Sam frowned and looked at Aaron. “There’s other shifters watching you? How do you know they won’t reveal what you are?”
He was embarrassed to say he hadn’t even thought about it until he’d entered the ring and caught the odd scent. And by then it was way too late to do anything about it. “When no one outed me after that first fight, I figured they weren’t going to. None of us should’ve been there after all.”
“That’s a pretty big assumption to make, Aaron. I’m not sure every alpha has the same views on gambling that I do. Illegal or not.”
“Yeah, I realise that now.” In fact, he was beginning to realise just how lucky he’d been.
Turning to Harry, Sam apologised. “Sorry for interrupting, please carry on.”
Harry cleared his throat. “I didn’t bet that first night, hadn’t taken much money with me, and although they had guys working the crowd who were more than willing to extend credit, I knew better than that.” Harry blushed again when he realised what he’d said. “Well, I did then, anyway.” He fiddled with his zip again. “I went back the following week with him, and this time I bet on a couple of the fights. They were rough, nothing like the boxing you see on the TV, but they were raw, sort of primal, and my—”
“Your wolf liked it.” Sam finished for him.
“Yeah,” Harry whispered, not meeting Sam’s gaze, and Aaron sensed the shame rolling off him.
“Harry.” Sam reached into the back and tilted Harry’s chin back up. “I understand. Your wolf thrives on animal instinct. Watching two men fight each other to see who’s the strongest is going to appeal to him on a base level. I also understand how easy it is to give in to that feeling, to bask in the exhilaration that comes from letting your wolf rise to the surface, if not all the way free. But as much as we’d like to, it’s not always something that’s appropriate or wise to do because it colours our judgement, and we handle situations differently than we might have if we’d been thinking clearly.” As a human.
Sam focused on Aaron then, and he suddenly understood Harry’s need to fidget. Their alpha’s intense gaze was unnerving. “Is that what happened with you?”
“Maybe? I hadn’t really thought about it in those terms before.” It made sense though. The thrill of the fight went deeper than just bettering an opponent and boxing. “When I finally got out of Harry where he disappeared to most Friday nights, I was worried.”
“So you decided to tag along?” Sam offered.
“Yeah.” Aaron coughed. “But I didn’t tell Harry I was going.”
“Ahh.” Sam rolled his eyes as if they were the stupidest pack members he’d had the misfortune to deal with. And maybe they were. It sounded so much worse now he was telling someone about it.
“He’d been all cagey about it, and I didn’t want him to think I was checking up on him.”
“Which you totally were,” Harry mumbled.
“I followed his scent all the way to this vacant building, but Harry had left out a few minor details.”
“Such as?”
“The whole thing is like some exclusive club. With members. And unless you’re invited by a member, there’s a 750-pound membership fee before they’ll let you in.”
“And I take it you didn’t have that kind of money?”
“Nope. I hadn’t planned on betting anything, so I had about fifteen quid in my pocket. But I didn’t like the look of the two guys on the door, and I was pretty sure they were armed. I needed to get in there, but neither of them was having it. They said the only way for me to gain entrance was to stump up the 750 quid or fight.”
The choice had been so easy, he hadn’t given it a second thought. “They said I was in luck as they were down a fighter. I was in the second fight of the night. The crowd booed because I was a newcomer and I’d almost beaten one of the sure winners. Took him two more rounds than predicted. People lost money. But I liked it far more than I was expecting. And that was the last fight I lost.”
Aaron glanced down at his hands. “Harry was a bit pissed off with me for following him, but we made a deal after that night. He’d only go there when I was fighting, and he’d never bet on my fights. If I ever did get found out, I didn’t want anything connecting me back to Harry.” Although now he thought about it, stopping Harry from betting on his fights probably made him stand out more. Who wouldn’t bet on a sure thing?
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can see the appeal, but you must have known what you were doing was against the law? And that Smith was involved in criminal activities, despite having many legitimate businesses already?”
