Werewolves of Chicago: Curragh (Werewolves of... Book 6) Page 2

  “Which means what we’ve been worried about is true—”

  He finished her thought for her. “—They’re up to something even worse than we can imagine.”

  Kara’s lips formed a thin line as she grimly looked up at him.

  “While that’s a fearsome thought, it’s something new. Good work.” Mazzagatti glanced back to where Lennox and Lanky had disappeared. “How are you fairing here?”

  Kara just stared at him.

  “Point made, Monaghan. Fools not tolerated. Just give it some time.” A fleeting glint of human kindness flashed across the Captain’s dark black pupils, then vanished. He tapped the top of her computer screen with charcoal-colored fingers and headed to his office. “Follow me.” She turned to watch him go. It was the first time someone had appeared to care, here. He lifted up an arm and two fingers, jerking them toward his office, not looking back to see if she was coming. Tugging on her hair to make sure the new bun was controlled, she rose up and followed.

  “Close the door.”

  After she did, she asked, “Sir? Am I in trouble?”

  He didn’t answer at first. His elegant scrawl spanned the signature section of several documents before he looked up. “You lost another partner today.”

  Kara’s eyebrows knit together. “Clark ditched me, too? Great.”

  The Captain leaned back in his chair and held his pen with both hands, twirling it as he regarded his newest investigator. “He said you came onto him.” Her lips parted with surprise. “I told him he was a fool to refuse you.”

  Kara stared at her superior, not knowing what to think. But then a joking twinkle in his eyes and the tug of dark skin around his mouth made her relax a little. She glanced to the portrait of his wife and two girls on his desk, all with dark skin and sharp eyes like him, though the youngest had an irrepressible innocence to her grin.

  “I’m glad you didn’t take him seriously, sir. But…why accept his transfer? He did transfer to another partner, didn’t he?”

  “Munoz is a fool. I don’t tolerate them either. Let him work narcotics for awhile.” The amusement gone, Mazzagatti pursed his lips, pen slowly twirling in his long fingers. “When Deputy Chief Mackey called me up, told me he wanted me to hire you on as detective without working your way up…”

  “I’d already worked my way up in New York, sir,” Kara interrupted sharply. She heard her tone and felt terrible immediately. The long hours were really getting to her.

  “I know that.” He waited a moment and resumed. “I told him he was asking for trouble.” He held up the pen at her opening mouth. “Keep quiet. You’re not to say another word until I ask you a question. If you don’t get a handle on that temper, you will fall from my good graces before you can say ‘fired.’ I don’t care how much I owe Mackey or how impressive you were back in New York—you got me?” She gave him a curt nod. “This is Chicago. We don’t give a shit about the attitude you people over there feel entitled to.” He dropped the pen on the desk. “That said, before making the decision, I reviewed your work and found it impressive. You closed a great many cold cases others couldn’t scratch the surface of. And with your rotating door of partners there, too, I surmised the good work was mostly your doing.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Did I ask you a question?” He waited. Stifling a rebellious sigh, she shook her head. He continued, “Police work is about being part of a team, but when the team wants to stone one of its best players because of the way they look, well, I know something about that.” The way he held her look showed what he meant. Racism is very much on par with sexism. Two sides of an ignorant fucked up coin. The anger she’d been holding in her chest for months ebbed a little. Finally she’d found someone on her side.

  Captain Mazzagatti pursed his lips and took a deep breath through his nose as he picked up his ballpoint pen again and stared at it. “I’m going to do something that will likely make you more enemies, but I think it’s a solution that in the long run, will help the department, and that’s what I really care about. I’m not going to assign you another partner. Not just yet. I’m curious to see what you can do on your own.”

  Kara’s overly round eyes widened even more. “Captain?”

  “You think you can handle the heat you’re going to get for preferential treatment?”

  A grateful smile came and went, and she nodded with the sobriety of being handed the best gift of her life, in her opinion. “Yes, sir!” Some cops had partners who were more like brothers, but Kara had yet to find that kind of a connection. It wasn’t their entire fault. She wasn’t easy to get along with. “Who knows, sir, maybe they’ll see it as I’m a leper nobody will work with and leave me alone.”

