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Geoff was used to being awoken rudely and at all hours. What being a werewolf didn't teach him, his time as a volunteer fireman did. The phone sitting on his bedside table rang loudly, jarring him from sleep. It sounded like the old-timey phones from the 1950s, which fit in nicely with the hotel's overall décor. His hand darted out reflexively. He had just enough time to register the grey-blue shimmer of light coming from the windows before he put the receiver to his ear. Whoever was calling, at least they had the decency not to do it in the middle of the night.
"Who died?" he grumbled. He didn't think anyone had really died – everyone in the pack was here, and he would have surely heard the ruckus of someone being killed a few rooms over – but if his day was going to start out shitty, he may as well spread the love. He was a sharing kind of guy like that.
There was the slightest pause before the voice on the other end responded. "Mr. Cooper? This is Carl from the front desk. I'm sorry to bother you so early, but there are some gentlemen here to see you." Apart from the hesitation, he didn't seem to react to Geoff's question. Professionalism at its finest.
"Here to see me? Who the hell needs to talk to me at..." he craned his neck, squinting at the alarm clock. "...seven o'clock in the goddamn morning?"
"I'm... not entirely sure, sir. They said they're here from the government and that it's important."
"What does someone from the government want to talk to you about?" Lou asked. She had woken up nearly the same time Geoff did and was listening intently to the conversation. Another advantage of being a werewolf was super-acute hearing. Of course, in a hotel, that could sometimes be a disadvantage.
Geoff made an aggravated gesture to shush her. It was a good question, though. "What the hell does the government want to talk to me about?" Even as he asked the question, he had a fairly good idea what the answer was going to be.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Cooper, they wouldn't tell me." For the first time, he could hear a crack in the man's otherwise courteous tone. "I tried to send them away, but they made a call and somehow my boss got involved, she called me and said they were legally allowed to be here. She said... that I'd be let go if I didn't call you."
The man's issues with his boss were none of Geoff's concern, and he seriously considered just hanging up. However, he knew that wouldn't accomplish much, and the last thing he needed was someone showing up at his door with a badge and questions. Better to deal with this in the lobby. "Fair enough," Geoff said. "Tell them to wait there, I'm going to get cleaned up and then I'll be down."
"Very good, sir." Carl from the front desk sounded relieved. Distantly Geoff wondered what time these men had actually shown up, and how long Carl had tried to delay before having to make the call.
"You mean, we'll be down," Lou said firmly, already sweeping aside the bed sheets to get up. She spoke the words in a tone that would brook no arguments, her jaw set as she regarded Geoff, almost daring him to disagree.
Another time, perhaps, he would have. But not today. "Of course, I meant 'we.' But they don't need to know that."
––––––––
LOU HAD WANTED TO THROW on clothes and head to the lobby immediately. Geoff meant it, though, when he said he wanted to get cleaned up. It wasn't a matter of appearing dirty or sloppy; he wanted to make these mysterious government men wait as long as possible. He even took his time showering, aware of Lou's anxious pacing just on the other side of the curtain. Geoff wasn't quite ready to connect these visitors with her feeling of being watched the night before, but the thought crossed his mind more than once while he was getting ready.
Finally, when he decided things had dragged out long enough, he finished up and got dressed. He didn't know what one was supposed to wear to a meeting with unknown, unannounced government agents, so he decided on jeans and a black Metallica t-shirt. Out of respect for the occasion, he selected one without holes or stains. Lou was also dressed in jeans, and a white blouse that contrasted nicely with her skin tone. He didn't know if it was intentional, but he appreciated the effect either way.
They walked down the hallway in silence, in step with one another. Over the years, Geoff had cultivated enough flexibility to minimize his limp. As they approached the lobby, he made a conscious effort to undo those adjustments, making his uneven gait more pronounced without exaggerating it. In the past, it had served him well to be underestimated.
The lobby was nearly empty, which struck Geoff as odd given the time of day. It didn't occur to him until much later that these men may have had something to do with that. It was easy to spot their visitors: they were the only people there, except for a decidedly nervous-looking young man behind the desk (Carl, presumably). They were sitting at a table near the corner of the lobby, well out of the way of any foot traffic. It was as close to "private" as one was likely to get in a normally very public area.
To be fair, the men would have stuck out even if the lobby had been full. They were wearing dark blue suits of a nicer cut than off-the-rack, and they weren't carrying briefcases or laptop bags like high-powered business travelers would be.
They were also armed.
That last part wasn't exactly obvious; the reason they wore tailored suits was likely to hide the bulge of a handgun, but Geoff knew they were packing. Werewolves' supernatural senses extended to scent, and he'd been around guns enough to recognize the odor of gun oil. He didn't even have to look over at Lou to detect the slightest shift in her posture. Most people don't come to a friendly chat with hidden firearms. They still didn't know what this was, and it was already going downhill.
