Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct (25 page)

Robbery wasn’t the motive. Harden’s apartment was messy, but not ransacked. No sign of anything stolen. Crime scene photos showed a pizza box by his wallet on the floor near the door. She’d checked the contents herself. Nothing but an ID, video rental card, pawnshop receipt, a condom, and a few small bills. Less than twenty bucks.

She’d hoped for a match between the bullets in Harden’s case and the first homicide, but the bullet recovered from Harden was a nine millimeter, not the .45 caliber used on Robertson.

Harden’s murder felt more like a professional hit. The victim opens the door to what he thinks is a pizza delivery and gets a gun barrel between his eyes. Killer discards the pizza box in the front hall as he marches the man to the bathroom. Nervous victim backs away, but there’s nowhere to run. He’s forced to strip. Humiliation. Victim knows he’s a dead man. Then bam. One shot, one kill. Murderer chops his hand off, apparently postmortem, then turns on the water to clean up the blood or to send a message, maybe—cleaned up one bad guy.

Walking to a map of the city she’d hung on the wall, she studied the pins marking the locations of all three murders and where Robertson’s car was found. Different colored pins denoted where the victims lived.

A public official, a computer programmer, and a bookie. Each man ran in very different circles. So where did they connect? And were they connected to her warehouse gunman?

She added a pin at the warehouse on the docks.

Mackenzie grumbled when the doorbell rang. She peeped out, and her heart rate spiked as she retracted the deadbolt and turned the doorknob with a trembling hand.

The door swung open like a curtain revealing a prize. Rafe’s presence in the hall sucked the air from her apartment. She failed to catch the thoughts that rushed through her mind.

He was dressed more casual than she’d ever seen him. A pair of tight jeans hugged his lean hips. A black T-shirt stretched over firm shoulders and chest, partially hidden by two brown sacks held in his arms.

“Hello, Mackenzie.”

The baritone rumble of his voice was like a thunderclap. She shook off her surprise and frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

“Delivering groceries.”

She couldn’t stop herself from gaping. The man probably owned half the state, and yet he stood before her with bags of groceries like a high school kid earning minimum wage? She cast a glance both ways down the hall, then grabbed his collar, and yanked the laughing man inside.

“God, are you nuts?”

“You seem surprised to see me.” Grinning, he set the sacks on the table.

“You shouldn’t be here.” She forced herself to maintain the scowl, which became harder to do with each long-legged step he took toward her.

“I wanted to see you again.” The purred words rippled through every nerve in her body.

She had to swallow before she could speak. “We don’t always get what we want. Deal with it.”

His thumb passed over her bottom lip as his hand cradled her jaw. Her breath lodged in her throat like a rushing river cut short in a rock slide.

“Not always, true. But in this case...” His lips brushed hers. “We can both have what we want.” Another nip of the lower lip. Tender. Tempting. “I brought steak and potatoes.”

He kissed the tip of her nose, flashed a dentist’s dream of pearly whites, and walked into her kitchen.

Mackenzie watched in amazement as he pulled out bottles of Italian dressing and soy sauce, herbs, vegetables, and two raw steaks.

He opened her refrigerator and shook his head.

“Good thing I brought butter. Where are your pots?”

He looked so comfortable in a room that must be less than half the size of his closet; she could only stand there dumbfounded. Men like him did not cook in a galley kitchen. Not when they had enough money to pay for gourmet chefs in state-of-the-art kitchens and uniformed servants to silently deliver lavish meals on fine china.

“What?” He gave her a curious look so precious she felt her heart throb.

“Why are you doing this?”

His smile was soft, his eyes warm. “My beautiful detective, always careful, suspicious.”

She crossed her arms, but his combined use of beautiful and detective dealt a blow that had her mind reeling. Then her stomach chose that inopportune moment to grumble.

“I believe I arrived just in time,” he said with a pleased quirk to his mouth. “You really should take better care of yourself, my dear.”

“I was going to...” The words trailed off when she realized how pathetic pizza for one on a Saturday night sounded. Embarrassment pricked her spine. “Whatever. I’ve got work to do.” Before he could stop her, she fled for the more comfortable confines of her spare bedroom.

