Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct

by Brandi Broughton

  “I know what my fucking responsibility is! I don’t need you to remind me.” Rafe forced his fingers to release his brother. He fought with every ounce of energy he had to restrain the urge to change and rip off Luc’s head. With hands fisted, he squeezed his eyes shut. He had to calm down before he did or said something he’d regret.

  Luc was protecting the pack. Under other circumstances, Rafe would have issued a similar ultimatum, but knowing that didn’t stop the sudden violent urge to protect his mate...even from his own kind, his own brother. Mate? The word hit his heart like an arrow striking a bull’s-eye. He knew he was attracted to Mackenzie. The tender heart she tried so hard to hide behind a prickly façade enticed him, while her suspicious, uneasy demeanor whetted his appetite like a dare. Now the thought that he’d finally found his mate seized his brain with sharp talons.

  “She’s not a threat. She won’t be.” Rafe’s temper flared again when he realized he didn’t know whether he spoke more to convince Luc or himself.

  “I hope you’re right, brother. For all our sakes.” The red light changed, and Luc’s gaze shifted to the task of weaving through traffic. His movements were choppy, agitated.

  With a sigh, Rafe laid his head against the headrest. “If anything, I think her connection to me has put her in danger, not the other way around.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was unable to scout the area after changing, but...I sensed something.” He shook his head, unsure of how to explain the feelings he’d had at the warehouse. After the change, he’d had trouble distinguishing the smells he picked up; aside from the burned odor of gunpowder, oil, and algae, the scent of Mackenzie’s fear and blood captured much of his attention.

  “You think Anton had something to do with last night?”

  “Maybe. You’ve tracked him. You know his scent. I’d like you to check out the warehouse. The police should clear out some time today, if they haven’t already. It’s a long shot but see if you can pick up anything on the shooter.”

  Luc nodded. He pulled into the lot where he’d left his motorcycle. Shifting into park, he studied Rafe a moment before getting out. He straddled his bike as Rafe walked around the Jag.

  “If Anton is involved,” he began, making Rafe pause before he slid in behind the wheel, “you’ll need to operate at 100 percent. That woman is more than a threat to the pack. She could get you killed.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked Cooper.

  “Hardball’s place.”

  “The bookie?”

  “Yeah. He wasn’t home when I dropped by. You gonna fill me in on exactly what happened to you last night? All I heard were bits and pieces.”

  Mackenzie touched the smaller but, unfortunately, still-visible bandage she’d put on her forehead. “A gift from someone who wanted me dead more than he wanted to help solve two murders.”

  “What about Stone? Was he somehow involved?”

  The venom in his voice made her frown. “No, I told you, I followed a lead from an anonymous snitch.”

  “Yeah, your message said it was a note left at the station where Stone happened to be. You saw him last night. Who’s to say he didn’t leave it there?”

  “I say. The timing is a coincidence. It wasn’t him.”

  “How can you be so sure? You know I don’t like coincidences.”

  Since she’d purposefully left Rafe out of her report to the officers on scene, she couldn’t tell her partner how he’d been busy taking the bullet for her, not firing it. “Call it intuition. Call it whatever you want. I just know. He wasn’t the shooter.” Mackenzie didn’t like the path Cooper was following and opted to change the subject. “You find something out on the car rental?”

  “No. Guy used the name of a made-for-TV-mobster. Odds are it’s bogus. What happened with the snitch?”

  “He fell in the drink after I shot him.” She filled him in on the message she’d received and what happened at the warehouse, leaving out Rafe’s part in the ordeal. “They’re supposed to continue searching the shore around the docks this morning. I’m heading there after I speak with Fuller.”

  “Not a good idea right now.”

  She cocked a brow.

  “Saw Hahn talking to someone with OPS this morning.”

  Mackenzie struggled to keep her expression blank. The male chauvinist asshole could get the Office of Professional Standards and everyone with Internal Affairs involved if he wanted. “So?”

