Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct

by Brandi Broughton

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Meanwhile, I got good news and bad news.”

  “What’s the bad?”

  “Did you catch the morning news?”

  She shook her head. “Why?” Her question sounded wary, even to her own ears.

  “Drake promoted that exposé on Stone.”

  “Any mention of the case?”

  “Yes. She scooped the other stations on the warrant. No mention of Stone as a suspect, but she paraphrased his response as to the reason for the warrant.” He frowned. “They used video of him hugging the widow at the funeral.”

  “And that bothers you.”

  “Damn report made him appear like Daddy Warbucks trying to find the killer of one of his employees.”

  “Maybe he is.”

  “What he is, is a suspect, but instead of telling ‘em like it is, you let him play the part of hero, while reporters question why the police have no named suspects, and no arrests.”

  “We already went over this. I don’t intend to try the case on the evening news.”

  “We look incompetent, Mac.”

  “You jump the gun on naming a suspect, especially one as famous and powerful as Stone, and the case turns into a media circus, never mind what happens if you’re wrong.”

  “It’s already a media circus, and you may not have a choice soon. I heard Hahn has another meeting planned with Fuller.”

  Mackenzie cursed. “I could really use that good news now.”

  Cooper popped the last bite of pastry in his mouth. “You know I put feelers out with several snitches to see if anything would turn up.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Got a tip today from that hooker you roughed up at the first crime scene.”

  The chair squeaked as Mackenzie leaned back with a smile. “Miss Self-employed?”

  “Yep. Seems she overheard some street chatter about Shumaker’s bookie. He’s a regular with one of the other girls. You know how girls love to gossip.”

  “Yeah, and all men’s brains really are located between their legs.”

  Cooper chuckled. “It seems our bookie likes sex, sleep, and chitchat...in that order. Apparently, he was real nervous the last time he stopped by for a little bang between the sheets. He tossed and turned and talked in his sleep more than usual. She wrote it off as effects of the bottle, until she heard the news reports on our jogger.”

  “Got my attention.”

  “Thought it might. According to my source, the guy kept mumbling something about a backdoor and a dumb computer geek getting them all killed.”

  “Backdoor?”

  “Got me.”

  “That’s slim. Shumaker’s bookie could’ve had any number of ‘geeks’ in mind.”

  “Maybe so, but the hooker also said he talked about a shoemaker. That’s why the news report caught her eye.”

  “Are we sure it’s the right guy? Did your snitch give a name?”

  He nodded. “Jimmy Harden. I checked with a couple of beat cops I know who work that area. They told me the guy is a small fry, but he often brags about working for...get this...Ernesto Caprini.”

  “The modern-day Al Capone?”

  Cooper tisked. “You know, I heard he hates that comparison. He’s a legitimate businessman, with strong union support.”

  “And I’m Mother Theresa.”

  Cooper grinned. “Who are we to judge him just because he enjoys casinos and living lavishly?”

  Mackenzie rolled her eyes. The lead was a long shot. The reliability of the source was unproven. A lot of the information was hearsay. The bookie could be name-dropping and not have any ties to Caprini at all, but the gambling connection made it worth a closer look. “What do you say we pay Mr. Caprini a visit?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Sculpted lawns fronted the white mansion, an expression of a meticulous gardener’s touch. Towering marble columns supported the portico and gave the place an old-world Italian feel.

  “Racketeering is profitable these days,” Cooper whispered.

  “Yeah, some people think the syndicate went away with the Tommy gun.”

  Cooper chuckled. “Hopeful idiots.”

  Mackenzie reached to push the doorbell, but the door swung open. A hulk in a three-piece suit blocked the opening. He either gorged on spinach or popped steroids like candy.

  “No soliciting.” His voice was as deep as he was big.

  “Damn, there goes free enterprise.” Mackenzie glanced at Cooper. “Good thing we’re not salesmen.” She flashed a badge. “Mr. Caprini, please.”

  “Got a warrant?”

  “What would we need that for?” she asked.

