Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct (7 page)

Anger simmered inside. Her detective’s badge may be new, but she wasn’t a damn rookie.

His face brightened. “And the best part—”

“There’s nothing ‘best’ about murder,” she said. When his eyes dropped to the other folder in her hand, she knew congratulations had nothing to do with his visit. She sat in the seat he’d vacated and didn’t offer him a chair.

“We’ll be working together. I called in a few favors. This one’s mine.” He grinned like a dog with a bone clamped between his teeth.

“How wonderful for you.”
Anything to get your face on TV, jerk
. “You got one thing wrong though.”

“What’s that?” He sat.
Damn it
.

“Actually, the case is mine, so I’m sure you understand why I can’t chat.”

“If you solve this one, maybe they’ll give you a bigger office.” He cast a look of distaste around the small, windowless room with its should’ve-been-hauled-to-the-dump-two-decades-ago office furniture.

“I’m busy. Beat it.”

“Look, Mackenzie. You’re going to have to work with me on this case whether you like it or not. So you better start making nice or...”

“Or what?” She narrowed her gaze on him. “Get this straight, Ken. I have a case to solve. I don’t give a damn about making it easy for you to get your mug on the nine o’clock news. Got it?”

“I got it. You’re making this personal.”

“Personal? This has nothing to do with
us
. There is no us. This is my job.”

“And you intend to use that job to show me I was wrong about you. It’s
your
case. You’re the one in power now. Fine. I can take your stubborn anger.”

“I’m stubborn?”

“You’re still steamed over our breakup, but you became the cop. You knew you’d eventually have to work with me.”

She wanted to scream. She broke up with him because he didn’t want her to be a cop at all. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t be happy giving up her job to promote his career from the sidelines. He’d gone on and found the trophy wife he wanted, but he kept accusing her of not getting over him.

“I don’t have a problem working with you, but we do this by the book or not at all. You want information on the case, you wait for it. When I have something to report, I’ll do so through proper channels. Until then, keep your ass out of my office and your nose out of my files. I don’t do favors...even for
old friends
.” Her smile was intentionally shallow. All she needed was for him to leak the wrong thing to the press.

“Mac, you got a minute?” Cooper stuck his head in the door. If he’d been five minutes earlier, she might’ve kissed him. But his sly smile made her want to slap him instead.

“Yeah.” She looked at Hahn. “Excuse us.”

He stood and straightened his jacket. “I expect an update on the case soon. I suggest you see to it, Mackenzie.”

“You’ll get an update as soon as I have something to report. Good day, Kenneth.”

When he was gone, Cooper took a seat. “So...”

“So, the next time you delay like that again, you’re history.”

“Come on, Mac. You know you’d skin me alive if I ruined all your fun. I figured you had some steam to let off after our visit to Fuller’s office. And you must admit, stripes look better across his back than mine.”

Mackenzie laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Did you file away the cold case that was on my desk?”

He held her gaze a moment. “Yeah. It’s in the top drawer of the filing cabinet.” He grinned. “Locked.”

“Thanks, Coop.”

“Any time, Mac. Any time.”

He’d spent most of his adult life in a box, Carl Shumaker thought. Stuffed in a cubicle. Surrounded by high-dollar, high-tech equipment, Dilbert comic strips, and useless desktop tinker toys that’d make a Star Trek fan drool. For years, he’d let his fingers run across the keyboard in a race to develop the next revolutionary breakthrough in the world of computer software. But not today.

This morning, he’d kissed the uneasy smile from his wife’s lips and left home. But he headed to the park instead of the office. He wasn’t welcome at work anymore, not since he’d been escorted off the property by a security guard who’d watched his every move as he packed up the Dilbert clippings and plastic space aliens.

He let his head drop as he knelt to tug his shoe strings tighter, then stretched in preparation for his run.

Em had been furious and scared. She ranted and cried over that damn pink slip well into the night. He’d told her that he’d think of something, and he would. A run always helped him think.

