She was still thinking of jet-black hair and fathomless eyes when she reached her office to find her chair occupied by a hazel-eyed brunette with a crew cut and a badge.
“Coop, get out of my chair.” She shoved his size eleven snakeskin boots off the corner of her desk.
“You cost me twenty bucks, Mac.”
“How much did you bet?”
“Five.”
“Four-to-one odds? You should’ve had more faith in me.”
She sat and picked up the fax draped across her keyboard. The man was efficient. She’d give him that. Stone’s computer-generated list included a few properties that weren’t on hers. Flipping to the last page, she smiled at the bold strokes of a handwritten note.
Enjoyed our private chat.
Until next time.
Rafe.
Cooper propped half his butt on the corner of her desk, his heel banging into the side. “One day, Mac.”
“You put a dent in my desk, Coop...”
He ignored her. “Not even one day. Hours. Damn, what’d you do? Kidnap the man?”
“I’d have to get within five miles of him to do that, now wouldn’t I?”
Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you didn’t actually see Stone today?”
“I saw him. He volunteered his services to help in the investigation.”
He pointed at the fax. “What’s that ‘private’ chat all about?”
“We spoke while riding in his car across town. And this is to let me know I’ll be seeing him again.”
“Yeah, well, you apparently made quite an impression. Gabriel Stone called before you arrived. He wants to see you, too, and left a number. Here.” He handed her a note, but the phone rang before she could lift the receiver to make the call.
“Lyons.”
“Mac, you may want to come down to the morgue. I’ve got something on your John Doe.”
She sensed, more than heard, the urgency in Tancock’s voice. “I’m on my way.”
“Any new leads?” Rafe asked the moment his brother walked in the room.
“On the vanishings or the homicide?” Gabriel’s face, so much like his own, showed serious focus in the firm lines and drawn brow.
“Either.”
“No more missing Lycans. As for the murder? No reports of any rogue sightings in the metropolitan area. Could be someone new in the city, and the cops got the first call.” A slight curve twitched at the corner of Gabe’s mouth. “Not surprising, since they have 9-1-1 and our numbers aren’t exactly listed.”
“For good reason. Heard from Lucian?”
“Yes, he’s heading home on the next flight.” Gabe accepted a snifter of brandy and sat in the plush leather seat opposite him. “Another successful mission.”
Rafe lifted his glass in salute. “Any fallout?”
“No more than your little confrontation with that politician last weekend garnered.”
“Few gossip rags were interested.”
Gabe snorted.
“What about the mission?” Rafe pressed, not wanting to discuss his daily dealings with the ever-present paparazzi. Such publicity was why he was no longer an L.I. field agent.
“There was a small article in that tabloid, Global Examiner. A villager claims to have given birth to a werewolf’s baby.”
“Oh?”
“Included a photo, obviously doctored, of a very hairy, chubby infant.”
“Entertaining, I’m sure,” he said dryly.
Gabe chuckled. “I’ll give your compliments to our team. Seriously though, there were a few local stories, but nothing on legitimate global news sources. A couple in a remote village killed by a supposedly rabid wolf doesn’t make international news, especially when that wolf is stopped.”
Rafe rose to pour himself another drink. He faced the large glass wall that opened onto a spectacular view of the city, always changing but silent from the top floor of his corporate offices. “Let’s keep Lucian stateside for a while.”
“The homicide?”
Rafe savored the taste of his own brandy before nodding. “Did you contact Detective Lyons?”
“Left a message. Nothing yet.”
He felt Gabriel studying him and fought to relax the tension in his shoulders. His brother was often too observant for his own good.
“What am I missing?”
“There’s nothing to miss,” Rafe answered. “She’s investigating the murder of someone apparently mauled to death. It would be in our best interest to consult on the case.”
“She?” Gabe’s eyebrows rose. “You never mentioned the detective was a woman. Is she Lycan?”
Rafe remembered her scent. Female, attractive, but definitely human. “No.”
“Is she pretty?”
His grip tightened on the snifter. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, his brother’s sudden interest grated. “She’s off-limits.”
“Possessive, are we?”
“Don’t even think it.”
“Yep. I bet she’s sexy.”
“What she is, is a homicide detective, the last person I’d want to uncover our secret.”
“Who says she has to know? There’s no harm in dabbling with a willing female, especially a pretty one. And if you aren’t claiming her, I might like to give her a try.”
Rafe shot his brother a quelling look.
Gabe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Think of what she could do with handcuffs...”
“No.” An unexpected growl burned in Rafe’s throat. The thought of Gabe and Mackenzie together made him see red, which only infuriated him more because he knew he shouldn’t care. Although his entire being wanted to howl against allowing Gabe to “give her a try,” he hadn’t staked a claim on her. And he wouldn’t. He needed a mate, sure, but not a human—a female cop—who could jeopardize everything. The danger she posed to the pack outweighed all else.
“Hey, bro, you know I’d never risk...”
Rafe held up a hand, took a steady breath. The fierce tension in his body made him weary. He needed a weekend on his estate, a chance to run free, away from the city and all its demands. The older he got, the harder it became to postpone the search for his mate. But postpone the search, he must.
