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Traxler had seriously considered quitting. He would still swear up and down that he wasn't an anti-lycan bigot at heart, but the notion of actually helping them made his skin crawl. It seemed anathema to everything he'd worked for during his entire tenure at The Agency.
He couldn't even say what made him get in his car and drive out – again – to the wolves' complex. Maybe it was as simple as duty. At the end of the day, Traxler was ever the dutiful soldier.
As he pulled up to the gate, he saw one of the wolves (Blysse Lindskold, if he remembered correctly from the files) leap from a perch atop the perimeter wall where she'd obviously been waiting for him. She carried a longbow that was nearly as tall as she was and looked like she was itching to use it. Probably on him. As he slowed to make the turn, she drew abreast of his car and walked alongside him, her expression openly hostile.
It occurred to him at that very moment that the only guarantee of his safety was a verbal agreement made over the phone to a pissed-off werewolf. That didn't really inspire a lot of confidence. Still, he pressed on, his eyes flicking to the side every now and then to see if the wolf was still keeping pace with him. She was.
They had drone footage – captured at night and from a high enough distance that the whirring of the engines couldn't be heard – that informed them which of the buildings were occupied, though not who specifically resided where. Still, it was enough for him to know the population of wolves had settled into a cluster of buildings near the very end of the complex's main street. As he drove, Traxler noted the signs of construction, the newly poured concrete, fresh rolls of sod. They really did seem to be setting down roots here.
He felt a pang of guilt and quickly suppressed it.
As it turned out, he didn't have to guess which of the buildings Cooper occupied; he was standing at the end of a driveway, arms crossed. Even from a distance, he radiated fury. As Traxler's car approached, he took several measured steps backward to make room, all the while never taking his eyes off the agent.
Trying very hard not to think about the Butler Tape, Traxler nosed the car onto the driveway and shifted into park. He remained seated for a few seconds, gathering up his nerve. Traxler tried to tell himself that the wolves were interested more in getting their missing member back, and less in kicking his ass. That made sense in theory, at least. He took a deep breath, turned off the car, and stepped out.
"Okay, listen–" he began.
That was as far as he got.
One would have thought, given how many times he'd watched the Butler Tape, Traxler would have been prepared for how fast a werewolf could move. Then again, there was no amount of training he could have gotten from The Agency to make him faster than he was, to somehow overcome the vast disparity in reflexes. Lycanthropes were simply faster, better than regular humans; that's how Cooper could move in a blur, almost too fast for him to perceive, and be right next to him before he realized what was going on. The pack leader grabbed a double handful of his shirt and lifted Traxler bodily into the air. The collar of his shirt pulled painfully against his throat, threatening to cut off his oxygen. Traxler fought back both a stab of panic and the urge to go for his gun. It was in a shoulder holster under his jacket and to reach for it would mean sliding his hand between their bodies. At this distance, he'd never make it.
"Geoff..." Louisianna said, her tone reproachful. She had somehow appeared next to them. She'd laid a hand on the other wolf's arm, though she didn't seem to be restraining him at all.
Cooper did not reply immediately. His gaze remained fixed on Traxler, and from mere inches away, the agent had the unsettling impression that the thoughts passing behind the other man's eyes weren't entirely human. Judging from what he saw, Traxler did not want to know what the wolf thought of him.
"Don't worry, honey," the pack leader finally said. His tone carried a jocularity that was so obviously phony that it should have been ridiculous. Paired with that steely lupine gaze, it was nothing short of frightening. "I'm just trying to figure out exactly how helpful our government friend is actually planning to be." When he got to the word "friend," his tone curdled, the sarcasm so thick someone could walk on it. His fists clenched momentarily tighter (Traxler could hear the sounds of fabric ripping as seams started to give way) and then he set the agent down roughly, taking an even step backward.
Coughing lightly, Traxler smoothed down his shirt and looked around. It seemed the rest of the pack was here, now, gathered in a loose semicircle around the car. He recognized damn near all of them from the files he had so diligently studied at The Manager's behest.
