Read Werewolves of Chicago: Curragh (Werewolves of... Book 6) for Free Online Page A

well. She glanced to his friend, a male equal in size—almost black eyes, dark hair, dark beard and very hard features. The two of them walking side by side was like something out of the Wild West films. His friend leaned in toward her, nostrils flared as he neared.
    “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
    Both men’s footsteps slowed, and Curragh’s eyes were narrowed in disbelief. Then his friend punched him in the arm and they had a silent communication that ended with Curragh looking like he wanted to kill the guy.
    “Answer me. What could you possibly be doing here?”
    “We lost a dear friend,” his buddy offered, but she didn’t believe him for a second. Not with that tone.
    “Oh really? What’s your dear friend’s name?” Kara’s face was like stone. “I’d love to pay my respects.”
    Curragh’s jaw ticked and he cocked his head a little. “Don’t let the suit fool you. She’s a cop.”
    Her stomach twisted in anger. “Cops wear suits, asshole. I’m an investigator.”
    “Ooooo…” his friend smiled, enjoying this. How much does he know? “She’s calling you names. You gonna take that, Cur?”
    Curragh made Kara seem relaxed compared to him. “The lady is pissed that I saved her reputation.”
    Kara exploded, “I am not pissed you saved my…I’m pissed you—” she bit off the rest and looked to the wall at her right, struggling for control. She hadn’t meant to lose her temper like that. With a quick look behind her, she was grateful to find they were alone. Just the three of them. Her and these two giants. She wished she had heels on again so that she wouldn’t have to leap up to punch Curragh in the face.
    “Let’s go,” he snarled, turning on his heel and heading for the exit.
    His friend stood where he was, dark eyes glinting in the florescent light. “You’re very interesting to me.”
    “Xavier! NOW!”
    The dark-eyed one turned his head. Even through his beard she could see how strong his jaw was. And his cheekbones were very high. Looking back to her, he smiled disarmingly. “He never talks to me like that. So, I think he means it.”
    “XAVIER.”
    “Yes. He means it. It was a pleasure, Ms…”
    “DON’T MAKE ME COME BACK THERE.”
    Kara glared at both of them. Curragh was waiting by the open exit door, ready to leap back and grab his friend. Soon she was alone in the hallway, torn to pieces on the inside.
    It was infuriating that she wanted him to come back, and also to never see him again. At war with herself, she began to shake. Taking several deep breaths, the normally very controlled detective leaned her back against the wall and waited for her blood to slow.
    “You coming?”
    She looked over and saw the be-speckled coroner sticking his head into the hallway from the door to her right. He glanced toward the exit and back to her, expecting an answer. She nodded, pushed off the wall, and configured her expression with as much detachment and disinterest as she could muster.
    “Yeah. Sorry.” Inside she listened to his description of the injuries the Russian had incurred before the gunshot wound to the head.
    The young doctor was only about five years younger than her, but she felt like he was a child. He stammered too much and could barely meet her eyes. Finally, she interrupted his ramblings of scientific mumbo jumbo and asked, “You’re telling me there’s NO evidence of who did this to him?”
    Dr. Peters blinked and withdrew his hand from pointing to a bruise on the Russian’s neck. “Nothing. They must have known what they were going to do…and you know…wore gloves. Prepared for it.”
    Kara sucked on her lips, staring at the corpse. “Cover him up,” she grated, pacing the room twice before, “What about under the fingernails. Any skin tissue there?”
    “Only his own,” the kid shrugged. “That’s the first place we look.”
    “Of course it is. Alright, great. Thank you.” She flipped around and headed for her car.

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