  “So, I heard he claims you’ve compromised the case.”

  Mackenzie cursed. “What’s Fuller saying about it?”

  “Nothing yet. He’s been behind closed doors with them all morning. I wanted to talk to you alone, and since I needed to try Hardball’s place again, it seemed a good enough excuse to keep us away from the station for a while.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “About Hahn, mainly.” He shifted in his seat. “What exactly did he see between you and Stone?”

  “Me sitting at a table in a public restaurant with Rafe.”

  “That’s all?”

  She nodded. What else could he have seen?

  “I don’t get it. Hahn’s not the type to jump to conclusions on something as flimsy as that.”

  Mackenzie suppressed the wince. “Well, it doesn’t take much for him to try and prove a point.”

  “A point?”

  “That I don’t belong on the force. It’s why we broke up...well, one of the reasons.”

  She pulled over and parked near Hardball’s apartment building.

  Cooper got out and folded his arms on the car’s roof, looking at her with a cocky grin. “What were the other reasons?”

  “I got tired of catering to the asshole’s ego.”

  Cooper was still chuckling as they entered the building. The interior was an ashtray. Decades of smoking tenants left the walls tinged yellow and the air murky. Angry voices drifted down the stairwell from an upstairs hallway.

  “I ain’t paying for the damage when it’s that bastard’s fault,” a woman snapped.

  “Did I say it’s yer fault? I jes don’t want ya startin’ nothing.” The man’s voice was raspy and muffled.

  “I gotta listen to him stomping around up here at all hours, but I ain’t gotta put up with this. He’s gonna pay fer my stuff.”

  “Open up.” The man slammed a fat-fingered fist against a door as Mackenzie topped the stairs. His dingy undershirt stretched over a middle as large as a Mack truck’s spare tire.

  The woman adjusted her nightmarish floral robe. Her matchstick legs peaked out from underneath, and her garish red hair held a head full of pink curlers. “He ain’t gonna answer. I been trying all mornin’.”

  “That’s his apartment,” Cooper murmured to Mackenzie.

  She eyed the man. “You the manager?”

  “Who’s askin’?” His chapped lips closed around the stub of a cigar in the corner of his mouth while he studied them with eyes that probably couldn’t open wider than slits.

  She held up her badge.

  “I tol’ you someone would call the cops if you didn’t shut your yap,” the man snarled to the woman, who puffed up like a pissed-off prune.

  “What’s the trouble here?” Cooper asked.

  “The creep in there,” the woman said, “left the plug in the drain and the water runnin’. Gotta rusty, wet mess leaking through my ceiling downstairs.”

  Mackenzie and Cooper looked at each other. They pushed their way to the door, pulling out their guns.

  “You got a key?” she asked. The manager chewed his cigar and nodded. He moved forward, slipped the key in the lock, and stopped when Mackenzie held one hand up. “Wait over there.”

  As the couple stepped back, Cooper knocked on the door. “Harden? Police. Open up.” He met Mackenzie’s gaze, pointed at her and then up. She gave a quick nod, agreeing that she’d go in high. He gripped the knob, turned, and they stormed in.

  Cooper landed on one knee, weapon drawn. Mackenzie, back ag
ainst the wall, searched for any signs of danger. Nothing...yet.

  “Ah, shit.” Cooper stood with a shake of his pant leg. A piece of cold pizza fell to the floor, leaving behind a red stain on his tan pants.

  Mackenzie inched forward, dodging the open pizza box on the floor inside the doorway. As she scanned the room, her weapon followed the same path. An avocado green couch with an exposed spring in the cushion lined one wall. Nobody there. Opposite, a small TV with rabbit ears perched atop an older wood-framed television set.

  Her toe collided with a stack of newspapers, sports pages. She stepped over them and between two crushed beer cans. The room reeked of booze and cheap cigars.

  Cooper checked the tiny space that served as a kitchen and shook his head. Her gaze settled on the only other opening in the room. She kept her Glock aimed at the doorway.