“In the back of my mind, yeah. But I never saw him, except fleetingly. It didn’t seem like we were hurting anyone. I took great care to pull my punches.”
“But the fight itself was illegal, Aaron—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to rehash all of this again. I’ve already given you your punishment, but I feel the need to reiterate. If you ever go to another of these things—either of you—then I will be calling the alpha council and asking them to relocate you. Separately.”
Aaron shuddered. He couldn’t help it. “Yes, Alpha.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Harry echoed.
“So,” Sam said after a few moments had passed. “I hope after all this you at least made a profit?”
“Um… not exactly.” Aaron bit his lip.
“What does that mean? I thought you won nearly all the time. Or am I mistaken?”
“Oh no, he wins all his fights now,” Harry piped up, seemingly pleased to no longer be the focus of Sam’s attention. “They even gave him a nickna—”
Aaron elbowed him hard in the side. “I give it all away,” he said. Hoping to put an end to this line of questioning.
Sam raised his eyebrows. “To whom?”
Aaron grinned. This was something he loved to talk about. “There’s an animal rescue shelter about a mile from our building.”
A smile curved Sam’s mouth, softening his expression. “Holly Hedge?”
“You know it?” Aaron asked, surprised.
Isaac snorted from the driver’s seat. “How do you think they got that new outdoor run for the dogs last year?”
Aaron’s mouth fell open a little. “That was you?” When Aaron had mentioned how wonderful it was the dogs had so much space to run around, they’d merely said an anonymous donor had paid for it. “Wow. It’s really great.”
“You’re not the only animal lover out there, Aaron.”
“I guess not.”
“And that’s an excellent cause to support, even if the means of acquiring funds aren’t something I can endorse.” He gave Aaron a fond look, which Aaron felt all the way to his bones, and then got straight back to business. “What do you know about Smith?”
Not much at all.
“I only met him for the first time last Friday night. I mean, I’ve seen glimpses of him at the fights, but he’s always surrounded by his bodyguards or whatever they are. After that first fight, I’d get a text every Thursday asking if I wanted to fight on Friday, always from a different phone number.”
“How did you know it was from Smith?”
“Because there’s a code word.” It had seemed mildly amusing at the time, all cloak and dagger, but not so much now with Charlie dead.
“It was the same with me,” Harry added. “I’d get a text on Friday afternoon with the location of the next fight. I still had to go with my mate from the café though. Unless I wanted to become a member.”
“Who paid you your winnings?”
Aaron shrugged. “Whoever had ref’d the fight that night. It changed a lot.”
“Okay.” Sam settled back into his seat a bit more. “Ignoring the fact that Smith might be involved with more than just illegal fighting, have you known fighters who’ve stopped and walked away?”
Aaron frowned, not sure what he was getting at. “Yeah, there’s been a few who were there when I first started that I don’t see any more. And Charlie had been
given his marching orders the night he—”
Oh.
“I’m not saying the two things are connected, but if you’re making money for Smith on a regular basis, he’s not going to be inclined to let you go easily.”
“How can he stop me?”
Sam glanced at Harry. “Do you two go together now?”
“Yeah, usually. But Harry goes to meet up with his mate. We don’t go in together. We’re not stupid.”
Ignoring the last bit of that comment, Sam asked, “And Harry owes him money?”
Aaron didn’t like where this was going. “I know Smith’s not exactly a pillar of society, but Harry owes a couple of hundred, not a—” He waved a hand about. “—a kidney or anything like that. He can just pay his debt and it’s done.”
“I hope you’re right. But it’s been my experience that men like Smith didn’t get where they are by playing by the rules. If they want something bad enough, they go after it. And it’s not as though Harry owes a reputable bookie with a betting licence, is it? He owes a man who runs an illegal fighting ring. Who’s to say what rules he follows, if any?”
Fucking hell.
Aaron swallowed down a flare of panic. “What do we do?”