He started down the trail at a slow warm-up pace. This wasn’t his usual place to run. He preferred the park closer to the office, but he couldn’t go there now. He didn’t want to risk running into anyone he knew.

He’d gotten his family into this mess, and he’d figure something out, some way to get the money he owed, even if he had to sell everything and move in with her parents. He just needed to convince them to give him a little more time.

Fallen leaves crackled under each step as he picked up the pace and pumped fresh air into his lungs.

Jimmy had warned him not to cross them, and he wouldn’t if they’d just give him more time to pay.

Maybe he should’ve done what they’d said while he was in a position to accomplish it. A slight change in code. A well-hidden backdoor. It would’ve been simple. They would’ve written off his debt, and he’d still have his job. But they wanted him to help them cheat millions. What if they got caught? It would be his neck on the line. No, he couldn’t do it; he just wanted out. Out of debt. Free and clear.

So he’d tried to get the money to pay them, and still lost everything. Mr. Stone had been furious...

A fierce growl stopped him in his tracks. Carl spun, trying to see through the thick brush on either side of the trail.

That dog better be on a leash. There were city ordinances about that sort of thing, weren’t there?

Another growl.

Deep.

Brief.

Where was he?

Sweat seeped through his clothes. Carl cautiously started down the trail again.

A snap made him turn left. A blur of fur and sharp fangs came straight at him.

Mackenzie ignored the overwhelming scent of floral sprays and focused on faces in the crowd. Politicians, staffers, celebrities, family friends, all dressed in somber colors, their faces respectfully blank, gathered around the hole in the ground, the final resting place of Victor Robertson. The reverend uttered words drowned out by weeping and whispers of sympathy.

Tissues clutched in hands, family members sat under a green canvas tent. Pearl Robertson sat front and center, her red-rimmed eyes swimming with tears. Her daughters sat on either side, both chic in their black dresses, their backs ramrod straight. Richard sat beside one of his sisters, his expression grim, head lowered, hands fisted. A second man Mackenzie assumed was the son-in-law held the other daughter’s hand and kept a protective arm draped around her trembling shoulders.

An honor guard’s 21-gun salute, synchronized with military precision, made many people flinch. More tears fell when soldiers removed, folded, and presented the American flag to the widow, as an unseen bugler played the haunting strains of
Taps
.

A prickle at her nape alerted Mackenzie. While she scanned the mourners, someone watched her. She knew it, sensed it, but couldn’t find the source. She studied the crowd again, looking for anyone who showed an interest in her. The service now over, some people milled around. Others gave last declarations of condolence before wandering off to their vehicles.

Mackenzie’s searching gaze met Richard’s eyes, suddenly cold and hard. He excused himself and approached her with a determined stride. His steps crackled amid the recently fallen leaves.

“My sympathies, Mr. Robertson.”

“Have you caught the monster who did this yet?”

“Not yet, but—”

“Then save your sympathies, Detective. I want the bastard to pay.”

“I understand wh—”

“No! You don’t understand a damn thing.”

He was wrong, but she let it slide. Grief could make people say anything. The pain felt by families of murdered victims often led to fits of anger, especially if the case went unsolved.

“What the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you out there somewhere arresting the one who did this?”

Mackenzie kept her face blank, knowing his volume was attracting attention. “I am looking for your father’s killer. Murderers sometime attend their victim’s funerals.”

“You think someone here killed him? His family? His friends? That a loved one could do what that monster did to my father and then come here with words of sympathy? Maybe shed a few tears? Is that what you think? You’re wrong, and while you’re wasting time here, he could be out there killing someone else.”

“We will find the person responsible, I assure you.”

“We already gave you his name. My father fought with Stone and then winds up mauled to death. What more do you need?”

“It’s my job to look at every lead, every possibility, Mr. Robertson.”

“The bastard has his own wolf pack, for crying out loud. It may be just a job to you, Detective, but my father is dead, and I want justice. You got that? I want that man behind bars.”

“Richard, please.” His mother’s soft voice made him spin around, stalk off.

“I’m sorry, Detective Lyons. Richard has been...well...not himself lately.”

