Werewolves of Chicago: Curragh (Werewolves of... Book 6) (8 page)

C
urragh traced
the outline of her bruises with his thumb as they lay naked on the floor, limbs wrapped around each other. He had a pillow under his head and she had her chin on his chest. “You’re a tough woman,” he smiled.

“I did what had to be done.”

“I did it,” he teased her, loving how her eyes lit up. “I’m the one who punched your face.”

A slow, sleepy grin appeared as she laughed. “If one more man says that to me today.”

He paused, not getting the joke at first. Then he laughed and moved some long, dark hair from where it blocked her cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

“With my face all bruised up?” she cried out. “You’re a sick puppy!”

He chuckled.
I am that.
She relaxed onto his chest, laying her bruised cheek down and looking toward the balcony. He could only see the top of her head now, and a little tip of bruised nose. He laid his head back and looked at her ceiling, then glanced around. “Your walls are like ours.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing on them.”

Her fingers absently tickled his leg as she replied, “I need to buy some art. Just haven’t really felt like this was my home yet, I guess. Until tonight.”

“Why tonight?” he asked, craning his neck to see her.

She looked up at him. “The other detectives were nicer to me tonight. I think they respected that I took a fall, and was a part of a massive step in finding who we’re looking for.”

At the reminder of Viktor Kruglov, Curragh felt heat pour into his bloodstream. “What did you find?” She opened her mouth to answer, but then shut it, glancing away. His tone was harsh as he demanded, “Kara. What did you find?”

She sat up on her heels, hands on naked thighs. Her long hair hung over one shoulder and those gorgeous breasts of hers were topped with tight pink crests. Only this time it was from stubborn agitation. He sat up, too, leaning on one hand.

“I can’t talk about it,” she insisted, her voice quiet.

He stared at her. “AFTER WHAT WE DID FOR YOU TODAY?”

“Don’t yell at me, Curragh!” Her eyes turned icy, her back very straight.

Leaning closer, he grated, “You tell me what you found out about Kruglov.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No.”

Jumping off the floor, he pulled on his jeans. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

She stood up, eyes darting around like she didn’t want him to go, but didn’t want to bend to his will either. “You’re leaving?”

Snatching his shirt up, he shouted, “FUCK YES I’M LEAVING.” He tugged it on, glaring at her. Here he’d felt protective of the woman, had left Tutors at the mansion so she didn’t get pissed off, or see him as the criminal she already acted like he was, and now she wouldn’t help him finds the man who’d hurt Draik? He grabbed his boots and yanked them on while standing. “Unless you want to help me out.”

“I can’t!”

He headed for the door. Flipping around, he demanded, “Why not!!!”

She looked truly helpless as she reached out for him. He was stone cold, but he let her touch his chest. “You have to understand. I’ve been here six months chasing this man and the force has been after him for much,
much
longer. But today—and yes, thanks to you—we found a paper trail that can lead to the phantom called Viktor Kruglov. If I told you what they found, then…”

“Then what?! Then I’d help you take the piece of shit down? Because that’s what we do! We do what you can’t!”

She stared up at him, and stepped back. “I helped you today, but I can’t be a part of what you’re doing. Not if I want to keep my job.”

“Fuck your job,” he snarled, reaching for the door handle.

“Wait!” He felt her grab onto his left arm with both hands. “Please don’t leave like this. I’m sorry. We’re just on the wrongs sides.”

His chest deflated, all the air knocked out of him. She was right. He knew this, and had known it since he discovered she was a cop. It had to be the worst trick fate had ever played on him. He let go of the door handle and turned to her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, hard and desperately. She responded, gripping him by the head to hold his mouth as close to hers as she could. He released her. “This has to stop.”

Tears jumped into her large, brown eyes. “Oh God,” she whispered. “I know.
It won’t work
.”

“No. It won’t,” he muttered, touching the side of her naked breast because he just couldn’t help it. Like he’d touched fire, he yanked his hand back. His wolf was not happy about this conversation, and if he waited any longer, it would show itself. He gritted his teeth and, shoving the beast back with all his power, kept his eyes normal. “Maybe I’ll see you out there.”