  Cooper answered, “We don’t since we just want to talk to him, ask a few questions. You know conversation? Free speech? Sentences longer than three words.”

  The hulk’s face shifted to form three slits of eyes and mouth. “No cops.” He moved to shut the door, but Mackenzie slapped her hand on it and stuck her foot in the way, hoping she wouldn’t lose it in the process.

  “Look, forgive my partner here. He’s a bit irritable.” She leaned in further as if sharing a secret of some import. “He hasn’t had his coffee yet. Caffeine addict. Isn’t a pretty sight. So, why don’t you tell Mr. Caprini that Detectives Lyons and Cooper are here to see him? Let him decide whether he wants to talk to us here, or take a trip downtown and talk to us there.”

  After a brief pause, he nodded. “Wait here.” The door closed.

  Cooper leaned against the door as they heard the bolt slide home with a telltale click. “Man of few words.”

  “The quiet ones are the ones that worry me most. Try not to piss off ‘Bruno’ too bad, okay? His hands are larger than your head, Humpty Dumpty.”

  “Oh, now that hurts my ego, Lyons. Really, it does.” He ran fingers over a thick buzz cut that never required styling.

  She laughed. “You may not be bald or round, but you are breakable, wiseass, and I don’t feel like walking around eggshells right now. So cool it.”

  A click warned them before the door opened again to unveil ‘Bruno’ with a decidedly sour expression.

  “Come in.” When he waved them in, Mac caught a glimpse of a holster.

  The interior was a visual kaleidoscope of wealth. Marble floors. Antique furniture. Elaborate sculptures in stone and bronze. Fine art hung in garish frames on silk-covered walls. She wondered whether the paintings were real or replicas. All of it testified to prosperity, but unlike the subtle elegance of Rafe’s home, the display was overpowering.

  Cooper whistled and made his own show of gawking at the furnishings. “No way could I afford one painting in this place on my detective’s salary.”

  “Would you want it if you could?”

  “Uh no. My girlfriend might get ideas about diamonds then, and who needs that headache?”

  “What’s her name this week?”

  He grinned and winked. “Babe.”

  “That’s not really her name, is it?”

  “No, but it’s safe.”

  Mackenzie laughed but sobered quickly. Why the hell couldn’t he have acted like his normal babe-magnet self at Rafe’s place yesterday instead of a guard dog? Maybe then, she would’ve won the damn bet.

  With a round face and receding hairline, Caprini could’ve passed for an Al Capone look-alike, if it were not for the pencil-thin mustache. Maybe that’s why he grew it.

  He rose when ‘Bruno’ escorted them in, arms spread as if greeting old friends. “Come in. Come in. What a delightful surprise. Please, won’t you join me? Get them drinks. Whatever they like, Bernardo.” Bernardo...Bruno...Close enough.

  “Coffee, thanks,” Cooper said, giving Mackenzie a grin. “Black.”

  “Nothing for me, thank you.” She shook Caprini’s hand after he’d released Cooper’s.

  He waited until Cooper had his coffee and both detectives sat across from him. “What did you want to speak about? I must say I had to interrupt important business, but you have
me curious.”

  “I’m sure you know we’ve been rather busy in Homicide lately.”

  “Oh, yes. You’re that detective handling the case for the senator. I saw you on the news. A tragic event, that...the murder, I mean, not you being on the news. Quite lovely, you are.” He held up a cigarette. “You don’t mind, do you?” Without waiting for a response, he lit it, took a drag, and released a slow stream of smoke into the air. “Robertson’s murder. That was what you meant by busy, wasn’t it?”

  “His and the other one.”

  He pointed at them with the two fingers holding the cigarette. “That’s right. The man in the park, what was his name?” He glanced at his bodyguard. The man responded in his typical few-word fashion. He shrugged.

  “Shumaker,” Mackenzie said.

  “Ah, yes. That was it. The media says they’re connected. Is that true?”

  She shrugged, unwilling to share specifics.

  “So what brings you to my door?”

  “Did you know either of the victims? Have any business dealings with them.”