  “I doubt it.” Mazzagatti reached over, picked up a slim manila folder and tossed it to her. “As you know, Viktor Kruglov has been eluding us for almost nine years. We’ve taken down a lot of his men, but he just gets more. The task force isn’t getting anywhere. Well, I just got an anonymous tip from a Russian who thinks he saw Kruglov’s father outside of a shut-down deli in the South Loop. Here’s the address.” He wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Go check it out. With your instincts, I’m giving you first dibs. Let’s see how you do.”

  Kara grabbed the folder. It had only one police report in it. This was virgin Intel. She’d read everything they had on Kruglov as soon as she’d joined Investigations. She knew what everyone else knew, and she said it aloud now. “His father is dead!”

  “Exactly.”

  If Alexander Kruglov was alive, things just got a whole lot more complicated.

  Kara whipped around and headed out the door, but quickly spun back and shot her head inside. “Thank you, sir.” He waved her away, looking grim. He had good reason not to be optimistic.

  This was her chance to really piss some people off.

  Grabbing her keys, she took off to track down that lead.

  Chapter Four

  While Xavier cocked his ear at the door, Curragh lifted the Russian man up by the scruff of his wrinkly shirt. “Where is Alexander Kruglov?”

  “Who?” the Russian grinned through skinny, coffee stained teeth.

  His wolf rumbled in his chest as Curragh tightened his grip, choking the man. “Do I look like someone you should fuck with?” His eyes glowed brightly, his wolf hungering to be set free.

  “Vat eez vrong vit yor eyeezz! Vat arrrr you???” True terror flashed in the Russian’s beady blue eyes as he clawed terrified fingernails into Curragh’s hands, trying to loosen the hold. It was no use. Giving up, he choked, “No von knows vhere he eez!”

  Curragh shared a wary glance with Xavier as his friend and packmate muttered, “Ask him about the—”

  “—Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it.” Curragh switched focus to his captive and snarled, “Alexander Kruglov. Where is he now?”

  The Russian cried out, “Alexanderr eez dead!”

  “Don’t fuck with me. You ratted out to the fucking cops! So what I don’t understand is why you’re acting coy NOW.” Curragh tossed the man like a balled up, rejected piece of paper. The human landed in a scream of agony as one of his legs broke on impact. Xavier turned at the noise and cut a glance to Curragh, who just shrugged. “Oops.”

  Both wolves headed for the Russian. Beneath them, he cowered and held up his hands to protect himself. “I can’t! I can’t!” Xavier kicked the man in the head.

  “My friend thinks you can,” Curragh growled, standing over the crumpled man.

  “Da roov,” he groaned, grabbing his leg with one hand, his head with the other. Angry tears streamed down pale cheeks. “Der meeting on ze roov ov Northern Trrrust!.

  He knew where that was. It was in the Loop, a district heavy with Russians. “Alexander and Viktor?” Curragh demanded.

  “No! Dey vould not be seen in public. Dey arrr not eediots.”

  From outside the locked building, a female voice shouted, “POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR! NOW!”

  Curragh knocked Xavier off bal
ance. “Nice standing watch.”

  “I got distracted,” Xavier grimly muttered, running a hand through black hair. “Dammit.”

  “We got what we need.”

  They stared at the front door, planning their next move. Whipping around to the back, they made for the exit, intending to take the Russian with them. But he surprised them. When they were taken off guard he’d produced a gun from the back of his waistband. It was pointed at them.

  Their supernatural speed had them outside within seconds. They kicked open the door so as not to leave fingerprints on it. Everything they’d done in there had been done with care so as not to leave evidence. Except the Russian. He had Curragh’s DNA for sure. From the scratches in the wolf’s fingers, the human had enough gouged skin under his nails to fuck things up.

  A shot rang out behind them, a lock blasted to nothing on the front door. It had come from the outside. The Russian hadn’t pulled his trigger. In the back alley, the wolves threw their hoods on and kept their heads down, moving fast. Xavier’s phone vibrated. He pulled it out as soon as they rounded a corner and neared their black 1969 Chevy Camaro Z23 RS.

