“Well, what do you think happened there?” her mother had whispered.
Kara hadn’t answered.
Those policemen were the light that made the shadow on her soul disappear.
In that moment she knew she was going to be one of them. It was way better than being a ballerina.
Her mind drifted back to Curragh. He’d been so tender tonight. So wounded. He’d come to her for help. But it didn’t change the fact that she shouldn’t have held him close. She should have arrested him. On any number of counts. That she hadn’t, or rather couldn’t, was very troublesome.
“Why is he after Kruglov?” she said, under her breath. “Why didn’t I ask him?” She rinsed the cup and set it upside down on a towel. “But what would it matter?” With a heavy heart, Kara headed for bed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Curragh returned to the loft Xavier was where he’d left him, sitting vigil by Draik’s bed. One lamp was on, everything quiet.
“Hey.”
Curragh’s eyes were on Draik. “Where’d the twerp go?”
Voice heavy with exhaustion, Xavier answered, “Had to get some sleep. He’s going to come here before the morgue tomorrow, then again at his break.”
His distaste for Howard Peters had vanished with the young wolf saving Draik’s life. He’d been professional, fast and serious, and because of that, Curragh had to look at him with earned respect. All that remained now was habit, and from that Curragh grumbled, “Does he have to be here so much?” He kneeled by Draik and inspected the gauze on his head. “We’re going to have to shave the rest of this. He looks like he got clipped by a helicopter twenty-seven times.”
“When he heals more.” Xavier’s dark eyelashes rose. “How was the cop?”
It wasn’t surprising that his friend knew where he’d gone. Curragh smelled of her. He knew that. Only now her scent wasn’t just in his pores like something that could be washed off with soap and water. It was doing its best to attach to his soul despite his efforts to resist. Clasping his hands around his knees, with his huge back hunched over, he sat on the floor and met Xavier’s curious look. “It’s over.”
“Did it ever start?”
After a grim pause, “I don’t know.”
The usual amusement over this topic was gone. “Sorry to hear it.”
Curragh’s focus switched back to their fallen packmate. His lips had a little of their pink back. That was a good sign. The first they’d had.
“Have you eaten?”
“No. I’m fucking starving.” Xavier sighed. “You’re looking pretty tasty right now.”
“You should be so lucky.” One corner of Curragh’s mouth turned up as he pulled out his phone. “Who delivers this late?”
“No one. Go get something from Elly’s Pancakes and come back.” He jogged his chin to Draik. “I’ll watch over jackass here.”
“I’ll be back.”
“No shit.”
Curragh grabbed his keys and chuckled. “Don’t offer me any money or anything.”
Outside, the temperature had dipped lower. Since he’d left Kara’s, winds had risen as though Mother Nature felt the night’s turmoil. He decided a walk would do him good. The streets were empty, save for the odd drunk in a Cubs hat stumbling past, smelling like tomorrow he’d be in a fuckload of pain.
After several blocks of relative quiet, Curragh passed a corner building. He slowed his steps. Distinct Russian accents came from inside. He swore under his breath, promising himself for the zillionth time to learn Russian. What good did his supernatural hearing do him when not one word they said made sense? But it meant something that a group was convening at four-thirty in the morning. This wasn’t a family gathering. This was business.
Pretending to look at a map on his phone, Curragh hung around. Several times he glanced over discretely, assessing how to get in. When he was sure no eyes were on him, he tried the door. It was of course, locked. Then the voices inside grew loud and he heard a door close. They were coming down the hall, the images of their bodies warped through the leaded glass window embedded in the front door. He stepped back and leaned against the building. Googling next, ‘Russian language classes Chicago,’ he waited.
Five men filed out wearing leather jackets, black shirts and slacks. As their shiny shoes hit the sidewalk, each and every one of them glanced around suspiciously. Like most bad guys, they were used to watching their backs. They were each cleaning their hands with antiseptic wipes. Curragh hated the powerful odor. Four pairs of cynical eyes hesitated as they landed on him, but it wasn’t until the fifth pair belonging to a muscular, dark haired, blue-eyed Russian, that he was confronted.