  He laughed. “Bernardo, did you hear that?” The guard didn’t answer. “It almost sounds as if I’m a suspect. Am I? Please tell me our illustrious police force is not pinning their hopes for solving a murder on little ol’ me.”

  “Please answer the question, Mr. Caprini.”

  He peered at them, puffed his cigarette, and said, “Why would you ask whether I knew them? Of course, I didn’t know them. I travel in more liberal circles than did our dear departed senator. I may have met him once or twice, but that hardly qualifies us as acquaintances.”

  Mackenzie could handle his abrupt coolness, but the sudden sensation of being watched made the hairs on her nape stand up.

  “What about Carl Shumaker?” Cooper asked.

  “Don’t know him.”

  “Do you own an HK Mark 23 handgun?” Mackenzie asked.

  His smile was sly, patronizing. “No. I’m a businessman. I have armed security. Why would I need my own?”

  She ignored his question and asked another. “What about gambling? You like to gamble, Mr. Caprini?”

  “Of course. Gambling’s a lucrative business venture of mine. It’s risky, but then taking risks stirs the blood, gets the adrenalin pumping. You should try it some time.” He lifted a glass from the coffee table and sipped.

  Cooper leaned forward. “Any of that business come through a bookie by the name of Jimmy Harden?”

  The shift was subtle, but Mackenzie saw how Caprini’s body tensed, his senses on alert, in response to Cooper’s question. His smile slid into a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which remained shadowed by heavy brows.

  “Can’t say that I know him.”

  “Where were you the night of the sixth?” Mackenzie asked. “That was a Saturday.”

  “I don’t recall. Home most likely.”

  “You must know Jimmy. He knows you,” Cooper pressed.

  “A lot of people know me.”

  “What about the morning of—”

  “I really don’t have time for this.”

  “Could you check your schedule?” Mackenzie could see the effect of their rapid-fire questions on Caprini as his head began to bob back and forth.

  “Or your Rolodex. He’s a bookie on the Southside,” Cooper explained. “He runs various rackets on everything from horseracing to sports. Says he knows you.”

  Caprini frowned. “I don’t care what some two-bit hoodlum claims. I said I don’t know him.”

  “Actually, he’s a small-time loan shark, but he claims to work for a big fish...You.”

  “If you’ve come here to do nothing more than make accusations, you can speak with my attorneys. I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to discuss this Hardball fellow with you.”

  A slight movement, no more than a change in shadows to her left, drew Mackenzie’s attention, but she kept her gaze fixed on Caprini.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me. You’ve wasted enough of my time with these pointless questions. I really must get back to my business.” He stood with a nicotine-tainted wave of his hand. “Bernardo, show these officers the way to the door.”

  The big brute moved forward, and Mackenzie chanced a glance toward the hallway. The shadow was gone.

  “Mr. Caprini, don’t leave town. We will want to speak to you again,” she said as the brute shuffled them out of the room.

  After the door slammed shut behind them, she and Cooper slipped into her car and pulled away.

  “We’ve got a tail,” she observed after traveling about three blocks.

  “Let ‘em follow. We’re headed back to the station, right?”

  “By way of Harden’s residence. I want to see if we can bring him in, find out what he knows.” She slowed the car a bit. “If you can make out the plate, let’s run it when we get back.”

  “Okay. Did you catch that back at Caprini’s?”

  “The eavesdropper from the hallway? Yeah.” She braked for a stop sign.

  “There was someone in the hall? No, I didn’t mean that. I meant his slip.”

  “What slip?”

  “He called the bookie Hardball.”

  She glanced at her partner. “Yeah, so?”

  “So if he doesn’t know Jimmy Harden, then why’d he use his street name?”

  Mackenzie grinned. “Guess we riled him more than I thought.”

  “That doesn’t prove he’s our guy though. I mean, sure, he’s a slimeball, but my bet’s still on Stone.”

  She wove through traffic and slipped her sedan between a red semi and a taxi when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. “Grab that, will you?”

  Cooper flipped open the phone. “Yellow...yeah, this is Mackenzie’s phone...” He frowned. “Hmm. Yeah. She’s here. Hang on.” He covered the mouthpiece and looked at her. “Speak of the devil...”

