Cooper yelled in pure frustration and kicked rapidly at the wall.
Suddenly, he heard a thump and clatter from the other side. Someone throwing open one of the internal hallway doors, maybe, or going into another exhibit.
“Hello!” He pulled his foot back to kick again and paused. What if whoever had put him here had waited around, and now that Cooper was making too much of a racket, had decided to finish him a different way? He was completely vulnerable and exposed like this. No way to seek cover without getting back on the ground, and that sure as hell wasn’t happening.
The door cracked open.
Eli stuck his head inside. “Well, well, well, looks like the shoe’s on the other foot now. Found him!” he yelled in the other direction, then turned back to Cooper. “Pro tip: it’s usually a little more inconspicuous if you hide with an animal you can actually shift into.”
“I wasn’t hiding—” Cooper started, and Park’s head appeared beside Eli’s. Cooper wasn’t sure what he looked like, but from the way Park’s expression went from relieved to dangerously blank, he knew it wasn’t pretty.
Cooper smiled wanly. “I don’t suppose you picked up any other food besides fish.”
* * *
One look at the amount of blood in Cooper’s hair and he was hustled to the hospital without so much as a by-your-leave. Fortunately, his wrist and head had sort of split the damage evenly between them, so neither injury was too bad. Hurrah for teamwork.
Like most head wounds, the bleeding looked worse than it was, but he didn’t have a fracture and only needed a couple stitches. As suspected, his wrist was mildly sprained and would apparently be fine with a soft brace. All in all, it was barely midafternoon when Cooper and Park made it home with Eli in tow.
“So, what you’re saying is now you have even less hope of finding my recording than before,” Eli said, scooping up a delighted Boogie and planting himself on the large, squishy armchair in their living room. “Because you led my co-blackmail victim turned murdering arsonist directly to the evidence. Maybe so they’ll destroy it all. Maybe so they can use it against me as well. Only time will tell. If you were hoping for a job-well-done bonus, I, too, feel I must deliver some bad news.”
“Not less hope,” Cooper protested. “We at least know Arthur is on there for sure, which makes him a strong suspect for attacking me and stealing the phone, if nothing else. Oliver and I can speak to him again at the gala tonight.” He had told them about finding the phone and seeing a picture of Arthur Crane with a group of people, but not who else in that group he’d recognized. He wanted to speak to Park privately about it first, unsure what Eli did or didn’t know about Park’s parents, and they had yet to get a moment to themselves.
“Weren’t you supposed to be laying low?” Cooper asked. “What part of that means lurking around the scene of the crime?”
“I do not lurk. I was merely keeping an eye on proceedings from where they’d least expect to see me. And lucky for you I was at hand to rescue your distressed self from between a croc and a hard place.”
“He has a point, Eli,” Park said, sitting opposite him on the couch. “Maybe you should go back north to the pack for a bit, at least until we can figure this out.”
Eli looked down at Boogie on his lap and rolled her to her back, a move that would have led directly to the emancipation of Cooper’s skin from his body had he tried it, but just made Boogie give a big, pleased stretch.
“I’d rather stay here,” Eli said vaguely. “Not here-here. Of course I won’t trespass on your hospitality by inviting myself into your home”—Cooper snorted—”but I assure you I’m perfectly capable of finding accommodations for myself.”
“And I’m sure we’d all have a big laugh when you pop up in the bird house or a panda tree or whatever else you next consider to be reasonable shelter,” Cooper said bitingly. “Don’t be ridiculous—if you’re staying, you can stay here.” He paused and looked at Park. “If that’s okay?”
Park had an odd expression on his face. Not unhappy, though, just a little surprised and thoughtful. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Eli’s gaze darted between the two of them shrewdly. “Very well,” he said finally, then abruptly stood, expertly pouring Boogie out of his lap into a sleepy puddle on the cushion behind him. “In which case, I admit I’m in desperate need of a shift and a bath and perhaps some of that wine you take to bed with you,” he added, directly to Cooper. “Any order will do. In fact, cab sauv breathes beautifully in a large shallow bowl if you’re so inclined to put one out on the porch for me. Ollie? Care for a trot?”
