Undercover Wolf

Chapter 9

What the hell had local cops been doing out of uniform at the crime scene?

Quinn stood with Kristine outside the police station. His private investigator’s mind grappled with the problem. Should he really quiz those cops in depth instead of just hinting around? Or would that blow everything?

He was glad he’d used the Alpha Force elixir to shift last night. Those cops might well have noticed another person sneaking around them in the woods. Of course, they were supposed to be watching for wild animals, but they wouldn’t have assumed that any wolf prowling the area had human cognition and the ability to observe them while remaining alert and avoiding detection.

He was even more impressed, in that respect, with the improvement over Simon’s concoction.

Grasping Kristine’s hand almost automatically, he leaned over and quietly rehashed what he had seen and heard. The two people he had just seen again at the police station had not been quiet at the site and had apparently not even wanted to be there, considering how fast they’d taken off—and it had sounded as if they’d planned to go straight to the nearest bar.

Why had they really been there in the first place? And what—

“Mr. and Mrs. Scott?” The voice came from behind them. Quinn almost didn’t react. His mind was veering in other directions from the cover Kristine and he had assumed.

But Kristine was alert. She tugged at his hand, even as she turned. “That’s us.” She feigned a giggle. “I’m still trying to get used to it, though. We just got married.”

She was talking to a tall, skinny guy with an almost skeletal face—and watchful hazel eyes that suggested he was analyzing every iota of data around him. His scent was sharp, some kind of shaving product overlaid with an expensive male cologne. If the smell hadn’t been washed out somewhat by the brisk breeze wafting from the nearby sea, Quinn might have puked.

“I just spoke briefly with Chief Crane, and he sent me out here,” the man said. “He told me that a newlywed couple was just asking about the official investigation into the mauling of those tourists in Acadia. Is that you?”

“Yes,” Kristine said.

“Well, I’m an investigator for an agency of the federal government that has jurisdiction. Like he told you, we’re involved with the investigation because the deaths occurred in a national park. Let me assure you that we’re conducting the inquiry as quickly as possible, and—”

“Which branch?” Quinn inserted quickly. He could guess, though, considering who’d shown up at Ft. Lukman when Simon and Grace had disappeared. And it was very interesting that this guy had come after them when Crane had suggested that the feds weren’t being very cooperative.

“That doesn’t matter,” the man said, his glare apparently intended to cut off all further inquiry.

As a private investigator, Quinn had run into that type before—and enjoyed playing them. “Maybe not,” he said cheerfully. “But someone from U.S. Fish and Wildlife might look into this differently from someone from, say, the Department of Defense.”

“Could be,” the man said. “You sound somewhat knowledgeable, as well as interested. What’s your background, Mr. Scott?”

Quinn knew he’d better modify his attitude. Otherwise, this guy, and any colleagues he might have around, might look more closely at Kristine and him, and their flimsy unofficial cover.

Or maybe they already saw through them.

“I’m in retail sales, back in Ohio,” Quinn said. “I’m assistant manager at a major discount store. My wife, Kristine, is in retail, too—she works at one of the big houseware chains.” They’d discussed this before when putting together their cover. There were a lot of salespeople in this country, probably quite a few with the last name of Scott, even in Ohio. Someone checking them out might not find a Quinn and Kristine, but the jobs sounded realistic.

“That’s right,” Kristine confirmed. “But...well, I have to say I’m really nervous about being here now. We’ve thought about leaving, but we planned our honeymoon so carefully. Please tell us, Mr.... er, what did you say your name was?”

“Kelly,” he replied, without clarifying whether that was his first or last name.

“Mr. Kelly, are you with Fish and Wildlife?” Kristine asked. “I hate to see poor animals slaughtered, of course, but if they’ve gotten a taste of killing people it could happen again. Are you one of those people who’s dedicated to protecting them no matter what? I heard that the tourists who were killed might have been members of some protective organization. If so, isn’t that ironic?”

Usually, those were exactly the kinds of people Quinn liked best. That meant they wouldn’t shoot wolves on sight. The whole thing about needing to kill werewolves with silver bullets was a myth. Shifters were as susceptible to death by shooting of any kind of ammunition as their human counterparts.

Like what happened to his family members.