  Mackenzie gave him a questioning look.

  “When did you give Stone your number?”

  She snatched the phone and steered with one hand. “How’d you get this number?”

  “Hello, Detective.” Amusement tinged Rafe’s husky voice.

  “Yeah, hi. Answer the question.”

  “Let’s just say I have friends in the right places.”

  She rolled her eyes. He probably owned the damn phone company.

  “I wanted to thank you for last night.”

  “Excuse me?” She nearly sideswiped a Volkswagen Bug.

  His chuckle was deep, sensual. “For your handling of the Drake situation. You could’ve handled it differently.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t like airing my cases on the nine o’clock news.”

  “I want to see you tonight.”

  “I’m kinda busy.” She wished she’d let Cooper drive. A glance in the mirror told her she hadn’t lost the tail, not that she wanted to.

  “You have to eat some time, Detective. Why don’t I pick you up at eight? At the station or your place?”

  “My place? How do you—”

  “He knows where you live?” Cooper asked with a scowl.

  “Shh.” She frowned at him, then slammed on the breaks before she ran up the tailpipe of an SUV. “No, the station’s fine. I’ve got to give you back your handgun anyway.”

  “Wonderful,” Rafe said with a laugh. “You do know how to mix business with pleasure.”

  “This is just business.” She’d fulfill the damn wager, nothing more.

  “You handle the business then, Detective. I’ll take care of the pleasure. See you at eight.”

  The line went dead. Mackenzie cursed.

  “Hey, I’m outta here...Damn, Mac.”

  “What?” Mackenzie glanced up and frowned at Cooper’s goggle eyes. “Don’t start.”

  “I thought you said this was just business.”

  She shut the file cabinet drawer and returned to her seat, which helped hide her stocking-clad legs under the desk. “It is.”

  “Is that a new outfit?”

  “No.
”

  “You’re wearing lipstick.”

  “Don’t make me hurt you.” She punched the buttons on her keyboard instead.

  “You’re taking Fuller’s orders a bit far, don’t you think?”

  “It’s just a damn skirt. I’ve worn them before, ya know?”

  “Yeah, to funerals.”

  She sighed. “I went to work out and needed a shower, so I changed clothes. Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

  She’d needed the break today after drawing a blank on Harden’s whereabouts and coming back to learn Hahn’s meeting with Fuller had included the mayor, among others. He was calling for a task force to handle the case, a task force led by a more veteran detective. Fortunately, Fuller had countered his efforts by pointing out that her team already had full cooperation from several other agencies, and that political grandstanding would disrupt any progress they’d achieved to date.

  The sergeant cut the rug out from under Hahn by clarifying that because all of her reports were for his eyes only, a veteran detective was involved in the case. Fuller was aware of the leads being checked out and the efforts underway to find the killer. Any claim Hahn made about the case being mishandled would have to include Fuller, and no one was willing to go that far.

  Mackenzie remained the lead investigator, but Fuller was increasing the pressure to wrap up the case, and he wasn’t happy to learn the results of the ballistics report. So after her debriefing, she spent an hour pounding her frustrations into a punching bag.

  “That’s where you went for lunch—the gym? Who’d you beat up this time?” Cooper propped his butt on her desk. She really should invest in a potted cactus for that vacant corner.

  “It was close. I pictured a certain assistant state’s attorney. But sometimes the punching bag resembled Stone and other times it had a buzz-cut.”

  “Ouch. Okay. I get the picture. You can handle yourself. You don’t need me to babysit you on your date with a suspect.”

  “It’s not a date!” Her teeth would crack if she gritted them any harder.

  Cooper stood up and stepped back. “Right. Dinner, business meeting, stakeout. Whatever you want to call it.” His grin irritated her to no end. However, she couldn’t totally blame him. She’d ribbed him often enough about his dates, and since she hadn’t dated in eons, she hadn’t given him the chance to return the favor. Until now, although tonight wasn’t a date either. It wasn’t.