Em had been furious and scared. She ranted and cried over that damn pink slip well into the night. He’d told her that he’d think of something, and he would. A run always helped him think.
He started down the trail at a slow warm-up pace. This wasn’t his usual place to run. He preferred the park closer to the office, but he couldn’t go there now. He didn’t want to risk running into anyone he knew.
He’d gotten his family into this mess, and he’d figure something out, some way to get the money he owed, even if he had to sell everything and move in with her parents. He just needed to convince them to give him a little more time.
Fallen leaves crackled under each step as he picked up the pace and pumped fresh air into his lungs.
Jimmy had warned him not to cross them, and he wouldn’t if they’d just give him more time to pay.
Maybe he should’ve done what they’d said while he was in a position to accomplish it. A slight change in code. A well-hidden backdoor. It would’ve been simple. They would’ve written off his debt, and he’d still have his job. But they wanted him to help them cheat millions. What if they got caught? It would be his neck on the line. No, he couldn’t do it; he just wanted out. Out of debt. Free and clear.
So he’d tried to get the money to pay them, and still lost everything. Mr. Stone had been furious...
A fierce growl stopped him in his tracks. Carl spun, trying to see through the thick brush on either side of the trail.
That dog better be on a leash. There were city ordinances about that sort of thing, weren’t there?
Another growl.
Deep.
Brief.
Where was he?
Sweat seeped through his clothes. Carl cautiously started down the trail again.
A snap made him turn left. A blur of fur and sharp fangs came straight at him.
Mackenzie ignored the overwhelming scent of floral sprays and focused on faces in the crowd. Politicians, staffers, celebrities, family friends, all dressed in somber colors, their faces respectfully blank, gathered around the hole in the ground, the final resting place of Victor Robertson. The reverend uttered words drowned out by weeping and whispers of sympathy.
Tissues clutched in hands, family members sat under a green canvas tent. Pearl Robertson sat front and center, her red-rimmed eyes swimming with tears. Her daughters sat on either side, both chic in their black dresses, their backs ramrod straight. Richard sat beside one of his sisters, his expression grim, head lowered, hands fisted. A second man Mackenzie assumed was the son-in-law held the other daughter’s hand and kept a protective arm draped around her trembling shoulders.
An honor guard’s 21-gun salute, synchronized with military precision, made many people flinch. More tears fell when soldiers removed, folded, and presented the American flag to the widow, as an unseen bugler played the haunting strains of Taps.
A prickle at her nape alerted Mackenzie. While she scanned the mourners, someone watched her. She knew it, sensed it, but couldn’t find the source. She studied the crowd again, looking for anyone who showed an interest in her. The service now over, some people milled around. Others gave last declarations of condolence before wandering off to their vehicles.
Mackenzie’s searching gaze met Richard’s eyes, suddenly cold and hard. He excused himself and approached her with a determined stride. His steps crackled amid the recently fallen leaves.
“My sympathies, Mr. Robertson.”
“Have you caught the monster who did this yet?”
“Not yet, but—”
“Then save your sympathies, Detective. I want the bastard to pay.”
“I understand wh—”
“No! You don’t understand a damn thing.”
He was wrong, but she let it slide. Grief could make people say anything. The pain felt by families of murdered victims often led to fits of anger, especially if the case went unsolved.
“What the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you out there somewhere arresting the one who did this?”
Mackenzie kept her face blank, knowing his volume was attracting attention. “I am looking for your father’s killer. Murderers sometime attend their victim’s funerals.”
“You think someone here killed him? His family? His friends? That a loved one could do what that monster did to my father and then come here with words of sympathy? Maybe shed a few tears? Is that what you think? You’re wrong, and while you’re wasting time here, he could be out there killing someone else.”
“We will find the person responsible, I assure you.”
“We already gave you his name. My father fought with Stone and then winds up mauled to death. What more do you need?”
“It’s my job to look at every lead, every possibility, Mr. Robertson.”
“The bastard has his own wolf pack, for crying out loud. It may be just a job to you, Detective, but my father is dead, and I want justice. You got that? I want that man behind bars.”
“Richard, please.” His mother’s soft voice made him spin around, stalk off.
“I’m sorry, Detective Lyons. Richard has been...well...not himself lately.”
“No need to apologize, Mrs. Robertson. I understand. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her eyes welled with tears again as she patted Mackenzie’s hand. “Thank you for coming. If you’ll excuse me.”
Mackenzie watched Pearl Robertson walk away with a silent dignity that impressed her and made her heart ache. One other woman in Mackenzie’s life had shown a similar trait. A vision of the woman’s face swam in her mind as she walked across the cemetery lawns.
She stopped to glance down at a headstone. Her breath hitched. With a finger, she traced the words forever etched in cold, hard granite.
“God, I miss you,” she whispered. Then, after a long moment, Mackenzie straightened and headed for her car.
Watching the homicide detective wade through the sea of reporters and drive away, the man stepped around the large oak tree. No need to hurry. He knew her destination and could find her anytime.
