Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct (6 page)

Mackenzie’s gaze locked with Rafe’s. He knew the answer. She could see it in his eyes. When he remained silent, refusing to implicate himself further, she said, “He’s the victim.”

Beautiful, he thought. Like a lioness stalking a vulnerable target, her eyes sparked with a passion for the hunt. And Rafe didn’t doubt for a minute she hunted him. He nearly smiled at the idea of turning the tables on the detective, of becoming the hunter instead of the prey.

“The victim?” Gabriel’s agitated voice interrupted Rafe’s musings. “I didn’t see anything in the paper about his death.”

“Keep reading. I’m sure it’ll make the front page soon. I notified the family late yesterday.” Although she spoke to his brother, Rafe noted she kept her eyes fixed on him.

Focus too much on your quarry, darling, and you’ll miss the wolf pack hunting you
.

“Mr. Stone, could you tell me your whereabouts between ten thirty Saturday night and seven Sunday morning?”

“Are you suggesting that Rafe’s a suspect, Detective?” Gabriel’s voice dropped to a deep rumble, but volume increased with each word uttered. “Is that what this is all about? You come in here—”

“Gabe.” As if a switch turned off, his brother settled down, but Rafe noticed the anger boiling under the surface. Despite the calm, professional demeanor Gabriel displayed in his lab, he’d always had a touchy trigger on his emotions, his temper. Especially when he sensed danger for a member of the pack. “Excuse us for a while. Please.”

After casting a ticked-off glance at the detective, Gabriel stalked out, and Rafe returned his attentions to the woman with the badge.

“You enjoy catching people off guard, don’t you?”
Like the very capable lioness you are
, he thought.

“You don’t look surprised.” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her long, denim-clad legs. He perused the sight from ponytail to sneakers and watched her knuckles tightening on the chair arms. He’d love to see that long, tawny hair down, falling along the contours of her strong back, to know what those miles of legs looked like in a thigh-high skirt. Or in nothing at all. Shame he had too much at risk to find out.

“No.”

“It doesn’t bother you, being a murder suspect.”

He smiled. “I would profess my innocence, but that is so cliché. Tell me, are you good at what you do? I suspect you are but want to hear it for myself...from your lips.” He dropped his gaze to those supple lips. They parted briefly before pinching together in a firm glossy line.

“Nothing thrills me more than putting the guilty behind bars.”

He didn’t doubt that. After their first meeting, he’d done some investigating of his own. Mackenzie Lyons was true to her name, a predator who took pride in tracking down criminals and seeing justice served.

She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Illinois with a degree in Criminal Justice in just three years. Immediately enrolled in the police academy instead of law school and finished at the top of her class there, too. Distinguished herself as a tough cop, professional, driven. And when the Chicago PD recently reorganized its Detective Division, she was one of the first to complete the training for her detective’s badge.

“Yes, I’m very good at what I do,” she said.

“Then I have nothing to worry about.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“If you are as talented as I believe you are, then in time, you’ll no doubt draw your own conclusions about my innocence.” He rose and turned his back on her to make a point. “More coffee?” he asked, as he poured himself another cup.

“No, thank you. Just answers. I should instruct you that you have the right to an attorney if you want one.”

He turned and raised a brow. “Am I under arrest already, Detective?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

“As you wish. Your whereabouts last weekend?”

He settled into his chair, set his cup aside, and pulled out a PDA before answering. “Let’s see. I attended the fundraiser, after which I decided to stay the night in my suite downtown. I arrived there around midnight.”

“Alone?”

He met her crystal blue gaze. “Yes, alone. I slept until about five thirty, worked out for an hour, and was in the office by seven to go over some paperwork for Monday’s meeting. The one at the Sears Tower for which I believe you provided an escort.”

“So someone at the gym could confirm a partial alibi?”

He shook his head. “I don’t go to a health club. I have my own workout room in the suite above my offices. Alone again, I’m afraid.”

“A housekeeper? Butler? Personal assistant? Anyone who could corroborate your whereabouts during the time in question?”

“Simon, my chauffeur, could confirm the time of my arrival Saturday night. Sylvia came in around seven thirty. But otherwise, no.”