Her hands floated to cover her mouth, and the tears began to fall. It killed him to watch, so he turned away.

“I hope your friend is okay!”

Thinking of Draik’s ravaged body and his promise to avenge him, Curragh paused. “Yeah, me too.” He closed the door. After a few moments, he heard the lock turn from the other side. His stomach twisted with it.

Outside, the cool air was welcome. Long strides took him up the street away from her. As he went to turn the corner, Curragh looked back to her balcony. Kara was up there, staring at him, so he stopped walking and waited to see if she’d say something.

She turned and went inside.

With knots in his chest, he walked home thinking about how screwed up all this was. Couldn’t she see that they were fighting on the same side? That he and his packmates were able to get things done faster? Why didn’t she tell me what she knows? And why did she have to be so fucking unforgettable…

K
ara quickly slipped back
into her t-shirt and PJ bottoms, then walked out onto the balcony. She looked down at his retreating form. His walk was determined, but as he neared the end of her block and turned, he glanced up over his huge shoulder at her. Her heart stopped with his footsteps. It looked like Curragh wanted to say something, but what could be said? Picking up her forgotten, cold cup of chamomile, Kara left the balcony and walked into her kitchen, the quiet hum of the refrigerator, her soundtrack.

They were on opposite sides. And she loved hers. Being a cop had been her dream ever since she’d witnessed the police car blazing a trail to her freedom.

She was twelve and had mistakenly thought that since he was a neighbor he was safe. That the food he offered was given without motive save for basic human kindness. He’d seen how violent her father was. Everyone knew that her dad couldn’t hold his liquor, but he could hold his belt.
He
said he could be a father figure to her. One she could look up to. Oh, how she’d wanted that.

He was sneaky. The asking her to sit on his lap didn’t start right away. By the time it did she’d become hooked on the ‘friendship,’ and didn’t want to lose it. Then he began to touch her. She knew it was wrong. She tried to stop him. She didn’t like it. But he forced his hand and threatened her that if she told anyone he would say she asked for it. That she was a dirty little girl. She knew her father would beat her, only this time harder than all the others. He’d believe the man. Call her a whore like he called her mother. So she kept quiet until she couldn’t anymore.

One rainy Monday morning when Kara was in the seventh grade, the bell rang, ending second period English. All the other kids filed out for their third period classrooms. After this class was her favorite teacher’s ‘free hour,’ which meant this was Kara’s chance.

She pretended to be collecting her papers, and whispered with every ounce of courage she had, “Mrs. Dobbs?”

The curly haired woman with a love for E.E. Cummings turned from the chalkboard and removed her reading glasses, a white dusty stick still held in powered fingers. “Yes?”

Kara croaked, “I…I need help.”

Mrs. Dobbs blinked before she set her spotless glasses on her desk. Her soft brown eyes seemed to understand something big was about to happen. Kara even saw the woman hold her breath. It was suspenseful enough to make her want to cancel the whole thing and escape into the bustling hallway.

Please don’t judge me.

Please don’t look at me like I’m gross.

But he’d done terrible things to her yesterday. She couldn’t imagine living another moment in that kind of hell.

Kara shuffled her feet and squeaked, “There’s a man who’s been…” She threw her hands over her face. Through tear-drenched fingers, she whispered, “He’s been making me do things.”

Kara would never forget that slim white stump of chalk floating down and bouncing into a corner. She’d stared at it, eyes averted as her teacher kneeled and took her hands. “What happened, Kara? Who is it?” There was a long pause, then Mrs. Dobbs said the one thing Kara so needed to hear.
“I believe you.”

That night sirens drew her family to the window in their living room. Kara’s trembling hands steamed the cold glass as the police car stopped in front of
his
house. With surprised innocence on his lying face he appeared on his porch. She watched mouths moving as metal rings were pulled out and wrapped around his wrists. His head hung lower and lower as he walked, until one of the police officers in a pretty, dark blue uniform pushed on the evil man’s head and shoved him into the backseat.