She’d sensed him, which both surprised and impressed him. He could tell the moment she became aware of his scrutiny. Her shoulders tensed, back straightened, and chin rose.
He approached the headstone she’d touched. What had held her interest?
Not dressed for a funeral, he carried a small bouquet of flowers and kept his distance from the green tent and media circus in the parking lot. To any observer, he was just a man visiting another grave.
He stopped, heard the soft sigh of leather as he knelt to lay the flowers by the headstone, and read the epitaph.
Maureen M. Lyons
Beloved Mother
Mackenzie spent the drive back to the station analyzing what leads she had in the case. Her mind replayed conversations with family, acquaintances of the victim, and suspects.
When she came to Rafe, her thoughts hit a mental brick wall. She knew he was capable of murder. Under the right circumstances, anyone could take a life. In his case, she suspected he’d be methodical, calculating, and stealthy. He wasn’t a man who’d make mistakes or be easily caught.
What would drive him to kill? Money and power? He seemed to have those in abundance. He’d been a primary contributor to the mayor’s last election campaign, which was the basis for her sergeant’s fountain of profanities when he learned the name of her prime suspect. To Fuller’s credit, he didn’t try to sway her investigation, but he did want to clamp down on any potential leaks. All her reports were now for his eyes only.
Mackenzie didn’t care about the political minefields. She wanted the killer caught and punished. Period. If Rafe proved to be involved, she’d go after him with everything she had, for her own reasons, not because Fuller demanded the case against him be as solid as granite.
Unfortunately, her case looked more like Swiss cheese. The only motive she had to go on was inadequate. A first year law student could dance circles around it in a courtroom.
She tried to pictu
re Rafe blowing a hole in a man’s chest because of a minor political disagreement. Why have the body mauled and dumped where it’d be easily discovered? The pieces just didn’t fit.
She needed to pick up his gun and have it tested. But, since he readily agreed to the tests, she doubted there’d be a match. Still, she couldn’t rule him out. He remained her only real lead, and she’d follow the trail to its end.
Mackenzie parked and headed for her office. On the way, she stopped off at the pop machine for a cold caffeine fix. She’d tossed and turned all night, getting little sleep, and that had left her a little bit shaky.
“Hey, Mac.” Cooper caught up with her in the hall and matched her stride. “Got a minute? You’ll want to hear this.”
She followed him into his office and sat.
“We found the car.” He tossed her a file with some photos of the victim’s Lexus.
“Where?”
“Abandoned near the docks. A CSI is sweeping it now for any trace.”
She nodded. “Witnesses?”
He shook his head. “No cameras in the area either. A security guard at a warehouse called it in. Said it’d been there since Monday. He thought it belonged to the owner and kept an eye on it. But when it hadn’t been moved in a few days, he asked and found out no one there knew where it’d come from.”
He tapped a fingertip on one of the pictures. “Whoever dumped it wasn’t after the vic’s money. That’s a Lexus worth fifty grand. It’d bring in a lot more at a chop-shop.”
So auto theft wasn’t the motive. With the victim found stripped of everything, including his wedding ring, robbery may or may not have been the motive. No, the brutal condition of the body pointed to something more personal.
“Does that warehouse use guard dogs?”
“Not according to the security guard.”
“Okay, I’ve got a report to file with the sergeant. After that, let’s head over to see if they turned up anything.” She rose to leave.
“Hey, how’d it go at the funeral?”
She thought of the sudden sensation she’d had of someone watching her. “Fine. I now have a few more names on the list I want to check.”
“Any news cameras?”
“With all those VIPs there? Of course. Why?”
“You didn’t wear that to the funeral, did you?” His gaze slid over her.
She looked down at her black blazer, V-necked, cream-colored blouse, and black thigh-high skirt. “What?” Did she have a stain on it from breakfast?
Cooper reached out to finger her collar, ran a thumb over it as if testing the texture. “Because I doubt the cameramen could focus on the funeral with you there in this getup.”
She was about to take him down a peg or two when his eyes widened in surprise and his hand dropped to his side. The prickle at her nape erupted into blazing tingles.
“I agree.” Although the statement was positive, the deep rumble of that voice held a touch of menace.
Mackenzie turned to find Rafe Stone standing in the doorway. His eyes, harder than she’d ever seen them, focused on Cooper.
“What are you doing here?”
To her ultimate irritation, he ignored her and stared at Cooper. “Who are you?”
“Mac’s partner. Got a problem with that?”
Rafe made no move to shake hands. Coop didn’t seem to mind since he didn’t offer a hand.
“Lord, save me from testosterone,” Mac grumbled. “What are you doing here, Mr. Stone?”
His golden gaze shifted to her and softened. “I thought I asked you to call me Rafe.”
“You can ask. Answer the question.”
“I came to save you a trip out of town.” He held out a black case.
She blinked. “You brought a handgun into the police station?”
He shrugged. “You did request it for testing, and I agreed to cooperate, did I not? Besides, it’s locked and unloaded. Although if you’d like some of my ammo, I brought a couple boxes.” He grinned. “They’re outside in the limo.”