“Just one more question. Do you own an HK Mark 23?”

“A Heckler and Koch .45 caliber with a polygonal bore profile. Nice handgun, and yes, I have one. Among others.”

“At your suite?” Proud of her, he nearly smirked. She delivered the question so smoothly.

“Now, Detective, you and I both know handguns are illegal in the city limits of Chicago.” He looked at hers peaking out from underneath her jacket. “At least, for those without a badge.”

She nodded, acknowledging his point in their special game of chess.

“I suppose that firearm, rather than the animals, was the murder weapon?” he asked.

“Will you provide yours for ballistics testing?”

“And save you the trouble of obtaining a warrant?”

One of her finely arched eyebrows rose higher as they silently regarded each other. Gabriel walked in, and she stood. “That can be arranged.”

She turned toward the door, took one step.

“Mackenzie?”

Her eyes expectant, she looked back.

“You can pick up what you requested anytime, without a warrant. I have it at my estate outside the city. I’ll have Sylvia send you the address and directions.”

“I’ll be in touch. Soon.” She brushed past Gabriel and out the door.

“I’m counting on it, Detective.”

Gabe eyed him. “Counting on it? What the hell is going on?” He pointed to the vacant doorway. “That woman is dangerous.”

Rafe chuckled. “And you thought you’d ‘give her a try’. Isn’t that what you said?”

“This isn’t funny. You never said you had her in your sights. I saw the way you were looking at her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, big brother. You haven’t shown that much interest in a woman in years. You nearly snap my head off when I teased you about her earlier. And then you sit there like a lapdog while she accuses you of murder. What is it about her that has you so tied up in knots?”

“Detective Lyons is...unique.”

“Damn it, she’s not Lycan. We don’t need a homicide cop snooping around asking questions and trying to pin a murder on you.” He started pacing, but stopped abruptly. “Lyons. There’s an appropriate name. A woman scared of cats wanting to take down an alpha wolf.”

“Scared of cats?”

“You should’ve seen her. I thought she’d faint or have a coronary when she saw the mountain lion exhibit.”

“Interesting. Call Lucian. Get him to dig a little deeper. I want to know more about Detective Lyons.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Cooper asked, slamming a file drawer closed.

“Why?” Mackenzie didn’t need a grilling right now. She wanted to review the victim’s financials and finish her report for the sergeant.

“Word’s out.”

“You knew it would be.” The words were uttered with nonchalance, but inside she cursed the greedy media. They could’ve at least done her the courtesy of waiting until after she’d fully briefed her superiors.

“The newshounds are scaling the walls and tying up the phone lines,” Cooper said.

“Like we have time to stop a homicide investigation to personally call each one so their egos aren’t bruised.”

“Yeah, well, Fuller wants us in his office ASAP.”

“Then we best hurry.” She snatched up a folder and headed for her sergeant’s office. “Got anything more on the alibis of family members?”

“Yes. Richard is clear. He was on a date, like he said, all night. The girlfriend confirmed it.” Cooper followed her into an elevator and pressed the button for the next floor up. “One daughter married a man like dear old Dad.”

“Young woman, older man?”

“Politician. Couple lives in Madison, Wisconsin. Their alibi checked out, too. The other daughter was in Europe until she got word. She’s headed this way at thirty thousand feet somewhere over the Atlantic by now, I imagine.”

“So the wife’s the only one without an alibi.”

“Yep. Do you really suspect her?”

“I haven’t ruled anyone out. Killers take all shapes and sizes.”

“What about forensics?”

“They’re at the house now.”

A ding sounded as the doors slid open. Isaac Fuller’s booming voice made Mackenzie straighten. A large African American man in his forties, and former MP, the sergeant was a force to be reckoned with on a good day. On a bad day...

“Detectives Lyons and Cooper, reporting as ordered, sir.”

“Get your butts in here. Shut the door, Cooper.”

Sergeant Fuller steepled his fingers and peered at Mackenzie while he waited for Steve Cooper to return to his place of attention beside her.