“Ey. Vat arr you doink heerr?”
Curragh raised his head very slowly. “Who…me?”
“Dah.” The man’s stance was aggressive. “Yuuu.” The other four Russians waited behind their comrade, spaced out so they could see what was going on.
Curragh traced a quick glance around, memorizing their faces. “I’m Googling where I can get food this late.” He shrugged, his face casual. But there was nothing casual about his size. He sensed their agitation at the mere sight of him. He towered over all but one, and that guy didn’t have his muscular broadness. “What are you doing?”
The Russian stared at him without blinking. With an eerie calm, he looked at the phone, trying to check if Curragh was lying, unable to see from this angle. He turned around and motioned to his buddies to move on.
Curragh wasn’t buying it. The wolf looked up at the fire-escape stairs hanging above his head. Just as the Russian pulled a gun from his pocket and whipped around, Curragh leapt to them, grabbing on. He climbed with all of his enhanced speed as the other Russians pulled out their guns, too. Explosions lit up the silence as loud and fast as fireworks in the finale. Bullets narrowly missed the wolf’s legs, ricocheting off the iron rungs inches away. He vaulted onto the roof and out of sight. Bending at the knees, he muttered, “Fucking mafia. Always so quick to pull a gun.”
Everything was silent now, but he knew it wasn’t over. Striding to the far edge of the roof with his heart slamming, he leapt to the next building, narrowly making it. He looked over the ledge to see what they were doing. Below, the street was empty. Back to his right he heard voices and saw the Russians filing out onto the first rooftop from the inside staircase. He imagined them trying to reach the fire-escape stairs and failing. It had bid him some time that they couldn’t, maybe enough time to avoid being shot. Xavier didn’t need two wolves down.
He heard their voices sharpen in the distance as they discovered him. He ran. Gunshots rang out, narrowly missing him. From the pounding footsteps the men were now on the edge of that roof, wondering how he gotten where he was. I dare you to jump, he thought, glancing back with a smirk as he raced to the edge and jumped down to the next rooftop. He stopped, knees buckling on impact, and flipped around. The Russians were beside themselves, speaking to each other in their native tongue.
Curragh disappeared from their sight. In the shadows he got to ground level and waited behind a building. His supernatural hearing was in full throttle. Even the flapping of moth’s wings in a far away street lamp didn’t escape him. Muted sounds of the men filing out from that first building, vibrated toward him. There was low, angry talk. Car engines fired up. An Escalade drove by where he hid, but the other vehicles had taken off in different directions. He counted only three cars. Five men. Did two ride with the others? He gave it more time. He had to investigate that building to see what they’d been up to.
After ten impatient minutes, he headed back, keeping close to the shadows.
At the front door, checking the area for eyewitnesses, Curragh wrapped the bottom of his t-shirt around his fist and punched a hole in the leaded glass window. Looking around once more, he reached in and unlocked the door. He blanched at the smell that assaulted his nostrils inside. Following it to the room they must have been in, he kicked down the door. The smell of sex and blood was n
auseating now. It was laced with fear. Suddenly he realized what that faint thumping was. It was the heartbeat of someone who’d nearly given up.
There was a woman in her mid-thirties tied to a chair. Dark brown eyes stared off like she’d clocked out mentally. She was naked save for her arms, which still had the sweater sleeves on, cinched behind her. It was a green sweater. Her face was beaten, her neck bruised badly with fingerprints. The position of her legs told him everything. He scooped her up, untying the ropes as he whispered, “It’s going to be alright now. I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you anymore. I’ve got you.”
As he searched for something to cover her with, coming up empty, Curragh silently cursed the men who’d done this to her. He tugged the sweater off her hanging, limp arms and laid it over her naked torso. Cradling her, he paced a few short steps, wondering how the hell he was going to get her to a hospital.