Cursing herself for being a coward, she tried to concentrate on murder. But the clatter of pots and ding of her microwave repeatedly interrupted her thoughts. After a while, the aroma of a sizzling meal tugged on her attention with an incessant determination. Despite her watering mouth, she stubbornly remained at her desk.

Mackenzie was reading the same page she’d stared at for the past half hour when a sensation at her nape made her turn toward the door.

Rafe leaned against the doorframe in a pose she was coming to appreciate. He gave her a smile, tugged a dishtowel from his back pocket, and wiped off his hands. “Dinner’s ready.”

She headed for the kitchen. Using her plain dishes, he’d set the table for two. A candle she recognized as one from her living room burned in the middle. Surrounding that were a mixed salad, steaming potatoes, buttery rolls, and two steaks.

Rafe tossed the towel on the counter and pulled out a chair. “I wasn’t sure how you like your steak. I hope medium is fine?”

“Uh... yeah.” She sat, trying to understand the man moving to sit across from her. He defied everything she’d ever known about men of his wealth and privilege.

She filled her plate without a word and tentatively brought the first bite to her lips. The steak’s flavor burst in her mouth and made her groan in pleasure. When her eyes opened, her gaze collided with that of an amused and satisfied male.

“I may have to keep you around.” Shocked by her own words, she felt an embarrassing blush heat her cheeks.

Rafe laughed.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I understand, Mackenzie. Enjoy the meal.”

They ate in silence for several minutes before she asked, “How did you learn to cook like this?”

He took a sip of his wine before answering. “I believe in diversity.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Diversity in my portfolio. Diversity in knowledge. In college, I majored in Business Administration but, on a whim, I took a cooking class. I figured it’d be easy, and if I ever were to own a restaurant one day...” He shrugged. “Good thing I took the course, since after my parents died, I had two brothers in college and a little sister to take care of. We would’ve starved or lived on junk food if I hadn’t known something of nutrition.”

“But what about your servants?”

“I didn’t always have them; besides, I get more enjoyment out of doing things for myself once in a while.”

“Your housekeeper, what’s her name?”

“Margorie Ainsworth. She and her husband have only been with me for a couple years now. You’ve met her son.”

Mackenzie swallowed her bite of salad. “I have?”

“Simon is my chauffeur.”

“Oh.” So he hadn’t been born with a silver spoon. He’d had to work to achieve his success, or had he? “What happened to your parents?”

“They died in a plane crash.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. It was quite a while ago. I took over my Dad’s struggling security company while Luc dropped out to help take care of Ariana. Gabe would’ve dropped out, too, but I wouldn’t let him. He’d earned his scholarships. And my parents would have wanted one of us to finish college.”

“You haven’t done too bad...for a college dropout.”

He smiled. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to mess up steak and potatoes.”

“You’d be surprised.” She stabbed another piece and savored the juicy morsel.

When they finished, she helped him clear the table while she struggled with jumbled thoughts.

“Um...thanks for dinner,” she began awkwardly. “It was a nice gesture.”

He shut the refrigerator and studied her.

She fought to keep from shuffling her feet or looking away.

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“I don’t know how to say this without sounding rude or ungrateful, but you shouldn’t be here.”

“You said that before. I, for one, disagree, but then it’s a matter of opinion.” He followed her out of the kitchen.

Irritated, she spun to face him. “It’s not your opinion that is the deciding factor here.”

He took her hand, let his thumb caress the back, and disarmed her with his next words. “You’re right.”

She bit down to prevent her jaw from dropping.

“Your opinion matters. Do you want me to go? Not because of your job or what others might think. Do
you
not want me here?”

“I...” She wanted to tell him she didn’t, that he had to leave. “Damn it! Why do you make everything so difficult?”

“It’s a simple yes or no question, Mackenzie.”

“Nothing is simple with you.” She yanked her hand free. “You want me to separate myself from the shield. I can’t. It’s a part of me. I’m a detective, and as a detective, I have to live according to certain rules.”

“I’m not trying to change you. I’m just asking you not to hide behind that shield. What do
you
want?”

“I want to catch a murderer.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t have the luxury to want anything beyond that.”