“No need to apologize, Mrs. Robertson. I understand. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her eyes welled with tears again as she patted Mackenzie’s hand. “Thank you for coming. If you’ll excuse me.”

Mackenzie watched Pearl Robertson walk away with a silent dignity that impressed her and made her heart ache. One other woman in Mackenzie’s life had shown a similar trait. A vision of the woman’s face swam in her mind as she walked across the cemetery lawns.

She stopped to glance down at a headstone. Her breath hitched. With a finger, she traced the words forever etched in cold, hard granite.

“God, I miss you,” she whispered. Then, after a long moment, Mackenzie straightened and headed for her car.

Watching the homicide detective wade through the sea of reporters and drive away, the man stepped around the large oak tree. No need to hurry. He knew her destination and could find her anytime.

She’d sensed him, which both surprised and impressed him. He could tell the moment she became aware of his scrutiny. Her shoulders tensed, back straightened, and chin rose.

He approached the headstone she’d touched. What had held her interest?

Not dressed for a funeral, he carried a small bouquet of flowers and kept his distance from the green tent and media circus in the parking lot. To any observer, he was just a man visiting another grave.

He stopped, heard the soft sigh of leather as he knelt to lay the flowers by the headstone, and read the epitaph.

Maureen M. Lyons

Beloved Mother

Mackenzie spent the drive back to the station analyzing what leads she had in the case. Her mind replayed conversations with family, acquaintances of the victim, and suspects.

When she came to Rafe, her thoughts hit a mental brick wall. She knew he was capable of murder. Under the right circumstances, anyone could take a life. In his case, she suspected he’d be methodical, calculating, and stealthy. He wasn’t a man who’d make mistakes or be easily caught.

What would drive him to kill? Money and power? He seemed to have those in abundance. He’d been a primary contributor to the mayor’s last election campaign, which was the basis for her sergeant’s fountain of profanities when he learned the name of her prime suspect. To Fuller’s credit, he didn’t try to sway her investigation, but he did want to clamp down on any potential leaks. All her reports were now for his eyes only.

Mackenzie didn’t care about the political minefields. She wanted the killer caught and punished. Period. If Rafe proved to be involved, she’d go after him with everything she had, for her own reasons, not because Fuller demanded the case against him be as solid as granite.

Unfortunately, her case looked more like Swiss cheese. The only motive she had to go on was inadequate. A first year law student could dance circles around it in a courtroom.

She tried to picture Rafe blowing a hole in a man’s chest because of a minor political disagreement. Why have the body mauled and dumped where it’d be easily discovered? The pieces just didn’t fit.

She needed to pick up his gun and have it tested. But, since he readily agreed to the tests, she doubted there’d be a match. Still, she couldn’t rule him out. He remained her only real lead, and she’d follow the trail to its end.

Mackenzie parked and headed for her office. On the way, she stopped off at the pop machine for a cold caffeine fix. She’d tossed and turned all night, getting little sleep, and that had left her a little bit shaky.

“Hey, Mac.” Cooper caught up with her in the hall and matched her stride. “Got a minute? You’ll want to hear this.”

She followed him into his office and sat.

“We found the car.” He tossed her a file with some photos of the victim’s Lexus.

“Where?”

“Abandoned near the docks. A CSI is sweeping it now for any trace.”

She nodded. “Witnesses?”

He shook his head. “No cameras in the area either. A security guard at a warehouse called it in. Said it’d been there since Monday. He thought it belonged to the owner and kept an eye on it. But when it hadn’t been moved in a few days, he asked and found out no one there knew where it’d come from.”

He tapped a fingertip on one of the pictures. “Whoever dumped it wasn’t after the vic’s money. That’s a Lexus worth fifty grand. It’d bring in a lot more at a chop-shop.”

So auto theft wasn’t the motive. With the victim found stripped of everything, including his wedding ring, robbery may or may not have been the motive. No, the brutal condition of the body pointed to something more personal.

“Does that warehouse use guard dogs?”

“Not according to the security guard.”