Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct (2 page)

“Just flash that famous Cooper grin and see how far it gets us.” She headed for the car, with him trailing behind.

“Hey, you got a hot date tonight? Because seeing you in them tight jeans...Damn.” His toothy smile was pure devil.

She’d worked years to earn a respectable reputation as a tough cop. All business, no nonsense, and then some wiseass teams her up with the precinct’s playboy.

“Bite your tongue, Coop, before I grind it under my heel. We’ve got a job to do.”

He winced. “You’re all heart, Lyons.”

She smiled but kept her face averted. “Compliments won’t work either.”

For all his quirks, he was a good cop. At least he knew how to take no for an answer, although she doubted his latest girlfriend knew the meaning of the word.

When they stopped beside the patrol car, Officer Baker opened the back door, and a big-breasted blonde with about five pounds of makeup caked on her face stormed out.

“You son of a bitch.”

She swung at Baker, but missed. Barely. When she reared back for another swing, Mackenzie caught her arm and yanked. The woman spun around, stumbled against the car, and shrieked as she toppled face-first across the trunk where Mackenzie kept her pinned.

“I’m gonna sue your ass for false arrest,” she shouted, trying to twist free. “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“Assaulting an officer isn’t wrong in your book? Damn, and here I thought it was illegal. Spread ‘em.” Mackenzie kicked the woman’s feet apart and slapped handcuffs on her.

“Damn fitness nut. She always ruins my chances of seeing a catfight,” Cooper muttered to Baker. The officer smiled until Mackenzie cast them both a ‘get serious’ look.

The woman squirmed. “I just tol’ him ‘bout the dead guy, and asshole here with a badge locks me up like I off’d him. I didn’t do nothin’.”

“Yes, you did. You really shouldn’t attack police officers.” Mackenzie kept the woman bent over the car while Cooper inspected the contents of her tiny purse.

“You bitch. You ain’t got no warrant.”

“Ever heard of probable cause? You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say c—”

“I didn’t hit him.”

“Not for lack of trying. What do we have, Coop?”

“Lipstick. Flaming red. One ID, Patricia Hughes, age 21, address in the building behind you. Three foil packets...” He held up a small plastic bag. “...and a dime rock in a little baggy.”

“Cocaine, Patricia. Ten bucks worth won’t earn me any awards with the guys in Narcotics, but hey, I’m not greedy. Those charges keep adding up. You want me to add homicide to the list?”

“I didn’t do him. You can’t pin this on me. I don’t even know him.” The woman twisted to glare at her.

Mackenzie let her up. “Maybe you didn’t, but what about your pimp? Did he get pissed at a john who wouldn’t pay?”

“I ain’t got no pimp.” Patricia leaned a hip against the car and scowled. Mackenzie didn’t blame her for leaning, considering how high those spikes on her shoes were.

“Self-employed, are you?” Cooper asked with a grin that could charm an entire cheerleading squad out of its undies.

“Yeah, self-employed. I like that.” Patricia smiled, showing a missing tooth, and eyed Cooper from head to toe. “I don’t work for no one but me.”

Mackenzie barely stopped her eyes from rolling. “Did you see anyone else in the alley?”

“Just the dead guy. Damn near stepped on him.” She shuddered. “That’s some sick shit.” She swung her cuffed hands around to Cooper, her voice suddenly laced with honey. “Come on. I tol’ ya all I know. You gonna take these off?”

“Now that all depends,” he said. “Can you keep your eyes and ears open?”

“I ain’t no snitch.” She scowled at Mackenzie, then eyed Cooper. “Not for just anyone, but for you...”

Cooper stepped closer. “If you think of anything else, hear something on the street, give me a call.” When she nodded, he uncuffed her and then held out his card. After a surreptitious glance around, she took it with a sultry brush of her fingers across his hand and slipped it between her breasts.

“Since you ain’t gonna haul me in...These could come in handy.” Fingering the handcuffs, she all but purred the statement.

Save me from idiots
. “Soliciting a police officer? You want me to throw you behind bars, don’t you?” Mackenzie asked as she snatched her handcuffs and ignored Cooper’s attempt to hide a chuckle behind a cough.

The woman’s jaw dropped. “No, I—”

“Just see if anybody saw something unusual and let us know,” Cooper said. “You can do that, can’t you?”