He never in a million years thought he'd ever be this close to them, though.
"I have been ordered to render you my best and fullest assistance," Traxler said stiffly.
Elisabetta snorted. "Oh, you've been ordered, have you? I sure feel better knowing someone is helping me under duress." There was a general murmur of agreement from the gathered crowd.
"I take my orders very seriously," Traxler replied, bristling.
"That's not much better, you know," the woman retorted.
Cooper cut in before anything else could be said. "Alright!" He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand for a moment, visibly collecting himself. When he spoke next, some of the dangerous calm had left his voice, replaced by grim resignation. "As much as we all hate this, Tally is in real trouble right now, and we don't know how much time she has left." He stopped short of apologizing for his actions, though.
"Tally?" Traxler's brows furrowed. That name wasn't familiar to him. Before anyone could reply, it clicked. "You mean Tallulah Young? She's the one missing?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. According to all the intelligence they'd gathered, Young should have one of the strongest – and most dangerous – wolves in the pack. If Father Brown had been able to capture and detain her... maybe Traxler wasn't the only one who'd underestimated the man. He felt a certain amount of vindication at that notion.
Cooper gaped at him for a moment, as if judging the sincerity of his reaction. Traxler bore the scrutiny without wavering; he had nothing to hide. "You really didn't know?" He phrased it as a question, but there was a grim certainty in his tone.
"I really didn't. Did you actually think I would stick my neck out here and try to sell a lie? To a bunch of werewolves?" Traxler tried to keep the scorn out of his voice when he said the word "werewolves," but wasn't entirely successful. Before anyone could take umbrage, he pressed on. "Our prevailing theory is that Father Brown, or some of his followers, took matters into their own hands and came after your wolf."
Geoff sneered. "That religious fuck?"
Despite everything, Traxler found himself suppressing a grin. On this particular matter, he and Cooper were on the same page. "The very one."
"How in the world could some crusty old man have taken Tally?" one of the other wolves – Mystery Raines, he thought – asked. She glared accusingly at Traxler, her hands curling into fists.
He tried not to think about what those hands might be capable of if her ire was turned on him. "Before he became a man of the cloth, Brown was trained by the British SAS – essentially, their special forces. More than a couple of his disciples have some sort of training. Ex-police, former military, things like that."
"Jesus Christ," Geoff muttered. "So, Traxler, is this even a real religion or just militia in disguise?"
"By all accounts, Father Brown is a true believer. But he's clever enough to know that in order to achieve his goals, he needs a certain set of skills at his disposal." Traxler frowned. "Now, on that note... I'm quite sure that he has someone who could take out a werewolf from a distance. What makes you think she's still alive?" The moment the question passed his lips, he regretted it. It was a perfectly valid query, and something that would naturally come from an investigation like this, but not something he would really like to ask a bunch of jumpy, angry lycanthropes.
Fortunately, Louisianna responded before anyone else. She struck Traxler as the most level-headed of the bunch, and given Cooper's nature, she probably had her hands full. "We found this in the forest near where we think she was taken." She held out a small object that glinted glass and metal. It was very clearly a dart, like the kind big game hunters used. Traxler plucked it from her hand gingerly, careful to avoid sticking himself with it, while she continued to speak. "And there were no traces of blood anywhere. But this? There isn't a tranquilizer out there that could knock out a werewolf for any length of time." Though it was a declarative statement, Mason ended it with a rising inflection and an arched brow, turning it into a question.
It was a question that Traxler had an answer to, though she wasn't going to like what he had to say. "Commercially? You're right. Nothing on the market today, even for zoos or animal control, can really do much to a werewolf's constitution. But there are government labs – and not just here in the States – where they have formulas that can pack enough punch to do what you're suggesting. Some of that stuff gets out onto the black market, and I wouldn't be surprised if someone as resourceful as Father Brown could get his hands on some."
Everyone was silent for a moment, weighing the implications of that. Finally, Cooper spoke. "What in the hell could he want Tally alive for?"
"As to that, Mr. Cooper, I have no earthly idea."