Not if, but when. He’d said when.
“I have a job to do. I don’t have time to exchange quips with you.” She turned her head, refusing to look at him, but unable to ignore the electric heat emanating from his closeness.
“You don’t strike me as a coward, Detective.”
She bit back a curse, unsure whether she was angrier with him or herself. She put every ounce of conviction she could in her voice. “I don’t fear you.” The truth was she feared her attraction to him, but she’d be damned before she’d admit that. “I don’t have the liberty to indulge myself with a suspect, even if I wanted to, which I don’t,” she lied. “And I will not jeopardize my investigation. I have an obligation to the families, the victims—”
“I didn’t kill them, damn it.” The eruption of fury and frustration caught her by surprise. The rare sight of him losing control fascinated her. A mix of unhidden emotions washed across his face. “Deep down inside, you know it.” He gripped her chin and forced her to meet his determined gaze. “You know it.”
Terror gripped her heart as she realized she believed him but couldn’t be sure. Despite what he said, she didn’t know beyond the proverbial shadow of a doubt.
His hand moved to cradle the back of her neck and gently tugged her toward him.
“Excuse me. Detective?”
At the softly uttered words, Rafe released her, his hand dropping to his side. Mackenzie stepped around him, back into the cool rain, and fought the shiver she felt, unsure of its cause. Emily Shumaker stood a few feet away, her cheeks wet despite the cover of her own umbrella.
“Mrs. Shumaker. My condolences.”
“Thank you. Please, call me Emily. May we talk a moment?”
“Sure.”
Mackenzie followed as she turned back toward the shelter of the funeral tent. “Have there been any developments in the case?”
“We’re following several leads.” She sat next to the widow and glanced over her shoulder to see Rafe still standing beneath the tree, watching her.
“Does that mean you know who killed my husband?”
“Mrs. Shu—Emily—I’m not in a position to discuss the details of the case.”
“I’m not asking for names.” She twisted the tissues in her hand. Her voice cracked. “I j-just want to know that you’re going to stop him. I need to know he won’t kill someone else over a foolish mistake.”
Mackenzie eyed the woman. “Foolish mistake?”
“Yes, I’m sure Mr. Stone told you my Carl tried to steal some money from his company.”
“You think Stone killed your husband because he stole from him?” She glanced back toward the tree. When she didn’t see him, relief flooded her system; at least, that’s what Mackenzie told herself. She started to look for him, but Emily gripped her hand.
Emily’s eyes rounded. She shook her head. “No. Mr. Stone? No. He’s been nothing if not an angel to my family. C-Carl told me...before, you know...He said Mr. Stone refused to press charges against him even though he could’ve. That would’ve destroyed our family.”
“He fired him.”
“Yes, but he said he wouldn’t dispute Carl’s claim to unemployment if he’d get treatment for his problem. He wanted him to get help.”
“Problem?”
Emily’s gaze dropped to the ground. “He always thought he’d win high stakes on the next roll and end his losing streak, if he could just keep playing.”
That’s why he needed the money, Mackenzie thought, to fuel a gambling habit.
“That’s why I got so upset with him when I realized he’d gone to one of those...what do you call ’em? Bookies?”
“Loan sharks.”
“Yes, that’s it.” Her eyes watered anew. “I know he killed him.”
Most loan sharks were small-time hoodlums who broke the limbs of those who welched on bets. They couldn’t collect from dead men. And they didn’t usually have ties with legislators opposed to their trade. Mackenzie doubted there was a connection, but she filed the thought away as she noticed an elderly lady step forward and put a hand on Emily’s shoulder.
“We should go, sweetheart. Your dad’s got the car warming up. The kids rode home with Ron, but the baby’s going to want her momma when she wakes up.”
“Okay, Mom. Detective Lyons, this is my mother, Beatrice Evans. Mom, this is the detective looking for Carl’s killer.”
“Mrs. Evans.” Mackenzie stood and gripped the woman’s brittle, age-spotted hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. You find the man who did this. Carl had his faults, but he didn’t deserve to be murdered on his baby’s birthday. My daughter didn’t deserve to lose her husband like that. The hurt that beast has caused this family...and my grandchildren... They should’ve had their daddy with them. Those poor babies...”
“I know, Ma’am. I’ll do my best to see that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
Teardrops welled on Beatrice’s lower lashes, but she nodded firmly. “See that you do.”
“One other thing, Detective,” Emily said. “Do you still have Carl’s PDA?”
“His PDA?”
“Yes. He never went anywhere without it, but it wasn’t among his personal effects. I thought if you were through with it, I could get it back. I’d like to give it to our son. It might mean something to him someday.”
“I’ll check with the lab.”
“Thank you.”
As mother and daughter supported each other on their way to the waiting car, Mackenzie stared at the casket, draped with a spray of lilies. She ran a hand over her damp French-braided hair, and then stuffed her chilled fists into the pockets of her slicker.
“You think I’m capable of destroying a family, Detective?” Rafe stepped under the tent and shook his umbrella before closing it.
Startled, she hid it by slowly scanning the area. They were now alone, except for the man in the casket. “What are you still doing here? Don’t you have a business to run, a country to buy, or something?”