  “Yeah?”

  With a werewolf’s superior hearing, Curragh could easily listen in. It was their third and final packmate calling. “I’ve got something over here. You?” The low volume said Draik was in public, too.

  Xavier glanced to Curragh. “A meeting place where Kruglov’s people are.”

  “Is he going to be there?”

  “No. Not from what the guy said.” They exchanged another glance, annoyed, heads dipping into the car, doors shut quietly.

  “Well, I need some help,” Draik said. “And the car.”

  “Fucking asshole,” muttered Curragh. After a night of too much drinking, their other vehicle, a Jeep Cherokee, went into Lake Michigan two weeks ago. Which was, of course, Draik’s fault. It was always Draik’s fault for everything.

  “I heard that!”

  Curragh called out, “Draik, get us another fucking car or I’ll strangle you.”

  “He loves me,” Draik chuckled.

  Xavier smirked, glancing over to the passenger seat to ask, “You good on this one?”

  “The roof? You want to ask another dumb question.”

  Xavier smacked Curragh hard in the chest, said, “You need to get laid,” then turned on the car and sped off.

  Chapter Five

  Detective Kara Monaghan aimed her 9mm at the door’s lock and stood back. She pulled the trigger and squinted against the explosion. Blinking, eardrums ringing from the blast, she rushed in, gun primed, ready to shoot again if ambushed. She found only one man inside. His leg was twisted horribly. Face bloodied, too. There was a gun in his hands but aimed at the floor.

  “Drop the weapon!” She advanced on him, voice low, piece leading the way. “I said, drop it!”

  The Russian was rambling, mumbling something in his native tongue. She couldn’t understand any of it, except one word—Kruglov—muttered toward the end. He’d said the name like the devil was listening. Itching to question him, she needed to secure her safety first. “Drop the gun and put your hands up.”

  Nothing on his face registered he knew she was there.

  “DID YOU HEAR ME? DROP THE FUCKING WEAPON!” She stopped five feet from him, heart beating fast, focused. Her hands were not shaking. She aimed at his head, ready for anything.

  He fixed small blue eyes on her. A weird smile twisted his lips. “I am dead,” he whispered in English. Then his gun floated up under his chin.

  Kara yelled, “NO!” But it was too late. The trigger is always faster. He slumped to the ground. Kara stared at the gruesomeness. “Shit.” She lowered her gun and stepped back, pulling out her phone and dialing the Captain.

  He answered, “Monaghan.”

  “Someone got to him first.” She walked to the back of the room and pulled out a cloth from her pocket to open the back door without possibly smudging fingerprints.

  “Who?”

  “This guy was freshly beaten up. Broken leg. Maybe a rib, too. I don’t know. He had a gun—” She looked into the alley, searching for cameras. There was one nearby.

  “What do you mean, HAD a gun?” Mazzagatti asked.

  “There’s a camera back here. Maybe it caught something. I’ll send you the address so we can get a warrant for the footage.”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  With one foot holding the door open so she didn’t get locked out, she searched for more cameras as she said, “Oh right. Sorry. I was focused on the next thing. He shot himself. He said, I am dead, and then he was.”

  “Did you get anything out of him?”

  “I didn’t have a chance. I ordered him to drop the gun, then he blew his brains out. He was mumbling something in Russian. He said Kruglov. Which isn’t news. But it was the way he said it.” She went back inside, footsteps echoing in dead air.

  It was so quiet she could hear the Captain’s chair creak as he sat back. “Explain.”

  Kara walked around, scanning the footprints on the dusty floor. There were too many and they overlapped each other. A lot of people had been here, and the place hadn’t been closed long enough to have enough dust to really tell which were new. “Well, he said it like his death would be a better alternative than answering to Kruglov.” She walked over, leaned down and searched the man’s pockets as she kept talking. “I think whoever got to him, might have succeeded in obtaining information. That’s why this man would rather die.” She pulled out his wallet. “Which would make sense except that he already gave us valuable information, and hadn’t shot himself then.”