“No, I’m not with Fish and Wildlife. And, yeah, the victims have been identified. This wasn’t the first national park they visited to observe wildlife, but it’ll be their last.”

He still didn’t say what branch of the feds he was with. Interesting, Quinn thought, though not unexpected. Most likely, he was an official DSPA investigator given the assignment as mentioned by that team leader, Olivante. But whoever he was, he might have information that could help in their quest to learn what really happened.

Which meant that Quinn needed to get to know the guy better. Carefully, of course.

“Then who are you with?” Kristine insisted before Quinn could stop her. Or maybe she could get away with pushiness. Men often forgave in women what they wouldn’t tolerate from other guys.

Especially if the woman was as hot as Kristine.

Although the thought of this creep—whose eyes were, not unexpectedly, continuing to assess Kristine—lusting after her made him want to punch something. Preferably Kelly.

But Quinn was nevertheless interested in the guy’s answer.

“The Department of Defense,” Kelly said as offhandedly as if talking about the nice spring weather. That didn’t fool Quinn. Those icy eyes assessed not only Kristine now, but him, too—undoubtedly to gauge his reaction.

Quinn thought fast about how to play this. He needed to buddy up to Kelly, but he wanted Kristine out of it for her own safety.

“You know, I’ve got some civilian friends in the DoD,” Quinn said. “One does engineering work overseas. A couple of others are in D.C. Hey, honey, why don’t you go back to the hotel while I schmooze here a little with Mr. Kelly to see if we have any buddies in common?”

He aimed a look at Kristine that even someone with a fraction of her intelligence would understand. It shouted, Listen to me. Do what I say. No questions asked.

She sent a stare right back at him that slapped him with, No way in hell...honey.

“But I want to hear all about your friends, sweetheart,” she said. “I haven’t met them, and now that we’re married I want to get to know all your buddies.”

He wanted to shake her. But damn, didn’t she look sexy in all that obstinacy, with her lower lip extended and her blue eyes flashing.

A short bark of laughter emanated from Kelly. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’m about to meet a coworker for coffee. Why don’t you both come along? We can all share information on people we may know in common.”

His quick glance at Quinn suggested that he planned to ask questions, too—and the people he thought they might know in common weren’t necessarily the fictional ones Quinn referred to.

This could be interesting. Quinn still wished he’d been able to get Kristine out of it.

But he recognized that the upcoming session would probably not even occur if it weren’t for her.

“Sounds good to me,” he finally said.

* * *

The coffee shop they headed for wasn’t part of a big chain—not in this quaint, tourist-filled town. Even so, it resembled the kinds Kristine was used to, with a large counter along one wall where baristas fixed drinks, and tables everywhere else that were already filled with chatting patrons.

As they stood in line, the aroma of delicious coffee filled the air. Kristine knew that Quinn, with his exaggeratedly canine senses, could enjoy the scents even more than she did. She might even ask him...later.

Right now, she was still irritated at his blatant attempt to get her to bug off. Maybe he’d done it to increase the possibility of male bonding, but that wasn’t likely. The chilly DoD guy wasn’t about to become so friendly that he’d spill his guts and tell Quinn everything he wanted to know.

Or maybe Quinn considered this fed dangerous and had tried to protect her. If so, that was sweet, but unnecessary. She’d been in the military a lot longer than he had. She could protect herself...and him.

And if this Kelly didn’t have the best interests of the military—especially a certain covert unit—in mind, but only some absurd government protocol? Well, all the more reason for Kristine to play him and learn what he was all about.

For now, the three of them stood silently, as if saving up all their questions and deviousness for when they were seated. Was Kelly’s cohort here yet? Apparently so. Their skinny companion nodded toward a solitary African-American guy at a round table.

That fellow was dressed in similar nondescript clothing, and although he appeared shorter and thicker than Kelly, his face was equally sharp and expressionless.

Kristine ordered a medium-size mocha. She deserved the chocolate kick. They were no doubt about to engage in a verbal battle exercise.

Both men unsurprisingly ordered plain brewed coffee. Quinn insisted on paying for them all, successful pseudo–retail manager that he was. In a few minutes, they joined Kelly’s buddy at the table. It was surrounded by others filled with people either talking or working on laptops or tablets. The place was noisy—a good way to keep somewhat confidential anything they might say.