  Damp sports and sex magazines lay strewn about the bedroom. Water squished in the ugly brown carpet with each step.

  She didn’t know whether the mess in the apartment was the usual décor, but the plop of dripping water led them to a scene that was without a doubt not the norm. Jimmy Harden lay lifeless and nude in a tub of blood and water.

  Mackenzie holstered her firearm and sighed. “Call it in.”

  The sun turned the sky a brilliant orange as it started a downward slide behind the Chicago skyline. By the time Mackenzie dragged herself into the station, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. But dispatch told her Fuller wanted to see her.

  Mackenzie had stayed at Harden’s place while forensics processed the apartment. She’d questioned the manager and downstairs neighbor, and then left Cooper to talk with other residents.

  She’d checked on the search for her warehouse shooter, but all they’d collected from the scene were some spent shell casings, a few bullet fragments, and trace evidence, which they’d yet to analyze.

  “Hey, Lyons. Fuller’s looking for you,” a passing detective told her as Mackenzie headed to her office. She’d hoped for a few minutes to gather her thoughts, but when the sergeant called...

  “I’m on my way.” Changing direction, she entered the elevator and leaned against the back wall with eyes closed until the doors slid open.

  Fuller sat behind his desk, surrounded by pictures of family, certificates of commendation, and stacks of paperwork.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  He looked up and removed his bifocals. “Shut the door, Lyons.”

  That didn’t sound promising.

  “Sit down.”

  She eased into the chair, tried not to clutch the arms in a death grip, and eyed his expression for any clues to his thoughts.

  “You’ve been very busy.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get my written report to you before I go off duty.”

  He leaned forward. “Why don’t you fill me in now?” Although posed as a question, that order brooked no argument.

  “Victim’s name is Jimmy Harden. Midtwenties. Rap sheet includes B and E, assault, and armed robbery. Last arrest was on drunk and disorderly a couple months ago. Pickpocket. Street hood. A bookie. Didn’t make a lot of money. The manager hassled him about overdue rent the previous night. Body found in his tub this morning.”

  “Cameras?”

  “Not in that place.”

  “Motive?”

  “Undetermined. The killer may have pretended to deliver pizza to gain entry. Coop’s checking that angle.”

  “Same MO as the others?”

  “Not exactly. Like the first victim, he was shot in the chest and stripped. His right hand was chopped off, but there were no signs of mauling, and the locations differ. Harden was left in his own tub...private place instead of public.”

  Mackenzie tried not to read anything into the frown on Fuller’s face.

  “Hand it off to Koffman. I want you and Coop focused on the Canine Killings.”

  “I’d like to keep this one, Sarge. I haven’t ruled out a possible connection to the Robertson and Shumaker cases.”

  Fuller propped a pencil between two fingers, a holdover from his days prior to kicking a nicotine habit. “What makes you think there’s a connection?”

  “Harden was Shumaker’s bookie. He claimed to work for Caprini. We mentioned his name during questioning only yesterday. Caprini denied knowing him, but he made the mistake of using Harden’s street name, Hardball. Then Harden winds up dead.”

  Fuller rubbed his salt-and-pepper whiskers as he considered her words, the florescent light overhead reflecting off his bald head.

  “It’s not much, but I’d like to follow it. Put some more pressure on Caprini and see what happens.”

  “What about your prime suspect? Any connection between Harden and Stone?”

  Mackenzie paused. Rafe hadn’t killed Harden. He’d been busy taking a bullet for her, not that she could prove it. Since he’d been with her all night, he had an ironclad alibi, but admitting as much would be the end of her career. As far as anyone else was concerned, Stone remained a suspect in the first two homicides.

  “No,” she said. Her stomach churned.

  “But you’ll investigate that possibility?”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “All right. The count stands at three homicides. But if there’s any indication this last one is heading in another, unrelated direction, hand it off to Koffman.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t have to tell you the pressure to solve these cases...make an arrest...is growing daily.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Is there anything I should be aware of that prevents me from keeping you as lead investigator on this case?”