His deep chuckle struck her in the gut. He shook his head with a cocky grin. “That’s the benefit of being the boss. I get to set my own schedule. Have you eaten?”
She blinked at the change in subject but quickly recovered. “I’m fine.”
“I never said you weren’t, but that’s not what I asked.”
What the hell had he asked? Oh yeah, food. She couldn’t think with him looking at her as if she were dessert.
“If you aren’t hungry, you wouldn’t mind keeping me company while I ate, would you?”
She frowned. “I have work to do. I don’t have time to waste as an ornament on your arm.”
The vehemence in her tone must have surprised him, if his raised eyebrows were any indication. But then his mouth took on a sly curve that’d impress a fox.
“Good, because I’m not looking for mindless embellishments. However, I would enjoy some intelligent conversation. Since you said you wanted me to come in later for—how did you put it?—further questioning, what’s wrong with now?”
With a quirk of his lips, he held out his arm in challenge.
“You can follow me back to the station, then.” She kept her cold hands in the pockets of her slicker. He grinned at her silent refusal.
“Why waste time, Detective?” he asked, using her own words against her. He flipped his umbrella above them, and gripping her elbow, escorted her from the tent toward the parking area. “Ride with me, and we can start the interrogation now. I can arrange to have your car brought to you.”
She paused. “I am not riding in your limousine back to the station.”
“Then don’t.” He smiled broadly, pulled a set of keys from his pocket, and pressed a button. A beep signaled the disarming of a car alarm and drew her attention to a platinum Jaguar convertible, with its top up.
Despite herself, she scowled at the rain clouds. He guided her to the other side, and before she could blink, she reclined in plush comfort.
After
he’d arranged for the funeral director to hand over her keys to the driver he’d called, Rafe steered the powerful sports car through traffic with an ease Mackenzie reluctantly admired.
Her fingers brushed the supple, and surprisingly warm, leather seat before she realized what she was doing and forced her hands onto her lap. “I thought you only rode in cars the length of a city block.”
He slid an amused glance toward her. “When I ride, yes. But I prefer something different when I drive.”
His dark slacks hugged his thighs as the muscles flexed when he pressed the pedals. His strong hand caressed the walnut gearshift with a subtle familiarity that captured her imagination and made her squirm.
“You never answered my question.”
His words intruded on her ruminations. “What question was that?” she asked to hide her embarrassment. Had she really been ogling him? God, had he noticed?
“Do you believe I can destroy a man’s family?”
Yes...No...I don’t know. “What I believe is incidental. The case is built on facts, on what I can prove.”
“And right now, those facts point to me?”
“You’re a link between the two victims. You had the means and the opportunity.”
“And the motive?”
That had been her stumbling block all along. “You tell me.”
His expression remained steady, as if they spoke of the weather or other trivialities. “I killed Robertson because he insulted me over a political disagreement, and then murdered a man for daring to steal from me. Interesting theory...although there’s a serious flaw.”
“And that is?”
“If I’d wanted to punish them for crossing me, I wouldn’t kill them. I’d want them to live to regret their mistake.”
He braked as the Jag hugged a turn, and Mackenzie twisted in her seat.
“This is not the way to the station.”
His response showed a complete lack of concern for her accusation. “I don’t recall saying that was our destination.”
Had he? No, she’d suggested he follow her to the station and assumed that remained their destination when she agreed to ride with him instead. She narrowed her eyes on him. “Where the hell are we going?”
“As I said, I plan to enjoy a meal, and if you change your mind, you’re free to join me.”
“This is not a social call, Stone.”
“I’d never assume such a thing, Detective.”
Was that humor she heard in his voice? A call interrupted her thoughts. She extracted her cell phone from a pocket and flipped it open by the third ring.
“Lyons.”
Cooper said, “We got the warrant for L.I.”
“Great. What about the other one?”
“Not yet. But I expect the judge to give us the okay soon. If the funeral’s over, you want to pick me up or meet me there?”
“Actually, I need you to handle the first one alone.”
“Do you need me to take you somewhere, Detective?” She met Rafe’s curious gaze and shook her head.
“I’m following other leads right now. Let me know when the other one comes in,” she said to Cooper.
“Is that Stone?”
Mackenzie cringed at the sudden hardness in her partner’s voice. Cooper would never understand. How could he? She didn’t entirely understand how she’d landed herself in a car that cost more than her annual salary, with the prime suspect in a murder investigation at the wheel.
“Yes. He’s agreed to submit to further questioning.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” Coop didn’t sound convinced, and his hesitation promised Mackenzie a more in-depth debriefing later. “You can keep him busy while I take care of L.I. but keep your cell handy. I’ll call if we find anything.”
“Done.” She hung up and ignored the question in Rafe’s eyes.
A short time later, Mackenzie found herself in a suite high atop a tower, surrounded by the best that money could buy. A pleasing situation that irritated her. She sat across from Rafe as he shamelessly savored each bite of a meal, which tempted her to leap over the antique dinner table and snatch his plate before dashing from the room. The aroma of tender steak, juicy lobster, and steamed vegetables made her mouth water.