“Anything for you, sugar.” She reached for her purse and then for the little baggy in Cooper’s hand, but Mackenzie was faster. She grabbed the bag out of his hand, dumped the contents on the ground, and crushed it under her foot.

“Bitch!”

“That’s Detective Bitch to you. And consider it payment for taking a swing at a cop. Now beat it before I change my mind about doing paperwork on your sorry ass and haul you downtown anyway.”

“I checked with Missing Persons. No reports of anyone who meets our John Doe’s description. Not yet, anyway.” Steve Cooper propped a trim, denim-clad hip on the corner of Mackenzie’s desk. His look was total mischief. “Carol said she’d keep an eye out for me.”

“I’m sure she will.” The Cooper charm strikes again, she thought. Having a harmless playboy for a partner and half the female staff panting after him did have some benefits.

Mackenzie ripped open a bag of M&Ms, her typical snack. This morning it was breakfast.

“Someone clean out the pastries in the vending machine again?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her eyes and tried not to yawn. She’d spent the night canvassing the area around the dump site. “I talked to the manager in Hughes' building as well as every tenant I could find in the buildings on both sides of the alley. No one saw a thing. No one heard a thing.”

“Typical. I got the same from those on the street.”

“Chair not good enough for your butt, Coop?”

He grinned and leaned forward. “Your desk is more comfortable.”

She narrowed her eyes and scooted her candy a few inches to the right. With the press of an arrow key, the list on her computer screen scrolled by. Squinting to keep the words from dividing in two, she tipped her can of cola, hoping the caffeine would reenergize her.

“What have you got there?”

“The victim was mauled before being dumped in that alley. Tancock said a large canine could’ve caused the wounds. A German shepherd or wolf-like dog.” She took a pen from its place above her ear and gestured toward the screen. “Since I doubt there are wolves prowling Chicago alleys, I’m looking at a list of warehouses and other businesses in the area that reportedly use guard dogs.”

“Guard dogs? Good idea. You ought to check with the Lykos Institute. Maybe get them to consult on the case.” Steve’s hand inched toward her bag of M&Ms. “Ouch!”

He drew back sore knuckles, and Mackenzie holstered her pen above her right ear once more. “The Lykos Institute?”

“Yeah. Big nature-loving, protect-the-wildlife type group. If it barks, they know all about it. The organization is Rafael Stone’s pet project.”

“Stone. Any connection to Stone Corporation?” She popped a couple candies and let them melt in her mouth.

“Of course. You know. Rafael Stone? He owns Stone Corp. and who knows what else. The man probably makes a million a minute.” Cooper crossed his arms, flexing muscles encased in a tight, ribbed blue sweater. “You don’t have a clue who I’m talking about, do you?”

She ignored his biceps and sarcasm and scrolled back up the list. Yep, Stone Corp. owned several properties with guard dogs.

“Don't you ever watch TV, read the paper? Grocery store tabloids? The paparazzi love him. If Brad Pitt posed nude on Hollywood Boulevard, he couldn’t get more press than this guy.”

“Stone’s in California?”

“No. Well, he may have offices in L.A., but he lives here. Corporate headquarters are in the Loop.”

The financial heartbeat of Chicago’s business mecca. Billions in commodities changed hands daily in the Loop’s trading pits. Apparently Stone’s company had the might to survive the cacophonic roar of frayed tempers and unmasked greed.

“He maintains a suite in his office building but often flies a helo to that massive estate of his outside the city.”

“And he owns this Lykos Institute?”

“He founded it.”

“Hmm. I think I’ll have a talk with Mr. Stone. See what turns up.” She printed two copies of the property list and handed one to Cooper.

“I’ll be surprised if you get within five miles of the man, but it’d be interesting to see how long it takes you. Should make for a great office pool.”

She scowled and yanked her leather jacket from the chair’s back. “You suggested I contact him.”

“I said check with the Lykos Institute, not Rafael Stone.”

“Well, he founded the Institute and owns several properties on that list, including one fairly close to the crime scene. So he’ll just have to fit me into his schedule.”

He gripped her arm, and she stopped in the doorway. “You’re not suggesting he’s a suspect, are you?”

“Right now, anyone with a dog is a suspect, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Hell, Mac, he probably owns half the city. I wouldn’t be surprised if he owned the buildings on both sides of the alley.”

