Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct (13 page)

“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.

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.

They wouldn’t find any incriminating evidence related to the murders because none existed. The security measures would also protect the institute’s shadow operations, but the reality of the raid shook him. Her part in it infuriated him. She knew officers were combing file cabinets, desks, and safes at the L.I. headquarters, while she consented to ‘interrogate’ him at his leisure. More like keep him busy, entertained, and out of the way.

“You’re in the wrong business, Detective.” He put the full force of his anger behind those words, making the title sound more like a curse.

“Excuse me?” Her thick-lashed eyes rounded with a confused air of innocence. He was surprised she didn’t look smug, since she’d succeeded in her goal of distracting him.

“With talent like yours, you should’ve been an actress. You had me convinced. I actually found your stubborn devotion to duty rather charming.” He stalked toward her with a determined stride, a small part of him feeling pleased to see her stand her ground. He preferred a woman with strength and courage.

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“How long did you plan to toy with me so your cohorts could raid my offices?”

Hadn’t he offered to assist in the investigation? She could have asked for the DNA files, and he would have gladly handed them over. She could have told him about the warrant at any time, but she didn’t. Instead, she’d chosen to undermine him, circumvent him. Why?

“I’m not toying with you.”

“The hell you’re not! I trusted you.” He stopped, abruptly realizing he had trusted her. And she’d not returned that faith. That was why she’d kept him in the dark.

“I’m doing my job.”

“Well, your job sucks.”

“You are not going to make me feel guilty for doing what I think is right.”

“Right? You call what you’re doing right? There’s a killer in this city, Detective, but I’m not him. When you realize that, then maybe you’ll find the
right
path, but until then, you’re
dead
wrong.”

When she shied away from him, her fearful uncertainty angered him even more. He grabbed her upper arms and held her in place.

She attempted to twist free. “Let me go.”

“You think you can play me for a fool? Distract me while you go on some wild goose chase and tear apart everything I’ve built?”

“Let me go, damn it!”

“Do you honestly think I’ll stand by—”

She kicked out, hooking her leg around one of his and knocking him off his feet. But instead of letting her go to catch his fall, he dragged her down, too, then rolled and pinned her beneath him.

She shrieked and cursed a blue streak that matched the spark of fury in her eyes. She squirmed and actually tried to bite him.

Grudgingly impressed by her spunk, he leaned close enough to whisper a warning. “Bite me, and I bite back.”

Her eyes flared. With shock or anger, he couldn’t be sure. He sat up, straddling her slim waist, and kept her arms pressed to the floor, well away from the reach of her handgun.

“Now—”

She attacked with unexpected force. Before he could react, she’d wrapped her limber legs around him from behind and pulled him off-balance. Another several minutes of wrestling ensued before he regained the upper hand. By then, both were breathing heavily, and Rafe had the beginnings of what he was sure would be an impressive bruise on the left side of his ribcage.

“Let me up, you son of a bitch.”

Rafe didn’t move from his prone position atop Mackenzie. He’d learned the hard way how quickly she could take advantage of a slight miscalculation. The physical effort he exerted to subdue her had exhausted much of his initial anger and stirred up his other alpha instincts.

Feathery tendrils of her hair escaped from her braid to offer a beguiling frame about her flushed face. As she caught her breath, her lips parted in an erotic invitation he desperately wanted to accept.

“Killing an officer will have every cop in Chicago out to fry your ass.”

“Damn you, Mackenzie. I’m not going to kill you.” He read the doubt in her eyes and felt his anger build again. She could try the patience of a snail.

“And I suppose you just assault officers for the hell of it.”

“I did not assault you.”

“Oh, right, my mistake. We both mistook the softness of your carpet for the pad of a wrestling ring.”

“Did I hurt you?”

Her mouth formed a tight, closed line. He growled his frustration but didn’t release her.

“At anytime, did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then I didn’t assault you.”

She huffed and wiggled underneath him, which made him uncomfortably aware of how aligned their bodies were. He needed to focus, which became more difficult with each move she made. God, her soft curves could make a man forget his name.

“Then what are we doing on the damn floor?”

“Be still,” he hissed. “We’re getting to the bottom of why you exercised a search warrant against one of my places rather than coming to me.”

“I will not discuss this with you on the floor. Let...me...up.” Her hips bucked.

“No.”

“What?”

“Discussion’s over.” His lips took action, pressing against hers, and swallowed her startled protest.

Rafe had wanted to claim her mouth from the moment he saw her at the funeral and watched lucky raindrops cling to that full, lower lip.

He thought once would be enough, but that was before he’d had a taste of her outside the hospital and discovered the truth. Not enough. He’d never have enough of her.

His grip turned to a caress as his tongue delved inside to explore her mouth’s warmth.

His alpha nature made him want to claim her, all of her, here and now. But he fought the urge to take and tried persuasion instead. Running one hand up her body, he cupped a firm, round breast. His tongue tangled with hers, another wrestling match more enjoyable than the first.

He was a fool falling for a woman who didn’t trust him. And because of that, he could never entrust her with his secret, never share everything that made him the man he was.

Still, he wanted her. Even as he took what he knew he couldn’t have, his spirit rebelled against the knowledge that he couldn’t force her to believe in him.

He moved to give his lips better access to her neck and felt her hands press against his chest. With reluctance, he pulled away, just enough to see her face. Her eyelids drifted open to unveil a blue as passionate and beautiful as the early morning sky.