“Would one of you like to explain why I have my superiors, the State Attorney’s office, and every reporter in the city breathing down my neck for news on a homicide of a politician I didn’t even know was dead?”

“Sir, I instructed the ME to keep a lid on it for another day, until I could get my report to you finished—”

“Well, you should’ve told the family to do the same. Instead, they just held a damn press conference, and now the Deputy Chief is calling for another one this evening.” He glared at them from behind his desk, and Mackenzie counted the drops of moisture trickling down the back of her neck. “Sit down and give me all you’ve got.”

Seated, she began the report. “Victor Robertson, age 62, married with three kids—all grown. Last seen at 10:30 PM Saturday after returning home with his wife from a charity fundraiser at the Drake. Wife went to bed. He stayed up. He was gone when she awoke at seven. She assumed he left for a planned trip to Springfield, so no missing person’s report was filed. Indications are he never left Chicago.”

When Mackenzie paused, Cooper added, “We have an APB out on his car. Nothing yet.”

“His body was discovered Monday morning around one,” Mackenzie said. “He’d been dumped there, nude, with massive wounds to the face and torso, believed to be the result of a mauling by one or more animals. We were unable to determine identity at the scene. But we do know the death occurred somewhere else during the previous night.”

Cooper said, “Forensics is sweeping the victim’s house now, but we’ve yet to determine whether he left his home willingly or was forced. Location of actual murder scene is unknown.”

She handed the sergeant her folder. “The autopsy reports he was killed by a .45 caliber slug to the heart. Markings indicate an HK handgun, most likely a Mark 23. The mauling was postmortem.”

“Suspects? Motive?”

Cooper said, “The whereabouts of his immediate family members during the time in question have been confirmed. The wife is the only one without a verifiable alibi. Still working financials as a possible motive.”

“Mac?” Fuller’s attention turned to her. Something in her gut twisted at the idea of reporting the earlier conversation with Rafe, but duty demanded just the facts.

“Robertson had a confrontation with another contributor at the fundraiser on the night he died. We’re following that lead, but we have nothing concrete at this time. I spoke with the suspect and his brother this morning.”

“Alibi?”

“Nothing that can be substantiated. He spent the night at his place downtown after the charity function...alone.”

“Do we know whether he owns a handgun of this type?”

“He admitted as much.”

Fuller’s eyes narrowed. “And have you brought this individual in for interrogation?”

“No, sir.”

“Why the hell not?”

“We have absolutely no physical evidence connecting him to the crime.”

“He admits to owning a handgun in Chicago. We know he had a falling out with the victim the night he dies, and you don’t think that’s enough to bring him in for further questioning?”

“He readily admitted to having the firearm at his home outside the city. He’s agreed to let us run a ballistics test on it without a warrant. And sir, a political argument doesn’t seem like a strong enough motive for this guy to commit murder.”

Fuller leaned forward. “I’ve seen kids shot for pocket change, Detective.”

Mackenzie’s muscles tensed. “I understand that, sir. But a high-profile victim is killed at some unknown location and his body found within hours of the crime. Something just doesn’t feel right. Why dispose of the body in a place that guarantees discovery? Why not arrange to have an ironclad alibi? Why use a firearm and then, without legal council, readily admit to owning the same?”

“Criminals make stupid mistakes all the time, Lyons.”

“This man isn’t stupid, sir.”

“Who the hell is he?”

“Rafael Stone.”

Fuller cursed, long and fluently.

“What are you doing here?” Mackenzie asked the moment she reached her office and saw her chair occupied.

Kenneth Hahn closed one of her files, which he’d been reading, and stood. “Now is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“You’re not my friend, Ken.” She snatched the folder, opened it, checked the contents, and squelched a sigh of relief. He was an assistant state’s attorney, but in his case ASA stood for A Supreme Asshole. “How’s Barbie?”

His jaw flinched. “Her name is Barbara.”

“Whatever. What are you doing here?”

She hated the way his lips curled. He was a handsome man, as long as you only looked skin deep. Underneath beat a selfish, ambitious heart.

“Why, I came to congratulate you on landing what I’m sure will be the best murder case this year. Pretty good for a rookie.”