Kara.
Flying out of the building, Curragh ran with his head down. When an early dawn jogger approached, his deep voice begged for understanding. “I’m saving her! I’m taking her to the hospital! I didn’t do this!” The human jogged in place as she turned around, pulling out one ear bud. “Help! HELP!” she started to yell.
Curragh muttered, “Mother fucker.” He called over his shoulder, “I’m taking her to get help! Shut the fuck up!”
When he got to 18th Avenue, he shouted up to Kara’s floor. Lights turned on in the first and second floors, too. Curragh dipped under the awning to hide. When the balcony door on the third floor opened, he called up, “Kara! Come down here. You other people, this is none of your fucking business. Go back to bed!”
Groggy grumblings came from the other apartments. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know. Lover’s quarrel?” “God, what time is it?” “You wanna stay up?” “Jesus, who shouts at a window at this hour?” “No, let’s go back to bed.”
Soon the door opened next to him and Curragh’s heart stopped as he looked over.
Kara stared out at him. Her hair was messy from tossing and turning. She gasped at the sight of the half-naked, battered woman in his arms and ushered them inside, looking right and left to see if anyone saw. He did a quick scan, too, and his ears had already been on intense alert for the whispers of curtains or the clattering of blinds pulled back. There were none in the other buildings.
They rushed upstairs. Kara’s eyes were extra wide as she led the way, looking back at them over and over. “What happened?”
“Thank you for knowing this wasn’t me.”
Kara swung open her front door and held it as they passed through. “Of course it wasn’t you!”
“Well, you think I’m a criminal,” he muttered, laying the woman gently onto the sofa. Grabbing a cream-colored throw blanket from the back of it, he tucked her in and then turned to Kara. She was staring at him like she didn’t like what he’d just said, but there were worse things to worry about right now, and arguing was useless.
“Where did you find her?”
He gave her a rundown of what happened, leaving the part out about jumping the rooftops like no human could. As she listened, she went to the bathroom and wet a white hand towel with hot water, eyes narrow, lips tight. He watched her kneel by the victim, dabbing the woman’s forehead and cheeks with tenderness. To her, she whispered, “You’re safe now. Rest.” The woman’s eyebrows lifted a little. Maybe it was the sound of a woman’s voice that had gotten through. Curragh didn’t know. But for the first time she focused on something. Tears began to fall, and Kara leaned in and kissed the woman’s frown. She got up and turned to Curragh.
“Okay. I don’t know what to do. Come here.” She motioned for him to follow her into the bedroom. The sight of her blankets tumbled on a soft mattress in a sleigh-bed frame was more than a little distracting. Hitting his chest to grab his attention back, Kara whispered, “You brought her here because you couldn’t be questioned or seen. You really do live outside the law, don’t you?”
He nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets.
Her arms were crossed and disapproval glared back at him. “Jesus, what am I doing with you? I should have reported you the first night I met you. Why am I helping you?”
He glared at her, wishing he could relax and act like they were on the same side. But they weren’t. “You’ve got her now. Do what you have to do.”
Kara sighed. She padded over to pick up a piece of paper and pen off her bedside table. Asking him to repeat the address where the Russian’s had done this, she wrote it down. “Okay. Thank you. You need to get out of here.”
He followed her back to her living room, eyes on her swaying hips. Then his glance fell to the victim. If anyone touched Kara, he would rip them apart. Literally. Had he known about the woman when he’d stood face to face with those evil pricks, he wouldn’t have acted like he was checking his phone. He would have pulled their heads right off their fucked-up necks.
If only I’d known.
The woman had finally closed her eyes. Her breath was coming in a short, soft rhythm. Merciful sleep had found her.
Kara sighed and turned to face him. She looked determined and lost at the same time. He lifted her chin. “You’re good, and I’m not,” he quietly told her. Her eyelashes flickered. He leaned down and kissed her nose. “Fuck. I can’t even be near you without...” Heading for the door with heavy steps, he heard her dialing. A dispatcher answered, “911. What’s your emergency?”