"Well, these must be them!" Geoff started speaking while they were well outside the distance of normal conversation, raising his voice to compensate. He forced a good-spirited almost-drawl into his voice, even though he grew up nowhere near the South. "Carl here says you were looking for me, so here I am! Geoff Cooper, and this here's–"
"Louisianna Mason," one of the men finished for him. "Yes. We know." His voice sounded slightly raspy, like he was battling a sore throat. He looked to be in his late thirties, but in excellent health. The suit couldn't hide the agent's broad shoulders or well-defined arms, leaving no doubts as to his fitness. His face had the kind of tan that doesn't come from a bottle, nor from hanging out poolside. It was a ruddy complexion usually seen on a farmer or a construction worker, not a spook in a suit. His nose was long and thin, and the rest of his face was all sharp angles, as though someone had chiseled him from sandstone. Even his hair was a bleached blonde that looked too fake to actually be fake. Geoff guessed that just like the tan, he came by the hair color honestly.
Geoff hadn't truly expected the men to be thrown off by Lou's presence, but it was still unsettling for these strangers to know so much when they hadn't even been in the time zone for eighteen hours. He stopped several feet away from the men's table, schooling his face to let none of his surprise show. Lou assumed her place beside him, remaining silent for the time being.
"Please. Sit," Raspy said, gesturing at the two chairs opposite him and his partner.
The partner had at least a decade on Raspy, maybe more. The man's hair was tightly curled and had once been black, but now it was shot through with streaks of gray. Geoff gave the man credit for not trying to dye it. He had deep creases around his lips and chin that were not jowls yet but would be someday. Right now, they just made the man look like he was perpetually scowling. His eyes were a pale, pale blue, which contrasted starkly with the dark circles underneath them. Unlike Raspy, this man's skin was pallid, almost yellow. There was an alertness to his gaze that belied any fatigue or illness, however; he watched Geoff and Lou's approach like a bird of prey. As an apex predator himself, Geoff recognized the look and knew instantly this man was the more dangerous of the two.
"I think we'll stand, thanks. A bit sore from getting up. Hotel beds are the worst, am I right?" Geoff kept the jocularity in his tone, still speaking slightly louder than was necessary. It may have been petty but remaining standing while the two men sat gave them a slight psychological advantage. "Now, what did you folks have to talk to me about that was so damn important that it couldn't wait until a decent hour?" He decided not to mention the impropriety of coming to their hotel and forcing the front desk to call them to the lobby; one complaint at a time.
"And what department of the government are you gentlemen from?" Lou added. Unlike Geoff, she didn't put on any airs. Her tone was sharp, and her words direct. She'd grown up in a military family and had spent time as a legal assistant to boot. The experiences left her with little tolerance for bullshit; Geoff was glad to see that trait turned on someone else for a change.
If the men were put off by Geoff's refusal to sit, it didn't show. Raspy glanced from Geoff to Lou and back again, as if deciding to whom his response should be directed. He half-turned to Pale Eyes, who shrugged imperceptibly, before settling on Geoff.
"Mr. Cooper. Ms. Mason. I'm Special Agent Traxler. We're working with the Department of Homeland Security and your names came up on a rather... shall we say... unusual report and they've asked us to look into it."
Geoff's eyes narrowed. The man was being cagey, but he couldn't quite put his finger on how. "What the hell does the Department of Homeland Security want with me?" For the first time since getting the call, he started to wonder if this was related to something other than his being a werewolf. As far as he knew, lycan matters weren't an issue of national security. It was his turn to shoot his partner a look out of the corner of his eye. Lou met his sidelong gaze, and he could see a hint of confusion in her expression as well.
Traxler chuckled softly. "It's nothing personal, Mr. Cooper. Washington, D.C., being what it is, we have an added bit of scrutiny on all travelers. I'm sure that you can appreciate that. Now, as we understand it, you and Ms. Mason recently acquired a property on Blue Plains Drive, is that correct?"
There was no point in denying it; property sales were a public record, after all. "Yes, that's correct."
"And it was a cash sale?"
"Yes, and it was completely above-board." He didn't like being made to explain himself, even when the explanation was completely innocent. It was hard to keep an edge out of his voice. Beside him, Lou made a small noise in the back of her throat, too soft for the agents to hear. He forced himself to take a calming breath before continuing. "We can get you bank records if you need."
Agent Traxler waved off the offer dismissively. "Oh no, Mr. Cooper, don't misunderstand me. We don't suspect you of money laundering or anything. We're not from the Department of Treasury." His chuckle this time was warm, earnest. By comparison, it made Geoff realize the first one had been forced.
Geoff frowned. There was something here – more than one something, in point of fact – that he liked not at all. He wasn't always the sharpest thinker, but pieces were slowly falling into place, and he didn't like the picture that was forming.
Lou on the other hand, was quicker to put it together. "They suspect us of being terrorists or something," she said softly. Turning to Agent Traxler, she added, "Don't you?"
There was a reason he didn't balk whenever she spoke up. She was almost always worth listening to.
Agent Traxler held up a hand to forestall further questions from either of them. "Not exactly, but you're close." He adjusted his weight in the chair briefly, and after silently checking with his partner (who to this point hadn't said a word), continued. "I can't get into the technical details behind the scenes – and I'll be brutally honest and say that I wouldn't understand them all even if I could – but shortly after your property purchase came across the wire, the United States Postal Service received several 'change of address' requests by people with different surnames to change their permanent residence to the same address: your new home. Suffice it to say, that is somewhat unusual, and now we're here looking into it."