Sam remained calm, for which Aaron was immensely grateful for. “We pay Harry’s debt first, ensure there’s nothing tying him to Smith. Then you tell him you’re quitting.”
“And if he won’t let me go?” Aaron pictured the heavily built, armed bodyguards that accompanied him everywhere. He could easily imagine them doing Smith’s dirty work. “They have weapons.”
In the blink of an eye, Sam’s claws slid out and his teeth extended. Aaron jumped in his seat. “And so do we. Don’t forget that.” Sam grinned around his fangs, the slurred edge to his words making them sound even more menacing. “If he chooses to threaten a member of my pack—whether he’s aware of what you are or not—he’ll regret it.”
Aaron wanted to protest, to say that if they retaliated, then Smith would know that he was a shifter, that he’d lied. But then if they’d reached the point where Smith was threatening him, it would probably be the least of his worries. Would it matter if he knew the truth? It wasn’t as though Aaron wanted to go back there ever, and surely, even Smith wouldn’t be stupid enough to mess with an alpha and his pack. Even if his bodyguards were armed.
Shifters were heavily punished for injuring humans in an unprovoked attack, but if Smith’s guys came at them with guns… well, that would be a different story entirely. Not one Aaron wanted to see play out because members of his pack could still get hurt, or worse, but they wouldn’t be in trouble with the SCTF or the alpha council. They were well within their rights to protect themselves.
When they pulled up in front of the pack buildings, Aaron breathed a sigh of relief.
Home.
Hopefully, he and Harry could escape to the safety of their flats now. Aaron had had enough of being interrogated for one day.
They got out of the car and Sam turned to face them while Isaac locked up. “Take the rest of the day off and stay close to the pack building tomorrow if you can.” He glanced at Isaac. “Can you rearrange things at work?”
Isaac nodded. “I’ll have a look who’s supposed to be where when we get inside.”
To Aaron and Harry, Sam added, “I want you available when the detective calls—which I’ve no doubt he will.”
“Yes, Alpha,” they replied in unison.
Sam smiled. “Go home and try and relax. Today has been… interesting.” Aaron managed not to scoff at that gross understatement. “And I’m sure the next few days will be more of the same.”
“Fuck, I hope not,” Aaron couldn’t help but mutter.
Harry tugged on his arm, and with a nod to Sam and Isaac, Aaron turned and walked with Harry along the pavement to the front of their building.
The morning had started out so well, full of new resolutions, but now Aaron felt like it was all about to unravel, and he was powerless to stop it.
CHAPTER SIX
Back at the office, Michael nodded in greeting at the other detectives as he passed, two coffees in hand.
“All right, Arch.” Callum Bridgford eyed the mugs. “Where’s ours then?”
“You know where the coffee machine is, you lazy bastard. Go get your own.”
Bridgford sat back in his chair. “Heard you got another body at the weekend?”
“Yeah.” Michael paused by the edge of his desk. “Throat ripped out, same as the first two.”
Bridgford let out a low whistle. “Me and Stewart.” He pointed a thumb at his partner sat beside him. “We’ve just wrapped up the case we were working on. The alpha council are dealing with it now, so we’re all yours if you need a hand with anything.”
Michael smiled. “Thanks. I might take you up on that. A fresh pair of eyes could be exactly what we need.”
Bridgford leaned forward to turn on his laptop. “Just give us a shout.”
“Will do.” With another nod, Michael headed towards his own desk, set the two coffees down, and sank into his seat.
Frank scooted closer and picked up one of the mugs. “Thanks.” He took a sip. “So that was an interesting morning.”
“Yep.” Michael swivelled to face him. “What do we know so far?” He tapped his pencil on the edge of the desk. Frank had worked with him long enough to know it was a rhetorical question. “Foster and Crossford exchanged multiple texts messages Friday night, but since both of them deleted the messages, we have no idea what they were talking about.” He pointed his pencil in Frank’s direction. “And I don’t believe Foster’s ‘We were just making plans for the weekend.’”