As he closed the door, Kara’s voice had a slight tremble to it. “I need an ambulance. I’m a police officer. A woman has been raped.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sitting in the back of the ambulance, Detective Monaghan held the wounded hand of the victim. There were bruises around her wrists, so Kara was gentle, knowing a soft touch was needed for many reasons now. “You’re going to be alright,” she whispered, bending close. She exchanged a look with the EMTs riding in back with her—one male and one female, both early thirties. Ever since they’d put the woman on the gurney, she’d begun staring off again. It was heartbreaking and disturbing. Kara could only imagine what she was seeing in her mind’s eye.
At the hospital, Detectives Rodriquez and Slater stood waiting outside with a psychiatrist who specialized in overcoming physical abuse and trauma. Dr. Matthews would wait until the woman’s injuries were cared for before doing her best to start the road to recovery.
“Don’t forget to tell them we need DNA samples,” Kara quietly reminded the EMTs.
“You got it.” They unloaded the gurney and rushed her inside.
Slater approached with Rodriguez on his heels. “We have to question her.”
When women were hurt with sexual crimes, it hit home in a way that made Kara very tired. “We will, when she starts talking again.” All she wanted now was to bring that poor woman some justice. “They have people at the scene?”
The men nodded. Rodriguez jogged his head toward the cafeteria as they walked inside. “Let’s get some coffee.” He turned to the psychiatrist. “You want some?”
With the calmness of one who is here to help, she smiled. “I’ll stay, thank you. I have a book to read while I wait.”
As the three detectives headed away, Kara’s phone rang. Seeing Mazzagatti’s name, she answered, “Morning.”
“Monaghan. I got your message. What’s this I hear about—”
“—I was jogging this morning and saw a bunch of Russians leaving a building. It didn’t look occupied, so I wondered what was up. I didn’t have my gun with me.” She rolled her eyes to the detectives walking beside her as if to say, that’s the last time I’ll forget my gun, right? They nodded with rueful half-smiles. To the captain, she continued, “But after they left, I went back, broke in through the front door. That’s when I found her.” She hoped he hadn’t talked to dispatch. She had no idea how to explain how the woman had gotten to her apartment.
“Lanky is here with me. He says the woman was picked up at your apartment.”
Kara stopped walking. Fucking Lanky. Of course he had to go and seek out something to crucify me with. How many times has he done that over the months, he and Lennox, trying to hurt me? Up until now I was clean.
But that was before I met Curragh.
“You guys go on without me.” The detectives nodded with bright florescent lights illuminating their faces before they disappeared through the cafeteria door. Stepping further away, Kara searched for some sort of believable explanation.
“Sir, when I found her, I’m embarrassed to admit…I was stunned. I’m a woman, too.” She raked a hand through her long hair, wishing she didn’t have to play this card. “I stopped a stranger and asked if he could help me. Told him I was Chicago P.D. I just wanted to get her out of there so she didn’t have to look at that room anymore. She was tied up. Naked. Only had on a sweater. Who knows what they did with the rest of her clothes. As soon as I got her upstairs and put a blanket on her, I realized I hadn’t followed proper procedures. Honestly sir, my first instinct was to get her somewhere warm. I live just a few blocks away. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, then, “When she comes to I want to know if she knew who the men were, who did this to her. And where to find them.”
“You got it.”
“Oh, and Monaghan?”
“Yes, Captain?” Kara’s heart was beating hard.
“I want you to talk with that specialist, too. I’m assuming something like this happened to you. There’s no other excuse for your behavior.”
She blinked, turned and stared at a wall. A lump formed in her throat. “I’ll talk to her, sir.”
They hung up.
There was no way she was talking to that shrink.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Xavier asked, “Why don’t I smell pancakes?” as Curragh walked in.
Werewolves of Chicago: Curragh (Werewolves of... Book 6) Page 8