Park glanced at Cooper, clearly reluctant to leave him alone. “Ah, not right now.”
Eli shrugged, already pulling out of his clothes. “Suit yourself.”
As he wandered into the kitchen and out of sight, Cooper heard the telltale clacks of a shift, like stone on stone, followed by the creak and slam of the back door.
“You could have gone with him,” he said. “I promise I’m fine. Even the headache’s gone.”
“I don’t need it. I got a shift in this morning.”
Cooper frowned, the wording of that reminding him just a bit too much of Arthur Crane, but bit his tongue. “As long as you’re staying, there’s something I need to tell you. Can Eli still hear us?”
Park listened and shook his head. “He’s probably a couple miles into the woods by now.”
“Okay.” Cooper exhaled. “Look, I didn’t know if I should say it before, but the photo I saw on Arthur’s phone with the group of people? I recognized a couple of them.”
Park tilted his head, curious, looking sweet and unworried. Cooper wished there was an easier way to say this. Once upon a time in his life, he might have just avoided saying it at all.
“He was with, ah, Daisy.” Park’s face sort of stilled. “And a man that I think was probably your dad.” Park didn’t respond, and after a moment, Cooper hesitantly went on. “Daisy was holding a toddler. And it said, um, Ottawa babes on the Polaroid.”
Silence.
Then, “Must have been Camille,” Park said distantly. “They lived in Ottawa before I was born, with some other WIP members.”
“Okay,” Cooper said slowly. “So, does that mean Arthur ‘I’m not a wolf, I’m a real boy’ Crane was once part of the WIP with, um—”
“He said himself he didn’t get along with packs. The WIP is actively trying to dismantle the pack rule system. James Finnigan could have recognized Arthur, known he was WIP back in the day.”
“Is that really blackmail-worthy, though?”
Park shook his head. “No. No, it isn’t. We must be missing something. Probably more than one thing.”
Cooper nodded, thinking. “I wonder if he recognized you. Arthur, I mean.”
“My parents were probably using a different name. Boudillion or hell, any other random alias, I don’t know. Anything but Park. The WIP are very pack-averse.”
“No, I mean I wonder if he recognized you because your dad looked a lot like you,” Cooper explained. At that, Park’s gaze drifted to the side, staring unfocused around Cooper’s shoulder. “Although it was dark in that fish room. And he was wearing tinted glasses. And the picture was taken over forty years ago, so maybe not. I wonder what happened to the other people in the photo. One of them was in fur too, did I mention that? I mean, I don’t know if it’s important but—”
“What did he look like?” Park interrupted.
“Um, kind of brown with tan patches?”
Park looked back at Cooper. “No, my dad. You said he looked like me. How? I don’t—my grandparents only had pictures of him as a kid, so...”
Never mind the murder investigation, the blackmail, the crocodile. Cooper wished he’d managed to hold on to that phone if only just so he could hand Park the photo to keep and look at whenever he wanted, for as long as he wa
nted. Because it wasn’t fair that Cooper could know what Benjamin looked like while Park had to cling to a child’s fading, unreliable memories.
Cooper moved to sit next to Park on the couch and stroked his jaw. “This was the same. And this.” He booped Park’s nose, and Park’s eyes closed, perhaps to imagine it better.
“He looked like a charmer, like you. And the same pretty hair,” Cooper said, running his fingers through it before poking Park lightly in the chest. “Leaner. Thinner. Shorter. Happy.”
Happier, Cooper thought but didn’t say.
Maybe Park heard it anyway. “I’m happy,” he said.
“Are you?” Cooper blurted out before he could stop himself.
Park opened his eyes, expression concerned. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be?”
Cooper shook his head. “I mean, I know we’re happy together. But are you as an individual fulfilled? Empowered? Nourished?”