“This is Don Holt,” Kelly said, as they all took seats. “We work together.”

“In the Department of Defense.” Kristine tried to sound excited, to maintain her cover persona.

“We’re within the Defense Special Projects Agency,” Kelly said. That didn’t explain much—although it resonated with Kristine, since she’d met someone else in that agency recently.

“What kinds of special projects?” she pressed.

“The kinds around here,” said Holt. His dark cheeks were puffier than his comrade’s, his hairline farther back on his forehead, but the similar expression in his analytical gaze suggested that Special Projects taught its members to scrutinize deeply as they sought verbal answers.

Quinn laughed jovially. “Okay, guess we’re just going to talk in circles, right?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “The thing is, no one around here appears ready to assure us that whatever happened to those other tourists won’t happen again. How far are you in your investigation? Do you know what kind of animal killed those people? Is it somewhere in your radar so you can prevent it the next time?”

Kelly and Holt glanced at each other, neither responding. Then Kelly took a sip of his coffee. “Let me ask you something, Mr.—Scott, is it?”

Quinn nodded.

“Who are you, really?” Kelly’s eyes rolled coldly from Kristine and back to Quinn.

“We’re the Scotts,” Kristine responded, making herself sound surprised. “We’re here on our honeymoon, and my husband is determined to protect me. We heard that there was at least one other pair of honeymooners here last week, but they weren’t the ones who were killed. I’d love to talk to them. Maybe they can reassure us about what happened. I don’t suppose you know who they are, do you, or where we could contact them?”

“You two are filled with questions, aren’t you?” Holt’s tone suggested that he hated questions. “You want answers? Then answer ours first. Who are you?”

Quinn’s laugh did not sound humorous. “Are we at some kind of impasse? My wife did answer your question. What’ll it take for you to answer at least some of ours?”

“The truth, maybe,” Kelly said. “Let me ask something else that’ll break what you call an impasse. Either of you know anything about something called Alpha Force?”

With effort, Kristine kept herself from reacting. She shouldn’t have been surprised. These guys were from the Department of Defense. DSPA Team Leader Darren Olivante, who’d been at Ft. Lukman just days ago, knew of the existence of Alpha Force, its covert nature—and the special qualities of many of its members.

If these guys were here to conduct the official federal investigation, it wasn’t surprising to learn they’d been briefed about Alpha Force. But how much did they know about it?

And did they know that Quinn and she were with the unit?

What, really, was their agenda?

“No, I’ve never heard of it,” Quinn lied. “Are you two members?”

“Nope,” Kelly said. “Are you?”

Kristine laughed. “This is getting silly. What are we talking about here? What is Alpha Force?”

“You tell us,” Holt countered.

Kristine picked up her purse, which she’d put on the floor at her side. “This all is too squirrelly. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you think this Alpha Force has something to do with what happened here and the killing of the tourists? If so, please explain or we’re leaving.”

“Hang on,” Kelly said. “We’re here searching for evidence of what really happened.” He actually sounded for the first time as if he was telling the truth. Plus, the icy hardness of his expression had turned into something resembling frustration. “We weren’t told much, only that the two honeymooners were part of a unit called Alpha Force and might have something to do with the killings. The tourists were apparently mauled by some wild animals, and that’s the story we were assigned to check out. If you have anything you can pass along to help us, let us know. The local cops sure aren’t helping. They apparently resent our interference. Some even hang out at the crime scene at night and watch for wild animals, but I gather they’ve not been especially successful. So...”

He looked at Quinn rather than at his partner, which was probably a good thing for him. Holt was glaring daggers at him. But was that an act?

“You’ve been asking too many questions to be just honeymooners trying to stay safe,” he continued. “What’s your real role in this?”

A pause. Kristine considered how best to respond, but Quinn beat her to it. “Okay. You’ve leveled with us. I’ll tell you the truth.”

Shocked, Kristine almost stood and grabbed him. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—reveal their affiliation with Alpha Force, especially to the official investigators.

Would he?

“I’m a private investigator,” Quinn continued. “Like you, I’m on an assignment here because those two honeymooners have apparently disappeared. I’m trying to find out if whatever killed the tourists whose bodies were found got them, too. But right now, no one seems to be cooperating in my investigation, either. You want to work together, share information?”