Geoff's stomach did a slow loop-the-loop. As a pack leader he always had to prepare for various worst-case scenarios, but he'd never even considered something like this. In the modern age, it was impossible to stay off the grid, and he knew that his name was in any number of government databases, and obviously his packmates would be as well. But the thought that anyone would cross-reference them seemed at once completely absurd and patently obvious when he heard it spoken aloud.
Lou's take on the matter was somewhat different. "What right does the Department of Homeland Security have to Post Office data?" Her voice was sharp, incisive, and demanded an immediate response. Geoff had witnessed that tone used on many a werewolf over the years, and it never failed to work. As she spoke, she took a step forward, seemingly without thinking. Not wanting her to be by herself, Geoff moved up to stand beside her.
"I can assure you, Ms. Mason, the information was obtained one hundred percent legally. If you read the fine print at the bottom of those change of address forms, you'll find that it authorizes the USPS to share that information with any government agencies that may request it. Including, of course, Homeland Security."
It took all of Geoff's restraint not to growl at the man. There was a smugness to his tone that could only come from a lifetime of working in government and having its power at your back. He also had the air of someone knowing himself to be in the right – and all of Geoff's senses seemed to confirm it.
When a person knowingly lies, their body has an autonomic reaction to it. Their heart rate accelerates, their core body temperature rises fractionally, and they begin to sweat the tiniest amount. Even if someone is able to suppress any visual signs like nervous tics, averting the eyes, or any of a dozen others, they cannot so easily control their own pulse. A werewolf's acute senses make it possible, given enough time and practice, to recognize these indicators. There's more art to it than science, and not every lycan has a knack for it, but it is possible to hone the skill enough to get a fair idea if someone is being deceitful.
Agent Traxler was giving off precisely none of the usual signs. As far as Geoff (and presumably, Lou) was able to tell, the man was telling the stone-cold truth.
He almost would have preferred a lie.
"Okay, so maybe you got the information legally, and maybe it isn't typical, but last time I heard it wasn't against the law to live with someone with a different last name." If Lou felt as flustered as Geoff did, it didn't come through in her voice.
"Of course it isn't, and nobody is suggesting otherwise," Agent Traxler shot back smoothly. "It is however highly unusual to move into a private residence with seven other people, all with different last names. Now I will grant you, these last names aren't the sort to trigger any specific alerts, but in the interest of not being accused of racial profiling we are obligated to investigate anything that meets the criteria." It was, Geoff thought, the most politically correct way to say "your names aren't Middle Eastern enough for us to immediately think you are terrorists" he could think of.
"So what, you expect us to stand here and justify why our friends are living with us until you're satisfied that... what, we're not planning to bomb something?" Geoff didn't bother to keep the scorn out of his voice. Even if this was some kind of bureaucratic misunderstanding, he wasn't about to give the government anything about his packmates. There was too big a risk that something could come out and jeopardize their secrecy.
"Without putting too fine a point on it... yes." Traxler seemed mildly amused at Geoff's incredulity.
"Without putting too fine a point on it, go fuck yourselves," Geoff said, matching the other man's bland tone. Lou grimaced but said nothing. "We don't owe you a goddamned thing."
He hoped to provoke a reaction out of the two men with his coarse language, but it wasn't nearly as satisfying as he wanted it to be. Agent Traxler let out a soft, disappointed sigh, and his partner leaned back in his chair, seeming to become disinterested in the conversation. "That is really unfortunate, Mr. Cooper. I was hoping we could clear this up today and have the matter settled."
"Yeah well, we all want lots of things, I guess you boys are going to have to get used to disappointment." He addressed this next at the silent Pale Eyes. "You know, we never did get your name, Tonto."
Pale Eyes didn't react immediately, his attention slowly focusing on Geoff like a man waking from a deep sleep. He met Geoff's gaze and his lips pressed together into a thin smile. "No," he said. His voice was that of a much younger man; it wouldn't have been out of sorts for Agent Traxler to have his voice, and for Pale Eyes to sound dry and raspy. "You didn't." With that, he pushed away from the table, turned smoothly, and walked away without a backward glance. If he'd been another wolf, it would have been a mark of disrespect, that he didn't consider Geoff enough of a threat to worry about leaving his back unprotected. Geoff had a sense it was meant to convey a similar message anyway.
Agent Traxler regarded this byplay with a lopsided smile on his face. "Well, I expect that we'll be talking again soon. Welcome to Washington, D.C., Mr. Cooper. Ms. Mason." Without waiting for a reply, he stood and moved to catch up with his partner.
"Is this because she's black?" Geoff called out after them. Agent Traxler hesitated but gave no further reaction. Pale Eyes kept walking as though he hadn't heard, and before long the two men were gone from sight. Geoff was just enough on edge after that encounter that he took several steps toward the hotel's main entrance to be sure the two men weren't planning to double back on them or anything. He remained where he was until he saw a dark sedan pull out of a parking space and drive away.
He turned face Lou, who'd come to stand beside him. "Well," he said, "that could have gone better."