“Well, what do you think happened there?” her mother had whispered.

Kara hadn’t answered.

Those policemen were the light that made the shadow on her soul disappear.

In that moment she knew she was going to be one of them. It was way better than being a ballerina.

Her mind drifted back to Curragh. He’d been so tender tonight. So wounded. He’d come to her for help. But it didn’t change the fact that she shouldn’t have held him close. She should have arrested him. On any number of counts. That she hadn’t, or rather couldn’t, was very troublesome.

“Why is he after Kruglov?” she said, under her breath. “Why didn’t I ask him?” She rinsed the cup and set it upside down on a towel. “But what would it matter?” With a heavy heart, Kara headed for bed.

W
hen Curragh returned
to the loft Xavier was where he’d left him, sitting vigil by Draik’s bed. One lamp was on, everything quiet.

“Hey.”

Curragh’s eyes were on Draik. “Where’d the twerp go?”

Voice heavy with exhaustion, Xavier answered, “Had to get some sleep. He’s going to come here before the morgue tomorrow, then again at his break.”

His distaste for Howard Peters had vanished with the young wolf saving Draik’s life. He’d been professional, fast and serious, and because of that, Curragh had to look at him with earned respect. All that remained now was habit, and from that Curragh grumbled, “Does he have to be here so much?” He kneeled by Draik and inspected the gauze on his head. “We’re going to have to shave the rest of this. He looks like he got clipped by a helicopter twenty-seven times.”

“When he heals more.” Xavier’s dark eyelashes rose. “How was the cop?”

It wasn’t surprising that his friend knew where he’d gone. Curragh smelled of her. He knew that. Only now her scent wasn’t just in his pores like something that could be washed off with soap and water. It was doing its best to attach to his soul despite his efforts to resist. Clasping his hands around his knees, with his huge back hunched over, he sat on the floor and met Xavier’s curious look. “It’s over.”

“Did it ever start?”

After a grim pause, “I don’t know.”

The usual amusement over this topic was gone. “Sorry to hear it.”

Curragh’s focus switched back to their fallen packmate. His lips had a little of their pink back. That was a good sign. The first they’d had.

“Have you eaten?”

“No. I’m fucking starving.” Xavier sighed. “
You’re
looking pretty tasty right now.”

“You should be so lucky.” One corner of Curragh’s mouth turned up as he pulled out his phone. “Who delivers this late?”

“No one. Go get something from Elly’s Pancakes and come back.” He jogged his chin to Draik. “I’ll watch over jackass here.”

“I’ll be back.”

“No shit.”

Curragh grabbed his keys and chuckled. “Don’t offer me any money or anything.”

Outside, the temperature had dipped lower. Since he’d left Kara’s, winds had risen as though Mother Nature felt the night’s turmoil. He decided a walk would do him good. The streets were empty, save for the odd drunk in a Cubs hat stumbling past, smelling like tomorrow he’d be in a fuckload of pain.

After several blocks of relative quiet, Curragh passed a corner building. He slowed his steps. Distinct Russian accents came from inside. He swore under his breath, promising himself for the zillionth time to learn Russian. What good did his supernatural hearing do him when not one word they said made sense? But it meant something that a group was convening at four-thirty in the morning. This wasn’t a family gathering. This was business.

Pretending to look at a map on his phone, Curragh hung around. Several times he glanced over discretely, assessing how to get in. When he was sure no eyes were on him, he tried the door. It was of course, locked. Then the voices inside grew loud and he heard a door close. They were coming down the hall, the images of their bodies warped through the leaded glass window embedded in the front door. He stepped back and leaned against the building. Googling next, ‘Russian language classes Chicago,’ he waited.

Five men filed out wearing leather jackets, black shirts and slacks. As their shiny shoes hit the sidewalk, each and every one of them glanced around suspiciously. Like most bad guys, they were used to watching their backs. They were each cleaning their hands with antiseptic wipes. Curragh hated the powerful odor. Four pairs of cynical eyes hesitated as they landed on him, but it wasn’t until the fifth pair belonging to a muscular, dark haired, blue-eyed Russian, that he was confronted.

