It was damn hard to imagine the guy being involved in hybrid research. But Tate had been fooled before, so he rarely took anyone or anything at face value. Besides, Bell had definitely been tortured by a shifter or hybrid, which meant he was involved in something. Hopefully, getting a look at the cabin where the man had been murdered would give him an idea what that something might be.
He rounded the corner leading to the motel lobby, already tasting coffee he hoped would be fresh, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw Deputy Chase York leaning casually against the side of his patrol car in the parking lot, two large cups of coffee in his hands, a familiar-looking Dunkin’ Donuts box on the hood, and a knowing smile on his face.
Tate frowned and double-checked his watch. “I thought I was supposed to meet you at the coffee shop at eight? Did I get the time wrong?”
Chase’s smile broadened. “I thought I should show up here in case you forgot you were supposed to meet me before heading out to the cabin.”
“What makes you think I’d forget?” Tate asked, walking over to him.
Dodging the deputy had actually been his plan. It bruised his ego to know Chase had seen through him so easily. Maybe he’d gotten slow after all those years working on a team with people he trusted.
“Let’s just say I know how busy you federal types are.” Chase pushed away from the car and held one of the cups out to him. “I wouldn’t want you feeling bad if you ended up driving all the way to that cabin only to realize you’d forgotten to meet up with your temporary partner. That would be damn inconvenient.”
“I’m sure,” Tate said dryly, reaching out to snag the coffee. “Well, since you’re here, lead the way. I’ll follow.”
Chase’s mouth twitched. “Why don’t we go in my car? Just so there’s less chance of us getting separated. Some of the back roads on the way up to the cabin are twisty and confusing. It’d be easy to get turned around out there and lose each other.”
“I bet,” Tate muttered, impressed despite himself.
He sipped his coffee. Damn, it was good. Maybe teaming up with York might not be so bad after all.
“I figured you took it black with no sugar or cream,” Chase said as he motioned toward the passenger seat. “I’ve been a coffee addict long enough to know the signs.”
Tate scooped up the box of donuts as he walked around the front of the car. “Okay, you get extra points for knowing I like my coffee black, but if there are any chocolate-glazed cake donuts in here, then I’ll be seriously impressed.”
Chase chuckled as he opened the driver’s side door. “Please. What kind of cop do you take me for? Half the box is chocolate-glazed.”
Tate lifted a brow at that. Damn. Maybe he should get Landon to recruit this guy. For his knowledge of coffee and donuts if nothing else.
* * *
Shit, Chase drove fast. The fact that they made the forty-minute trip to the cabin in less than thirty was a sure sign of that. Tate had never been one to necessarily obey every traffic sign out there, but he assumed a few of them, like the one warning unsuspecting drivers that the road ahead was about to do a ninety-degree dogleg, could occasionally be useful.
“Where’d you learn to drive, Beirut?” Tate asked, gripping the handle on the passenger door as the deputy maneuvered the patrol car onto a gravel road at a silly rate of speed. Hopefully, the gravel meant they were almost at the cabin, because he wasn’t enjoying this tour of backwoods Maine as much as he would have thought.
“Close,” Chase said. “Baghdad and Mosul actually.”
That explained a lot. He glanced at the deputy. “Marines?”
Chase nodded. “Five years, three deployments. Never been able to drive within the speed limit since. How about you? You strike me as the kind of man who’s seen his fair share of firefights and car chases.”
Tate considered how to answer that, thinking about all the scraps he’d been in with his old team, then decided honesty probably wasn’t the best policy here. It was too much to get into with somebody he was going to have to majorly lie to at some point. Easier to fib a little now.
“Me?” He chuckled. “Nah, nothing like that. I spent a while in the U.S. Marshals chasing a few averagely mean bad guys, then moved over to Homeland, where I’ve pretty much hugged a desk ever since.”
The deputy glanced at him as he stopped at the end of the gravel road, his expression doubtful. “Sure, whatever you say.”
Tate stared out the windshield, stunned. After hearing where Bell had been found, he’d been expecting some kind of broken-down hovel with vines covering half of it. Instead, he got a neat, well-maintained, split-level log cabin with a wraparound deck and large windows overlooking a sloping yard and the picture-perfect pond just beyond it. The place looked like something on a postcard, for crying out loud. In fact, Tate could see himself burning up a few weeks of excess leave renting the place and catching up