Park laughed, startled. “Therapy is really putting you through the ringer, huh? I’d have worried you’d been replaced by a pod person if you’d been able to get through that without all those air quotes.”
“I’m attempting a rare serious moment,” Cooper said, putting his hand on Park’s thigh.
He wasn’t sure exactly how to put into words the low buzz of concern that had been building for some time now. But his head was spinning with thoughts of Agents Roy and Dionne’s wary standoffishness. Of Arthur Crane, who had once been smiling and committed to fighting for what he believed was the best possible future of wolves, now devoid of pack bonds and shifting so rarely he hardly smelled like a wolf anymore. What had happened to change him so dramatically? Had it been one single moment? Or a loss that had been gradual, preventable.
“Just... I want to know if you’re where you want to be. Not just with us. But with work. With your family. With your pack. That as a wolf you feel whole. Happy.”
Park studied him. “Is this because of that book you found? Are you trying to do some kind of alpha check-in? Because I promise it’s not your responsibility whether or not I’m happy with my career or family. Not as an alpha and not as my partner.”
“Responsibility, no,” Cooper agreed. “But in addition to being my partner, my...whatever the opposite of alpha is, the horizon that my first and last thought touches every day, and my hands-down favorite lay, you’re also my best friend, Oliver. And maybe that doesn’t sound as big of a deal because, you know, not a lot of competition. But it’s true. You’re my best friend and you make me feel like I can do anything. I just... I want you to feel that too.” Cooper cleared his throat. “Uh, the bit about feeling supported, I mean. I’m not demanding you say I’m your best friend back. I haven’t made us half-moon bracelets or anything.”
Park’s eyes crinkled as he smiled softly. He put his hand on top of Cooper’s and entwined their fingers. “Have I told you I love you recently?”
“No, you’ve been cruelly reticent and I’ve had no choice but to be sentimental enough for the two of us.” Cooper shook his fist at the ceiling. “Curse this new burden of being the most emotionally healthy person in the house. I hate it!”
Park laughed. “How could I ever not be happy when I have this?”
“And everything else?” Cooper asked.
Park tilted his head. “Truly? Some things, yes. Others, I’m not sure. Can I think about it and let you know?”
“Whenever you’re ready. As often as you like,” Cooper vowed. “You can always tell me what you want out of life and I’ll always be first pick on your heist team ready to help you get it.”
“As often as I like?”
“Dreams change. People change. Please just don’t stop giving me the chance to change with you.”
As if he could not resist, Park pulled Cooper close for a light kiss to the mouth, the cheekbone, the temple. His lips felt wonderfully cool to Cooper’s skin.
“Happy chance,” Park sighed into Cooper’s hair.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Park said. “An old line I’ve developed new appreciation for. Perhaps I’ll pull it up and read it to you sometime during one of our daily power couple check-ins on hopes, dreams and aspirations.”
“Daily?” Cooper muttered. “I said best friend, not your fucking fairy godmother. Weekly, maybe.” He rested his head on Park’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, and sighed. “Every other day, at most.”
* * *
Later that evening, Cooper was freshly showered, dressed and clearheaded enough to feel self-conscious as he examined himself in Park’s haunted mirror. He tugged at the tux. It was a bit loose in some places, tight in others, but the general concept still worked. And it wasn’t like he had options. The real betrayal came from the parts that he hadn’t dug out of a garment bag at the back of his closet. His hair, for example, that he’d tried to do something new with and instead taken from blandly uninspired to slightly deranged-looking. Really, what was its excuse? He didn’t even dare look at the back where the stiches were.
From the bathroom, he could hear Park showering. They’d talked a bit more about Arthur Crane after that...detour, but really, what else was there to say? It was only speculation until they could speak to the man himself tonight.
Cooper futzed hopelessly with the bowtie and his wrist twinged a bit, feeling sore and fragile. He’d taken off the hand brace to shower and dress but was considering putting it back on again before the gala when a dark shadow moved in his lower peripheral.