“I know.”
Gabe would never intentionally endanger the pack; neither could he.
The medical examiner removed his glasses and frowned at his paperwork when Mackenzie and Cooper walked in. His half-eaten chilidog lay within easy reach.
Cooper eyed the body on the stainless steel table several feet away. “Jesus, Doc, how can you eat in here?”
“Why, you hungry?”
“What have you got for me?” Mackenzie asked.
“Your John Doe died about twenty to twenty-six hours before his body was found.”
“Saturday night.”
He nodded. “Sometime between eleven and five. I doubt he was in the alley long when found. Whoever did it stored him for the day. My guess would be a trunk. Found fibers on the body consistent with those you might find in a vehicle.”
That fit with the evidence gathered at the scene.
“But he wasn’t killed by a deadly animal attack.”
Mackenzie blinked. “Excuse me?” Those bites weren’t from a human.
Tancock tossed a small evidence bag to her. “Forty-five caliber slug. In the heart. Bull’s-eye. Probably dead before he even hit the ground. The other wounds were postmortem.”
“You’re telling me someone capped the guy and then fed him to the wolves?”
“That’s what I’m saying. I’m still not certain what breed of animal inflicted the damage, although the bite marks and some hairs found on the body are consistent with canine.” Tancock propped his arms on the counter. “What is certain is the identity of your John Doe. Sent the fingerprints through AFIS. Just got the results back.”
Tancock’s gaze locked on Mackenzie, which sent a chill down her spine. She had a feeling she wouldn’t like his answer.
�
�Who?” she wanted to know.
“Victor Robertson.”
“The state legislator?” Cooper asked, dumbfounded.
“Without a doubt.”
Didn’t that bite?
Mackenzie was unimpressed with the elegant façade of Victor Robertson’s home or his pristine lawn. Professional lawn care was common in the more exclusive neighborhoods of North Chicago. She’d bet, for the right price, gardeners would stand watch to catch each leaf before the brilliant colors of autumn could mar the picturesque landscape. Money always bought pretty packaging.
She approached the house as if she were walking to her own execution. Silent. Somber. This was her least favorite part of the job.
With a few words, she’d forever change the lives of those inside the house. There was little she could do to prevent the pain her words would create.
Stepping onto the porch, Mackenzie glanced at Cooper before ringing the doorbell. For once, the famous grin was absent.
“Hello.” The woman who held the door open was a picture-perfect grandma from a Norman Rockwell painting. A tidy cap of short white hair topped a pleasant face with a friendly smile. She wore a conservative cotton dress with lace at the collar. Her only ornamentation was a silver band with delicate engravings on the third finger of her left hand.
“Mrs. Robertson?”
She cast a brief, puzzled glance at Mackenzie’s badge. “Yes. Is something wrong?”
“My name is Detective Mackenzie Lyons. This is Detective Steve Cooper. We’re with the Chicago Police Department. May we come in?”
“Of course, but it’s a bit late.” She moved aside, closed the door, and showed them into the front parlor.
The room had a very formal, Victorian feel. Light, floral, and airy, not unlike the woman seated before them. Mackenzie recognized the concern on her face, held at bay by the control of proper etiquette.
“Now, how may I help you?”
A man’s voice, accompanied by the sound of footsteps, stopped Mackenzie from answering.
“Hang on. Mom, who was...” A young man spotted them as he walked into the room, a cell phone to his ear. “Let me call you back.” He snapped his cell phone shut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Richard, come meet Detectives Lyons and Cooper of the Chicago Police Department. This is my son, Richard.”
“Detectives?” With a curious, somewhat wary expression, the son shook hands, his grip firm. Then he stepped behind his mother’s chair and placed a hand on her shoulder. Midthirties. A couple inches shy of six feet, Mackenzie guessed. He had clean-cut dark hair, which topped the vision of a well-dressed yuppie. When his cell phone rang, he cast an aggravated glance at the screen, and then pressed a button that silenced the call.
His mother smiled. “Could you tell me what this is about?”
“Mrs. Robertson—”
“Please, call me Pearl.”
Mackenzie’s hands were damp, her mouth dry. There was no simple way to do this. Nothing could lessen the blow. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. We’re here about your husband.”
“If you’re here to speak to Victor, I’m afraid he’s not home.” Her smile turned to a frown, her left hand slowly moving to cover her heart. “Is something wrong?”
“Ma’am, your husband is dead.”
Words. A few words, but they had the punch of a tidal wave. The woman flinched as if the impact was physical. Shock, disbelief, and dismay chased each other across her face. Mackenzie knew the unbearable pain of loss wouldn’t be far behind.
“No. That can’t be. Victor’s in Springfield. He was... No, you must be mistaken. Not my Vic—” Her voice broke, her eyes pleading with the detectives to recant.
“I’m so sorry,” Mackenzie repeated.
Pearl blindly reached for her son’s hand, latching onto it like a lifeline. “Richard? Tell them they’re wrong.”
“I’m here, Mom.” His voice was barely a whisper. He stared at Cooper. “Are you sure?”
“We’re sure,” Cooper said. “I’m so sorry.”