“So you refuse to live your life while you’re on a case. Is that it?”

“A third man is dead. The killer’s still on the loose, and thanks to Hahn, I may lose my job. My job is my life.”

The sudden anger in his eyes made her thoughts skid to a halt. Oh God, what had she said?

“What happened?”

She hadn’t meant to tell him about Hahn. She’d broken the rules and slept with Rafe. She’d made a conscious decision and would pay the penalty if it came to that. She was at fault. Not him. He was just the tool Hahn chose to use.

“Hahn filed a claim of misconduct against me. My sergeant’s leaving me on the job for now, but it’s still on file. Everyone saw me leave with you. There’s still an air of suspicion.”

When his face hardened, she turned away.

“Sergeant Fuller ordered me to conduct all interrogations with suspects in-house or with Cooper present. So he’s got doubts and is covering his own ass. And now you show up with dinner at my door, and rather than send you on your way, I let you in.” She collapsed on the couch. “What if someone saw you? I’ve got so many questions about Lycans I hardly know where to begin. I need the answers to solve the case, but all I can think about is what if someone spots me with you?

“A part of me wants to be with you, Rafe. I won’t lie to you. But I can never be what you deserve or need, and I can’t blow this job. I have to be a cop. It’s all that I know how to do.”

“Who was he?” Rafe asked.

“What?”

“Who was killed? You said a third man died.”

“Jimmy Harden.”

“Shumaker’s bookie?”

She groaned and rested her head on her palms. “Don’t tell me you know him.”

He sat beside her. “No. I don’t. Never met him, but I know of him. Emily mentioned him to me, as the man who’d introduced Carl to gambling. Although she said his last name was Hardball.”

“Hardball was his street name. He liked to play pool and would occasionally use the balls and cue sticks to enforce payment.”

“I suppose I’m a suspect in his murder, too?”

She noticed his sarcasm but let it slide without comment. “Not as far as I’m concerned, since I’m your alibi.”

His eyebrows rose beneath wisps of ebony hair. “You told your sergeant this?”

Guilt swamped her. “Not exactly.”

“I see.” Rafe tilted his head as understanding dawned. Providing a murder suspect with an alibi for a third death might prevent additional charges against him, but the admission would spell the end of her own career. Damn her pride for caring more about her job than him. Damn him for his own selfishness that wanted her still.

“No, you don’t.” She grabbed his hand, her eyes filled with an uncertain fire. “I couldn’t tell him. I’d be off the case in a flash.”

“And you can’t let that happen—”

“It’s not just about this case.”

“What is it about then? Aren’t you always telling me the case is all that matters?”

“My mother was murdered, okay?”

The admission blindsided him. How could he have forgotten? He said nothing, just watched her, let her find the words she needed to open up and relive what must have been a nightmare.

“That picture you saw in my bedroom, my graduation photo. It was taken the night she died. Afterwards, I’d gone out with friends to celebrate. Mom picked up some groceries and went home.” Her voice softened, hitched. “We don’t know if he followed her home from the store or if he was already there. I found her body, but no one’s ever found her killer. All I’ve wanted since that awful night is to put her murderer behind bars. To do that, I have to be a detective, a good one.”

Tears swelled in her eyes, and he was lost. Shaken, Rafe grabbed her arms, forced her to face him. “God, don’t. I understand. Shout. Throw something, but don’t cry.” He cradled her head against his shoulder.

He recalled Lucian’s comments about her reputation for being tenacious, the constant dedication he’d witnessed. She cared not about the job so much as the people involved. The victims, their families. Each time she helped balance the scales in their case, she helped her mother. He cursed himself for being a fool.

“I’m sorry. I’m an ass.”

Her muffled chuckle did his heart good. She wrapped her arms around him, and he felt whole.

She’d chosen to protect her job over him, a humbling thought, but not entirely surprising. She had the same drive for justice he had because of his sister’s death.

He’d yet to share with her L.I.’s secret operations. With her sense of law and order, she’d certainly oppose his vigilante endeavors. He wasn’t ready to face such a prospect any more than he was willing to give up his quest for finding Ariana’s killer.