“Nope. He’s obviously hiding something, but we’ve got no cause to bring him in. His alibi for Crossford’s time of death is solid.” Frank sighed. “And to be fair, he seemed pretty torn up about Crossford’s death. I don’t think he was faking that.”
“No. Me neither.” Michael went back to tapping his pencil on the desk. They had the coroner’s report and forensics back for what evidence had been found at the scene, namely the bloodied tape. “No DNA’s been found at any of the crime scenes. No hairs, no blood—apart from the victim’s—nothing. And none of them had defensive wounds.” He threw his pencil onto the desk in disgust. Then tried it from a different angle. “All three victims are connected, however loosely to Smith, aka Daryl White.”
He counted them off on his fingers. “Bartender in one of his clubs, guy with a betting slip—which could be from one of Smith’s fights—and Charlie, who we know for definite was involved in a fight. How much do we have on good old Daryl?”
Frank grabbed a folder and flipped it open. “Daryl White, also known as Mr Smith.” He rolled his eyes. “Owns two nightclubs—all of these are legitimate—and a couple of cafés, etcetera. Up until three years ago, he’d been arrested for burglary twice, but never charged, and went from working in a bookies, to a pub, and finally bartender in one of the clubs he now owns. Something happened to bump him up to multi-business owner overnight, but we don’t know what.”
“Hmm.” Michael knew he was behind all this somehow, but as yet, they had no way to prove it. “We know he runs illegal fights.”
“But we can’t prove that either.”
“For fuck’s sake.” The metropolitan police had pulled a guy over for running a red light two months ago. Turned out he was almost three times over the legal limit. On the way to the station, he’d rambled about losing big at one of Smith’s fights, said the fight was rigged and moaned about Smith’s thugs threatening him to make sure he’d pay on time. Funnily enough, when he’d sobered up after a night behind bars, he’d denied ever saying anything of the sort.
And the SCTF only found out about it because one of the guys who pulled him over was Frank’s brother-in-law. Everyone knew that Smith had his finger in at least one illegal pie, but there was nothing he nor Frank could do about it. Their department dealt with shifter crimes and nothing else.
But if Daryl White was working with a shifter to commit murder, then that was something they could investigate.
Scooping up his pencil again and getting a glare from Frank in the process, Michael voiced the idea he knew they’d both been thinking about on the drive back to the office. “Aaron Harper could help us get White.”
“He could.” Frank reached out and plucked the pencil from Michael’s fingers when he started to tap it on the desk again. “Assuming there’s actually anything to get.”
Michael scoffed. “Come on, he’s involved somehow, I can feel it.”
Frank held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just playing devil’s advocate here. White slash Smith is definitely a piece of shit, but we have nothing but a hunch connecting him to the murders. Nothing that’s going to convince Arlington to do what I know you’re thinking about suggesting.”
Michael sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s a golden fucking opportunity.”
“It is, but we still need something.”
“We can’t bring him in, I’m sure he has an alibi in place, and that’ll just tip him off. What about the fact that Harper can place Crossford at Smith’s fight on Saturday night and that according to him, Crossford and Smith parted on less than friendly terms?”
“But he left that meeting alive. If Smith wanted to kill him—and murder seems a bit harsh for not throwing a fight—then why not do it after the fight. Why let Crossford leave, go to McDonald’s, only to catch up with him later. How did Smith know where he was for starters?”
“Maybe he had him followed?”
Frank frowned. “I have the same gut feeling that Smith, White, whatever you want to call him, is at the root of all this, but I’m not sure we have enough to convince Arlington.”
“Convince Arlington of what?”
They both startled, unaware their boss had appeared behind them. Detective Chief Inspector Max Arlington’s six-foot-two frame loomed over them.
“Sir.” Michael spun around in his chair to face him; Frank did the same. “We have an idea about how to proceed in the Crossford case.”
Arlington gestured towards his office. “Come on then, let’s hear it.”
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