  “He didn’t know he was talking to an informant. Are there cameras?”

  “Just the one outside.” She pulled out cards for Cub Foods and Chicago Fitness Center before finally coming up on an I.D. “Yep, this was the guy. Dammit. So close.”

  “Welcome to the last decade of my life.”

  “I thought you said it was nine years.”

  “Close enough. Have an ambulance pick up the body. We’ll have the coroner search for the DNA of his attackers. I want to know where they are and what they know that we don’t.”

  Kara glanced over at a noise. There were a few looky-loo’s peering inside the building, the shot-up door having piqued their interest. “Police business. Step away!” They disappeared. “Okay, Captain. I’ll wait here.”

  “And then go home. Get some sleep. See you first thing tomorrow. Scratch that. Don’t come in until seven.” He hung up.

  She smiled ruefully that seven o’clock meant sleeping in to him. With the way she felt she could use twelve hours and still need more. But at the same time, she felt adrenalized. The excitement of having the Captain’s respect and getting a shot at something before the task force had, was a charge to her ambitious system. Her father issues were engaged like nobody’s business. An older man seeing her worth? Well, that was her weakness. Going home to sleep right after this? Not an option.

  Chapter Six

  In the Chicago Loop, Curragh leapt from the rooftop of the Y.S.L.A. building to Northern Trust’s, where he stopped and scanned the rooftop for life. Shadows overpowered the sliver of moonlight. From the ledge, with legs spread wide and solid, he searched every potential hiding place in a matter of mere seconds. Night vision wasn’t a weakness a wolf has to worry about. While he saw no one, the air was still strong with the scent of human men. It hadn’t been fifteen minutes since Viktor’s boys had convened here, but they weren’t here now.

  Swearing under his breath, the wolf headed to look over the opposite ledge. The guy he’d beaten for the thugs whereabouts hadn’t lied. That was a positive in a sea of empty leads. He’d have to find that guy again, even if the police had him. Through him, the opportunity to access Viktor’s inner circle was possible.

  “Next time I won’t be as patient,” he bit into the Chicago winds, dark hair blowing as he stared into the empty night. He jumped to the second story apartment buildin
g beside this and thick, black leather boots slammed into dried tar as his knees bent slightly on impact. Rising up Curragh stared at the new moon and smirked. All those stories of the moon’s cycles causing the shift, still amused him. If only human beings knew what really lived among them…and that it had no master.

  His smugness vanished. Viktor Kruglov eluded his pack. How could that be? How did one mere man escape their grasp?

  “One of these nights, Viktor. I’ll wrap my hands around your neck and crack it.”

  When he returned to ground level, he passed by a window of Dusek’s on W. 18th Street, and glanced inside. His glowering stare landed on a striking brunette with big brown eyes who sat at one of the ten black barstools around the small bar. Her pink lips were as tight as her tiny black dress. She was not impressed by the douche bag who monopolized her left ear, shouting over the music so loud that Curragh could hear the one-sided conversation through the glass. “I only watch movies with subtitles.”

  Curragh stood there staring in as people congregated around him in clumps, smoke wafting through their blocked-out chatter. Something in his gut made the wolf walk through the door. The bouncer started to ask for his I.D. but changed his mind, feet shuffling. Curragh didn’t even see him.

  “Get off my seat,” Curragh said with authority. The douche turned and frowned. He took one look at the six foot five inch creature and scuttled off the barstool, sliding his arm quickly back in to grab his drink before he disappeared with it.

  The human female turned up her chin, watching Curragh with distant appreciation. He liked that. She looked smart. Street smart. Her eyes had a steel inside them that he'd never seen in a woman. He told the bartender as he walked up, “Makers. No ice.”

  “They call that ‘neat,’” the brown-eyed female smiled, her teeth straight and beautiful.

  He glanced to her. “I know. I don’t like the word.”

  She closed her lips and watched him pull out his wallet, which he kept attached by a chain to his belt. With all the running and fighting he did, he couldn’t risk losing it. “What are you having?”