Annoyed and letting it show, she pulled her arm away. “Give me some credit, will you? For the record, he doesn’t own either building, but even if he did...I’m not going to arrest the guy for owning property and a pet poodle. Last I heard, neither is illegal.”

He frowned. “I’m not questioning your abilities, Mac. I’m just saying I wouldn’t try to strong-arm him. We’re talking about a powerful man. This guy’s connections have connections.”

“I’m following a lead. It’s what detectives do.”

“Fine. But before we try the good cop-bad cop routine on this guy, we better have all our ducks in a row and wearing body armor, or he and his attorneys will be eating duck for dinner.”

“We’re not going to play good cop-bad cop.” She pointed at the list in his hand. “I need you to check out these other businesses. Talk to the owners. Find out about their guard dogs. I’ll take the ones owned by Stone.”

She walked away but turned back with a smile after a few feet. “Oh, Coop? Let me know what the odds are on that pool.”

“Aw, hell.”

Mackenzie found a parking place barely within walking distance of the steel and glass tower that housed the headquarters of Stone Corp.

Near the end of her urban hike, she spotted one of the city’s finest hard at work, and smiled. Paula Martinez scribbled down the license plate number of a car illegally parked in a handicap slot.

“Ticketing the police chief’s car is not going to earn you extra points.”

The officer grinned. “This isn’t the police chief’s car, and for the record, he respected me for doing my job that day.” Paula ripped the ticket from her notebook and slipped it under the windshield wiper. “What’s up, Mac?”

“The murder rate. I’m here to question some rich suit about the latest homicide on the Southside.”

“Question? Or stir up trouble?” Paula asked, her dimple showing.

Mackenzie returned the smile, remembering her colleague’s opinion of her often-unorthodox investigative techniques. Whatever works. “Maybe a little of both.”

“Maybe I should stick around and watch for explosions.”

“Ha ha. See ya ‘round.”
She waved and jaywalked through traffic, heading straight for the front doors of Stone Corp.

The lobby was an architectural testament to lavish simplicity. Only money and impeccable taste could create such understated elegance. Huge beams formed an arch overhead, and on her left stood a wall of stone. The floor-to-ceiling water feature offered a peaceful trickling centerpiece between two rich burgundy sofas. A pair of massive granite columns framed a back wall of glass through which Mackenzie could see elevators and office doors. Cut into the center of the wall was a large door, closed and apparently locked. A sign directed guests to check in at the security desk to the right.

Her sneakers squeaked on the polished marble floor as she approached the impressive mahogany counter.

“Rafael Stone’s office, please.”

“Your name?” the security guard asked, and then glanced at a monitor seated in a nook.

Mac slapped her badge on the countertop. “Detective Mackenzie Lyons, Chicago PD.”

“I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t see your name on the list of scheduled appointments.”

“I don’t have an appointment. I’m here to speak to Mr. Stone about a homicide, so if you’ll buzz me through, I’ll try to make this quick and painless.”

The guard’s face changed instantly, from warm cordiality to solid iceberg. “Do you have a warrant, Detective?”

“Not at this time, but—”

“No warrant. No appointment. No entry.”

A beep sounded before Mackenzie could respond, and the guard held up a hand. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from snapping the man’s head off.

“Yes, Ms. Waters?” He released the intercom’s button.

“Have Simon bring the limo around front, Frank. He’ll be leaving for his next meeting at the Sears Tower in ten minutes.”

“Right away. Ms. Waters? We have a police detective here asking to speak to Mr. Stone.”

There was a brief pause before the crisp feminine voice returned. “I don’t see any scheduled appointment with a detective. Give him the main number. He can call, and I’ll see what I can do to pencil him in later this week.”

The guard slid a card with a phone number on it to Mackenzie. She took it, snarled at the guard’s smug smile, and left.

Outside, she searched for Paula. Mackenzie would see the elusive Rafael Stone today, or she’d eat her detective’s badge.

“The CFO called, sir. A problem in accounting.”

Rafael accepted the briefcase from his efficient assistant as he headed for the elevators. “Thank you, Sylvia. What kind of problem?”

“He didn’t say. He wanted to meet with you directly. I told him you were on your way to the tower.”

“I’ll call him from the car. Those papers for the attorney are on my desk. See that he receives them today.”