“Ey. Vat arr you doink heerr?”

Curragh raised his head very slowly. “Who…me?”

“Dah.” The man’s stance was aggressive. “Yuuu.” The other four Russians waited behind their comrade, spaced out so they could see what was going on.

Curragh traced a quick glance around, memorizing their faces. “I’m Googling where I can get food this late.” He shrugged, his face casual. But there was nothing casual about his size. He sensed their agitation at the mere sight of him. He towered over all but one, and that guy didn’t have his muscular broadness. “What are
you
doing?”

The Russian stared at him without blinking. With an eerie calm, he looked at the phone, trying to check if Curragh was lying, unable to see from this angle. He turned around and motioned to his buddies to move on.

Curragh wasn’t buying it. The wolf looked up at the fire-escape stairs hanging above his head. Just as the Russian pulled a gun from his pocket and whipped around, Curragh leapt to them, grabbing on. He climbed with all of his enhanced speed as the other Russians pulled out their guns, too. Explosions lit up the silence as loud and fast as fireworks in the finale. Bullets narrowly missed the wolf’s legs, ricocheting off the iron rungs inches away. He vaulted onto the roof and out of sight. Bending at the knees, he muttered, “Fucking mafia. Always so quick to pull a gun.”

Everything was silent now, but he knew it wasn’t over. Striding to the far edge of the roof with his heart slamming, he leapt to the next building, narrowly making it. He looked over the ledge to see what they were doing. Below, the street was empty. Back to his right he heard voices and saw the Russians filing out onto the first rooftop from the inside staircase. He imagined them trying to reach the fire-escape stairs and failing. It had bid him some time that they couldn’t, maybe enough time to avoid being shot. Xavier didn’t need two wolves down.

He heard their voices sharpen in the distance as they discovered him. He ran. Gunshots rang out, narrowly missing him. From the pounding footsteps the men were now on the edge of that roof, wondering how he gotten where he was.
I dare you to jump
, he thought, glancing back with a smirk as he raced to the edge and jumped down to the next rooftop. He stopped, knees buckling on impact, and flipped around. The Russians were beside themselves, speaking to each other in their native tongue.

Curragh disappeared from their sight. In the shadows he got to ground level and waited behind a building. His supernatural hearing was in full throttle. Even the flapping of moth’s wings in a far away street lamp didn’t escape him. Muted sounds of the men filing out from that first building, vibrated toward him. There was low, angry talk. Car engines fired up. An Escalade drove by where he hid, but the other vehicles had taken off in different directions. He counted only three cars. Five men. Did two ride with the others? He gave it more time. He had to investigate that building to see what they’d been up to.

After ten impatient minutes, he headed back, keeping close to the shadows.

At the front door, checking the area for eyewitnesses, Curragh wrapped the bottom of his t-shirt around his fist and punched a hole in the leaded glass window. Looking around once more, he reached in and unlocked the door. He blanched at the smell that assaulted his nostrils inside. Following it to the room they must have been in, he kicked down the door. The smell of sex and blood was nauseating now. It was laced with fear. Suddenly he realized what that faint thumping was. It was the heartbeat of someone who’d nearly given up.

There was a woman in her mid-thirties tied to a chair. Dark brown eyes stared off like she’d clocked out mentally. She was naked save for her arms, which still had the sweater sleeves on, cinched behind her. It was a green sweater. Her face was beaten, her neck bruised badly with fingerprints. The position of her legs told him everything. He scooped her up, untying the ropes as he whispered, “It’s going to be alright now. I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you anymore. I’ve got you.”

As he searched for something to cover her with, coming up empty, Curragh silently cursed the men who’d done this to her. He tugged the sweater off her hanging, limp arms and laid it over her naked torso. Cradling her, he paced a few short steps, wondering how the hell he was going to get her to a hospital.

Kara
.