“Jesus, Eli,” Cooper said, spinning, clenching his hands at first defensively, then even harder to try to force the sudden trembling in his arms away before it could spread through his body. “I’m really not in the mood for being snuck up on.”
Fuck, too late. The tremor had made its way into his voice. He took a deep, calming breath through his nose and out his mouth while Eli eyed him speculatively, sitting in fur in the open bedroom door.
“What do you want? I poured you a bowl downstairs,” Cooper said.
Eli very distinctly rolled his eyes, and then jerked his head to indicate Cooper should come with him. Cooper frowned but did, following him down the stairs and to the front door, where Eli sat patiently.
“How’d you let yourself back in if you can’t let yourself out?” Cooper asked, annoyed, and pulled open the door, faux-irritated but also somewhat relieved not to be staring at his reflection anymore.
Beginning to walk up the house path was Neil. Just as startled as Cooper was, he froze and stared, lips slightly parted, as if Cooper were some spirit manifested to haunt him.
“Boo,” Cooper said, and heard Eli huff as he padded away.
Neil’s face turned angry. “Where the hell were you this afternoon?” he demanded.
“Where was I? Where were you?” Cooper asked. “You didn’t show.”
“I had to—Genevieve needed me to take care of something. You couldn’t wait ten minutes?”
“Take care of something?” Cooper repeated. He almost added he had been waiting until someone jumped him, but stopped himself. When had Neil gotten there exactly? While Cooper was wandering around in the back? While he was unconscious? Surely any later than that, he would have heard Cooper banging on the walls. And earlier than that...?
Cooper studied Neil, then dismissed the notion. No. The man he knew could be a real bastard, certainly, but he wouldn’t attack Cooper and leave him in a potentially life-threatening situation. For what possible reason?
“What are you looking at me like that for?” Neil asked.
“How do you know where I live?”
“You used to be a federal agent, once upon a time. Surely you don’t have any illusions of privacy. Now, I told you I need to speak to you. Are you letting me in or not?”
Cooper hesitated, then stepped to the side, letting Neil into the house. “I don’t have long,” he warned. “We need to leave
for the gala soon.”
“You think ‘J.T.’ isn’t working that entire shit show?” Neil retorted, striding into the living room as Cooper followed. “I have less time for this than you do.” He came to a sudden stop. “Is that a dog?”
Cooper looked around him and realized Eli was splayed on his side, taking up the entire the couch, head partially obscured by the pillows. He looked like nothing more than a pitch-black mass of fur and legs and didn’t move as they entered the room.
“What else would he be?” Cooper said.
Neil shrugged, acknowledging that, and took the armchair opposite Eli. “He’s fucking huge. What kind? Some type of working breed?”
“I’ve never seen him do any work,” Cooper said, sitting on the edge of the couch between the two of them, blocking most of Eli from view, feeling the warm press of his body at his back. It wasn’t ideally comfortable, but for some reason Cooper disliked the idea of Neil being able to look freely at Eli like this. “What do you want?”
Neil rhythmically tapped his knee with his fingers, looking around the room with open curiosity. “I visited you, you know,” he said nonsensically.
“What are you talking about?”
“When you were in the hospital a few years ago. I heard down the grapevine you’d been attacked in pursuit of a suspect and were in the ICU. No visitors, but flash a badge and they’ll bring you a chair. You were being kept under at the time. Belly was still all open. Managing the sepsis, apparently. I took a look at your chart. Four deep lacerations. Just like James Finnigan.”
Cooper didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.
The thought of Neil being allowed right there into the room with him at one of the most vulnerable points of his life, without the permission he never would have given, during a medically induced unconsciousness, flesh literally flayed and his insides exposed, made Cooper’s whole body feel impossibly tight. Not uncomfortable, but...angry. Like every single muscle fiber had coiled up with a fury so sudden and intense it was like it was happening right now. So consuming that there wasn’t even room for surprise.
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