“Coop?”
“I’m on it,” he snapped. “But I won’t be long.”
Rafe moved aside to let him pass. “Protective partner.”
“We’re cops. Friends. Nothing more.” Now why had she felt the need to say that? What he chose to believe was incidental, and her personal life was her business, not his.
For a moment their gazes locked, then his slid over her body like a caress that both inflamed and unnerved her. Aggravated with herself, she returned the favor and pointedly eyed him from jet-black hair to shiny designer shoes. Liking what she saw and trying hard not to, she looked back at his face and forced her gaze to remain there. His knowing smile pissed her off more.
Frustrated, Mackenzie started to shift away from Rafe’s intent look, but the sudden touch of his hand on her cheek stopped her in her tracks.
“You haven’t slept well, Detective. I can see the weariness in your eyes.”
“If that was an attempt at a compliment, you failed miserably.” Irked, and a little embarrassed, she pulled away, moved around the desk, and shuffled some papers, not really seeing the words on them.
“You strike me as a woman more interested in the truth than in waxing poetic prose.”
His accurate observation confounded her, so she lashed out with sarcasm. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m always in the mood for a little Keats or Byron.”
“How about Shakespeare?” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, with a quirk to his lips. “I have seen roses damasked, red and white, but no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight, than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak—”
She couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
“Ah, light returns to eyes of blue when laughter is again renewed.”
Mackenzie quieted, flushed. When the silence became unbearable, she asked, “And who do you quote now?”
“No one. Just speaking the truth.”
Cooper’s footsteps interrupted their exchange. Mackenzie returned her attention to the papers on her desk. Wait, this was Cooper’s office. She stuffed her hands in her pockets.
“I left a receipt for your property with the driver.”
Rafe nodded. The tension between the men thickened the atmosphere. She frowned.
Rafe looked from her to her partner. “Now that my civic duty here is done, I’ll say farewell. Mackenzie, a pleasure to see you again. Detective Cooper.”
“Mr. Stone—”
The phone rang and since she was closest, she snatched it up. “Lyons.” As she listened to the caller, her muscles tensed. When she hung up, she looked at Rafe and knew he’d noticed the change in her demeanor.
“If you’ll excuse us. Coop, we have to go.”
She started past Rafe but stopped when he caught her arm. “Be careful.” The concern she saw in his eyes made her flinch and nod stiffly before she walked away.
Cooper remained silent until they were in her car, with the dash light flashing. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You didn’t like having to look up to him.”
“He’s not that much taller than me.” When she cast him a skeptical glance, he snapped, “Better an idiot than a blind fool. He’s a suspect, Mac.”
“I know that, damn it. Do you honestly think I’d jeopardize my career for a fling? Just because you play the field, Coop, doesn’t mean everyone does.”
Cooper winced, but his eyes blazed.
Mackenzie’s grip tightened on the wheel. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I didn’t mean...”
“No, I’m sorry, too.” He rubbed his neck and sighed. “Mac, I know what this job means to you. I know you wouldn’t risk it for a one-night stand, but Stone isn’t just any man. A guy like that usually succeeds in getting what he wants. I’m just trying to be a friend when I say, watch your back.”
She braked for traffic at a stop light, and then continued through
it as motorists moved aside. “There’s more to this than Stone. What is it you’re not telling me?”
“It’s nothing. Let’s just solve the damn murder before we both go crazy.”
“Coop?”
“There’s talk that the case may be given to more-experienced detectives.”
“What the hell—?”
“It’s a big case, Mac. You and I are rookies compared to some in the division.”
“We earned our badges the same as they did.”
“Yeah, it’s just rumor, and Fuller’s backing us on it right now. He doesn’t like the implication that any of his detectives are incapable of handling a murder investigation, no matter how high-profile the victim is.”
Who wanted them removed from the case? Mackenzie had some ideas where the pressure was coming from, but the second question was harder to answer. Could their sergeant hold out long enough for them to solve the case? Especially since that pressure was sure to increase now.
After they’d driven another block or so, Cooper asked, “So where are we going? What was the call about?”
“To a park.” She glanced at him. “They found another body.”
Chapter Five
The light of day unveiled the murderer’s brutality and tarnished the otherwise-peaceful surroundings of the city park. The victim lay discarded amid leaves and brush along a jogging trail.
“Similar MO,” Cooper observed.
Mackenzie nodded. “But not exactly the same.”
The body was nude with the exception of socks and athletic shoes. Bite and claw marks marred the neck and chest, but this time, the face was left virtually untouched. And there were defensive wounds about the arms and legs.
As the forensics team processed the scene, Mackenzie looked for other clues in the vicinity. She hadn’t gone far when she discovered the first remnant of clothing.
“Over here.” She signaled to the crime scene photographer. “There must be more.”
Another hour of searching proved her words true. They found pieces of a man’s jogging suit, shredded and bloodied, scattered along a dirt path. Not as popular as the paved jogging trails, the path was more of a shortcut, overgrown from lack of use.
Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct Page 6