn’t the time to ask. But there was so much the BSI didn’t tell its agents about wolf culture, biology or anything, really.

  What had felt like too much to process that first day now seemed like an absurdly meager amount of information. Even if this partnership project didn’t take off, it was now obvious to Cooper that the BSI needed more education on, well, everything. He’d gladly say as much in his report whether he was asked or not.

  And if he was asked if he thought partnering BSI agents with Trust agents was also a good idea?

  Cooper ordered another drink for them both and dove back into the case.

  Maybe Miller’s absence was a coincidence. Or maybe he was one of two unsubs, him and Baker. Maybe he was aware of wolves and had been at Baker’s investigating on his own. Or maybe he was working with Baker. Or Whittaker. Or Whittaker was working all alone and was planting evidence left and right, leading them on a wild goose chase with a fuck load of geese.

  Ever since he saw that bracelet at Baker’s, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the cases were connected and yet he couldn’t see how they could be. Maybe it meant nothing. It could have turned up there anytime. It could belong to anyone. Real life was full of coincidences. Maybe the bracelet was just a bracelet.

  Cooper ordered another drink while Park got himself dessert and brought up Christie again, saying, “I still think there’s something weird about him going to Whittaker’s.”

  “Weird or desperate and impulsive,” Cooper mused. Which was the exact same thing he’d thought about someone sabotaging his climbing rope.

  “Christie knew Bornestein and Gould,” Park said, as if reading the thoughts right off Cooper’s face like a teleprompter. Impressive because Cooper hardly knew what he was thinking himself. “He lied to us about Whittaker, he carries a stun gun and he was on Baker’s property when you fell.”

  Cooper accepted this with a frown. The more they talked about it, the more suspects they seemed to accumulate. “Someone should check his alibi for Gould’s disappearance. He told you he was at an AA meeting?”

  “I know someone I can talk to tomorrow. It might be better if I go alone, though.”

  “Sure,” Cooper said absently. “I was thinking of going to the morgue to see if I can confirm these are actually wolf kills and not... I don’t know—”

  “Christie the Swamp Slasher?”

  He shrugged. “Mistakes happen.” He didn’t want to talk about Christie. In fact, he didn’t want to talk about this damn case anymore. Maybe it was the gin or maybe it was that they still had too many unknowns, but Cooper was dizzy from talking in circles.

  “Dayton—” Park started, and then hesitated.

  “Mmm?”

  “You called me for help. At Baker’s.”

  Cooper raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, oddly enough I remember that.” Was Park fishing for another thank-you? He had already thanked him. Hadn’t he?

  “If you were so sure someone on Baker’s property tried to kill you, how did you know it wasn’t me?”

  “Oh, I trusted you.” That was obvious. Trusted him with his life in that crevice without a second thought. Something about that niggled at Cooper’s brain. A connection trying to be made. He wished he hadn’t drank quite so much gin.

  On the plus side, the restaurant didn’t seem so eerie anymore. The dark, hushed atmosphere now felt intimate, the décor—well, the décor was still bizarre, but Cooper felt almost amused by it now. He read the plaque above their table.

  We drifted o’er the harbour-bar.

  And I with sobs did pray.

  O let me be awake, my God!

  Or let me sleep away.

  Cooper could relate.

  “It’s from the poem. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner?” Park said, startling Cooper
from his observations.

  “Right. Of course. Real upbeat ditty, is it?”

  Park’s lips twitched.

  “So what are you, some kind of secret poet?”

  “Hardly. But I did my PhD in comparative lit. The name of this place was a tiny clue, too,” Park joked, but Cooper barely heard him.

  He was still caught on the first part. Cooper couldn’t have been more surprised if Park had told him he’d trained to be a go-go dancer. Actually, he’d have believed that more. Dr. Oliver Park. Well, shit.

  Cooper imagined the big hulking man across from him in a tweed jacket reading literature. It was ridiculous. Or...something. “I guess it’s true what they say about the job market for English majors.”

  Park laughed outright at that. An abrupt, throaty sound. A barking laugh, Cooper noted with a swell of warmth. He sipped his gin. He wasn’t sobering up anytime soon, so why not. “Did you go right from school to working for the Trust?”

  “No, I used to teach university in Toronto.”

  Professor Oliver Park. Cooper added some elbow patches to the tweed jacket. He coughed and shifted in his seat. “So what happened?”

  “Oh, well.” Park’s smile tightened slightly. “Life. You know.”

  Not really, Cooper thought. He’d grown up knowing he was going to chase bad guys one way or another. Since childhood his own career plan had only deviated twice, first from following his dad’s footsteps in the Jagger Valley PD to joining the FBI, and second, from leaving the FBI for the BSI.

  Both changes were prompted by near-death experiences and neither were really that much of a change. Not from the outside point of view, at least.

  He couldn’t comprehend what sort of life event rocketed a man from memorizing sonnets, or whatever Park had been doing, to, well, whatever the hell he did for the Trust.

  His bewilderment must have shown, because Park added, “It’s a long story. I don’t like telling it.”

  That only sent Cooper’s speculations through the roof. A scandal? An affair with a student? A murder? Was working with the Trust like mandated community service? He couldn’t see that. Maybe it was more like the army and Park had been drafted. But that didn’t seem very feasible either.