  “Sir?” God, was he taking her off the case?

  “Don’t be dense, Detective. I’ve no doubt Cooper called you within seconds of Hahn’s visit to my office this morning.”

  “Yes.” Mackenzie couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat. “I saw Kenneth Hahn last night while I was following your orders.”

  Fuller’s brows rose.

  “To get close to Rafael Stone, gain his trust, pressure him until he slipped up.”

  “Go on.”

  “Stone stopped by the station last night to retrieve his firearm, which has been cleared as the murder weapon. I was with him when I received an anonymous tip from a snitch about the case.”

  “The warehouse?”

  “Yes. Since I had some time, I left with Stone. We ran into Hahn and his wife at a restaurant.”

  “Hahn filed a complaint with OPS, alleging misconduct. He’s convinced he interrupted you and the prime suspect during an intimate moment over wine.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Intimate?” Mackenzie’s mind raced. What had he seen? What could she say? Unable to answer those questions, she let her frustrated anger show in a sneer of disgusted disbelief. Now wasn’t a time to display fragile nerves.

  “That was his word choice, yes.”

  “We were in a public restaurant surrounded by staff and other patrons. When Hahn walked up, I was questioning Stone.” Which was the truth, she told herself, even if the questions had nothing to do with the murders. “He was attempting to convince me that we aren’t on opposing sides.” Misleading, but true.

  “Attempting...How? By wining and dining you?”

  “He did offer me wine, which led to a disagreement.”

  “How so?”

  She frowned. “The bottle was worth eight hundred dollars. As I told Stone, ‘I’m not for sale.’”

  Fuller’s lips quirked. “Did you inform Mr. Stone of the consequences for attempting to bribe a public official?”

  “I didn’t exactly use those words, but neither did he admit to the attempt. I left after that.” She wanted to rub her sweaty palms on her thighs, but Fuller watched for any signs of discomfort.

  “I take it Hahn missed this exchange.”

  “Yes.”

  “You rode there in Stone’s car?”

  “Yes, but
I left in a cab. I came back here for my car, tried to reach Cooper, and went to the warehouse.” She met his gaze, which didn’t waver. So far everything she’d said was the truth, and she prayed that would be enough.

  Fuller’s chair creaked as he reclined. He steepled his dark fingers and peered at her for several long, uneasy seconds. “I’m already aware of the shooting at the warehouse. OPS will investigate, of course. I expect you to make yourself available tomorrow for further questioning.”

  Mackenzie’s heart leaped into her throat, and her stomach plunged to her toes. Procedure called for the Office of Professional Standards to check into all shootings involving police officers, while the officers usually awaited the outcome from home. She could handle the questions, but taking leave now was not an option. Hahn would have his way regardless of his claims of misconduct. Had she cost herself the investigation?

  “The encounter does give you an alibi against any allegations Hahn may have made concerning where you went after the restaurant. You obviously didn’t wind up at Stone’s house.”

  Sensing that a denial would be unnecessary, Mackenzie remained silent.

  Fuller gestured toward her bandage, his face showing anger for the first time. “However, you miscalculated by going there alone. Don’t do it again.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no, I won’t.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “Sir?”

  “About the shooting?”

  “Uh...Unfortunately, the gunman got away. I really thought I’d hit him, but no blood. No body. Forensics is processing some trace evidence found at the scene.”

  “Keep me informed.” Fuller donned his glasses and began flipping through some files on his desk.

  “I’m still on the case?”

  He studied her over his bifocals. “With no body, I see no reason to put you on leave. Are you requesting a psychiatric evaluation?”

  “No, sir. That’s not necessary.” She made to rise, then paused. “About Hahn’s complaint...?” She didn’t want to ask but had to know.

  “As you said, you were following my orders. Contrary to Hahn’s opinion, the State Attorney’s office has no control over detective assignments. Whether one’s removed from a case is the decision of this department.”