“If you’re guilty, Stone, I will take you down. Your luxury car, gourmet meals, and fancy trappings won’t change my mind.”
His fork paused halfway to his mouth, and one brow lifted over a penetrating golden brown eye. “I would expect nothing less, Detective.”
When her tummy rumbled, his mouth quirked. He quickly swallowed his next bite.
“The proof of your unshakable obstinacy is evident in the steadfast refusal to eat with a suspected villain...despite your obvious hunger.”
“Are you calling me stubborn?”
“I don’t recall using that word.” Regardless of his diplomatic response, she’d swear his eyes twinkled.
He wiped the corners of his mouth, she assumed, to hide an impending grin.
“At least you got villain right,” she muttered. She’d refused to eat as a matter of principle. She was here to question him, keep him busy, nothing more, despite his success in altering the interrogation’s location. This was not a social call or a dinner date. The blame for this debacle, and her peevishness, fell firmly on his head.
He laughed. “I said, ‘suspected villain’. That was not an admission of guilt.”
She eyed his amused features with unveiled suspicion. “Maybe not, but even you must admit, you fit the profile.”
“Ah. We’re back to the crux of your investigation...the profile of a murderer. A topic I believe better discussed in a more appropriate setting.” Finished with his meal, he rose and gestured for her to accompany him through the door. “Shall we?”
She followed him into what appeared to be a library. Bookcases covered the two longest walls from floor to ceiling. Rails ran the length of the room, with sliding ladders at either end. Down the center of the room sat a variety of furniture, obviously designed to provide supreme comfort for quiet reflection. On the opposite wall, a lavish mantelpiece surrounded a gas fireplace and held a collection of unusual bric-a-brac.
Mackenzie touched a bronze sculpture of a werewolf snarling at terrified villagers before turning on Rafe, who’d sat in one of two chairs before the fireplace.
“I have two dead men, both mauled, and a wronged man with connections to both victims and a distinct interest in anything canine.”
He took a casual sip from a crystal goblet, which he’d carried with him from the dining room. “The only thing wrong with that statement is the assumption that I’d seek deadly vengeance for having been wronged in such a manner.”
“Are you telling me you’re incapable of murder?”
“Not at all. I’d be lying if I denied my own ability to take a life...if necessary. I simply disagree with you that there was enough motivation to warrant murder in this case.”
“Hmm.” She studied the bronze figure, wondering what a man like Rafael Stone found so interesting about a sculpture that captured the cruelty of fear.
“Do you believe in myths, Detective?”
She glanced at him. “You mean like werewolves and other things that go bump in the night?”
He shrugged, but something in his expression said her answer was important to him.
“I believe in the reality of fear, in the deadly danger of men, and in the priceless value of life those same men view as cheap.”
She studied him as he stared at the swirling colors of his drink, the sharp contours of his features frozen in silent contemplation. He was handsome, strikingly so, but in a dark way. She suspected that like the mystical sirens, peril lay beyond the attraction his looks engendered.
“Why the fascination with life’s gruesome imagery?” she asked.
His bronze gaze snapped to hers. “Gruesome?”
She pointed to the sculpture. “Werewolves. A monstrous mix of the
most vicious natures of man and animal.”
The light must be playing tricks on her; that couldn’t be sadness she saw in his eyes.
“You speak of only half the fantasy, the most obvious.”
“What do you mean?”
“Untrue myths told to frighten children into obeying their parents. Exaggerated fables used to excuse man’s responsibility for his actions. Which is more gruesome, Detective? The story’s falsity or the reality of its resulting fear.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Although considered a myth, lycanthropy is a documented fact. Some cases are the result of delusions from insane minds; others are accused murderers’ tortured into claiming to be killer wolves. But the truth goes beyond court records to mass hysteria that virtually wiped out a continent’s entire wolf population.” He approached her and touched the figurine’s hind leg.
Mackenzie noticed for the first time the trap clamped firmly around the leg. She eyed the scene, seeing what she’d overlooked before. The villagers were not truly in danger. Armed with pitchforks and clubs, they outnumbered the lone werewolf, already wounded by the trap.
“Whether their claims were true or not, the blame falls on the feared animal,” he continued. “All of them, thus excusing the man of responsibility for the crime he committed. And the panicked public seeks vengeance on an innocent species.”
Mackenzie knew he spoke about more than the stuff of legends. But she wasn’t after the dogs used in the murders. They were just one link of the chain that would lead her to the real killer. She was after the man who’d trained them, the one who’d pulled the gun’s trigger.
Rafe’s phone rang. “Excuse me, please,” he said as he turned away to answer the call.
What was the moral of his parable? Beware of clues that point fingers of blame on the innocent? Could all the circumstantial evidence that she’d gathered so far be leading her toward an innocent man?
“I see. All right, Gabe. I’ll handle it.”
When he hung up the phone and turned toward her, she faced a man who looked far from innocent and much more likely to commit murder.
Chapter Eight
Mackenzie’s rigid posture told Rafe all he needed to know. She’d called for the warrant her partner now used to infiltrate the Lykos Institute’s databases. Seize vital documentation. Snoop where he didn’t want the law to go.
Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct Page 10