Flying out of the building, Curragh ran with his head down. When an early dawn jogger approached, his deep voice begged for understanding. “I’m saving her! I’m taking her to the hospital! I didn’t do this!” The human jogged in place as she turned around, pulling out one ear bud. “Help! HELP!” she started to yell.

Curragh muttered, “Mother fucker.” He called over his shoulder, “I’m taking her to get help! Shut the fuck up!”

When he got to 18
^th
Avenue, he shouted up to Kara’s floor. Lights turned on in the first and second floors, too. Curragh dipped under the awning to hide. When the balcony door on the third floor opened, he called up, “Kara! Come down here. You other people, this is none of your fucking business. Go back to bed!”

Groggy grumblings came from the other apartments. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know. Lover’s quarrel?” “God, what time is it?” “You wanna stay up?” “Jesus, who shouts at a window at this hour?” “No, let’s go back to bed.”

Soon the door opened next to him and Curragh’s heart stopped as he looked over.

Kara stared out at him. Her hair was messy from tossing and turning. She gasped at the sight of the half-naked, battered woman in his arms and ushered them inside, looking right and left to see if anyone saw. He did a quick scan, too, and his ears had already been on intense alert for the whispers of curtains or the clattering of blinds pulled back. There were none in the other buildings.

They rushed upstairs. Kara’s eyes were extra wide as she led the way, looking back at them over and over. “What happened?”

“Thank you for knowing this wasn’t me.”

Kara swung open her front door and held it as they passed through. “Of course it wasn’t you!”

“Well, you think I’m a criminal,” he muttered, laying the woman gently onto the sofa. Grabbing a cream-colored throw blanket from the back of it, he tucked her in and then turned to Kara. She was staring at him like she didn’t like what he’d just said, but there were worse things to worry about right now, and arguing was useless.

“Where did you find her?”

He gave her a rundown of what happened, leaving the part out about jumping the rooftops like no human could. As she listened, she went to the bathroom and wet a white hand towel with hot water, eyes narrow, lips tight. He watched her kneel by the victim, dabbing the woman’s forehead and cheeks with tenderness. To her, she whispered, “You’re safe now. Rest.” The woman’s eyebrows lifted a little. Maybe it was the sound of a woman’s voice that had gotten through. Curragh didn’t know. But for the first time she focused on something. Tears began to fall, and Kara leaned in and kissed the woman’s frown. She got up and turned to Curragh.

“Okay. I don’t know what to do. Come here.” She motioned for him to follow her into the bedroom. The sight of her blankets tumbled on a soft mattress in a sleigh-bed frame was more than a little distracting. Hitting his chest to grab his attention back, Kara whispered, “You brought her here because you couldn’t be questioned or seen. You really do live outside the law, don’t you?”

He nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Her arms were crossed and disapproval glared back at him. “Jesus, what am I doing with you? I should have reported you the first night I met you. Why am I helping you?”

He glared at her, wishing he could relax and act like they were on the same side. But they weren’t. “You’ve got her now. Do what you have to do.”

Kara sighed. She padded over to pick up a piece of paper and pen off her bedside table. Asking him to repeat the address where the Russian’s had done this, she wrote it down. “Okay. Thank you. You need to get out of here.”

He followed her back to her living room, eyes on her swaying hips. Then his glance fell to the victim. If anyone touched Kara, he would rip them apart. Literally. Had he known about the woman when he’d stood face to face with those evil pricks, he wouldn’t have acted like he was checking his phone. He would have pulled their heads right off their fucked-up necks.

If only I’d known.

The woman had finally closed her eyes. Her breath was coming in a short, soft rhythm. Merciful sleep had found her.

Kara sighed and turned to face him. She looked determined and lost at the same time. He lifted her chin. “You’re good, and I’m not,” he quietly told her. Her eyelashes flickered. He leaned down and kissed her nose. “Fuck. I can’t even be near you without...” Heading for the door with heavy steps, he heard her dialing. A dispatcher answered, “911. What’s your emergency?”

As he closed the door, Kara’s voice had a slight tremble to it. “I need an ambulance. I’m a police officer. A woman has been raped.”