Visual identification by a family member was unnecessary and would only cause more pain. Mackenzie withheld an explanation on the condition of the body, but added, “We confirmed his identity through a fingerprint match.”
She watched helplessly as Richard knelt in front of his mother and Pearl collapsed into his arms with convulsions of sorrow. They clung to one another for long moments. Mackenzie elbowed Cooper and pointed to a box of tissues on the end table. He grabbed the whole box and held it out until Pearl noticed and tugged several tissues free with fumbling fingers.
“Thank you.” Her voice was softer, weaker. She twisted the tissues as tears continued unchecked down her face. “He just had a physical a few days ago. He was fine. I don’t understand...” Then, the inevitable questions began to flow. “When? W-what happened to my Victor? How could he be dead?”
“Where is he? I want to see my father.”
“That won’t be possible at this time,” Mackenzie answered, watching anger begin to boil in the son’s eyes, “but I’ll contact the medical examiner to find out when he can release the body to the family for burial.”
“Medical examiner?” Richard asked.
“Standard procedure for unattended or questionable deaths.”
“Questionable? What do you mean?” Pearl asked.
“He was murdered.”
“Murdered...” Richard uttered an oath and pressed his palms to his eyes as he stood and turned away.
“No! Oh, God, no.” Pearl’s dam of tears broke again, sending her into another fit of hysterical sobbing.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” The words felt like acid on Mackenzie’s tongue. They would always be inadequate. “But we need to ask you some questions.”
Richard’s expression changed from stunned fear to fury. “Can’t that wait? My God, don’t you see this is hard enough?”
Although tears poured down her mottled face, Pearl said, “N-no. Let them speak. If it’ll help...I’ll...I want to help.”
Richard paused, then closed his eyes, and nodded.
“When was the last time you saw your father alive?” Mackenzie asked him.
“Saturday. He and Mom were leaving for a black-tie event that night.”
“Th-that’s right.” Pearl sniffled. “We went to the Drake Hotel for a fundraiser for a group that helps gamblers overcome their addictions. Victor is opposed to any more expansion of gambling and recently made it a cornerstone of his political platform.”
While his mother spoke, Richard busied himself at a bar in one corner of the room. He returned with two glasses. “Here, Mom, drink this. It’ll help calm your nerves a bit.”
Pearl took the glass, adding it to the tangled wad of tissue in her grip. Richard sat and sipped his own drink, his hand a touch shaky.
Cooper pulled out a notepad as Mackenzie started the interview. “Did Mr. Robertson come home that night?”
“Yes. Victor and I arrived back home around ten thirty.”
“Did you remain home after that?”
“Yes. I went straight to bed. He said he had some paperwork to do before coming to bed.” Pearl stared at the full glass cradled in both hands on her lap. “He’d planned to be in Springfield for the week, so he left first thing Sunday morning. He’s always been a morning person.”
“What time was that?”
“Oh, well, let me see. He was already gone when I woke up, and that was around seven. I have to be at the church by nine to prepare for Sunday school. I’m a teacher.”
“So you didn’t actually see him come to bed or leave the next morning?”
“Well, no, I guess not, but his car was gone, so I assumed...”
“His car? He wouldn’t have taken a cab to O’Hare and flown to Springfield?” Mackenzie exchanged a look with Cooper. Outside of those working the case, nobody knew the murder had taken place elsewhere. They were searching for a second crime scene as well as the killer.
“No. He didn’t like to fly, although he’d never admit it.” Pearl’s smile trembled with tender sadness. “He always said, ‘A representative of the people should be well-grounded, not prone to flights of fancy.’ He’d rent a bus when campaigning. He liked to visit people on their own turf...door to door. You can’t do that at thirty thousand feet.”
“He was campaigning?” Mackenzie asked.
“Not for office, but he was always campaigning for some issue he believed in. And he still preferred to drive his car to Springfield...see the state he represented.”
“And you weren’t concerned when you didn’t hear from him?”
“Oh my no. I never thought anything like this could happen. He was a safe driver. I would’ve tried to reach him if I hadn’t heard from him by tomorrow night. He always checked in around midweek.” Pearl glanced from Cooper to Mackenzie. “I’ve been a politician’s wife for a very long time, Detective Lyons. Being separated for brief periods, because of campaigning or what-have-you, is nothing new to me. I’ve learned to entertain myself.” She gave her son a teary-eyed smile. “I had children to raise and, now with them grown, I have time for my charity work.”
Richard interrupted with a question of his own. “Do you have the person who did this?”
“Your help will go a long way to helping us catch the person responsible,” Mackenzie reassured them.
“You haven’t told us where or how this happened. My father didn’t...he didn’t suffer, did he?”
Cooper’s pencil stilled as Mackenzie gave the son a sympathetic gaze. “I’m not at liberty to give all the details surrounding his death because of the ongoing investigation, but I can tell you his body was found in Chicago, on the Southside.”
Pearl asked, “The Southside? Why would he drive there?”
“We’re not sure he did. Can you tell us what kind of car he drove?”
Pearl watched Cooper take notes as she described the vehicle, then looked at Mackenzie. “Was my husband carjacked?”
Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct Page 3