Werewolves of Chicago: Curragh (Werewolves of... Book 6) by Faleena Hopkins

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.”

Chapter Twenty-Four
    S itting in the back of the ambulance, Detective Monaghan held the wounded hand of the victim. There were bruises around her wrists, so Kara was gentle, knowing a soft touch was needed for many reasons now. “You’re going to be alright,” she whispered, bending close. She exchanged a look with the EMTs riding in back with her—one male and one female, both early thirties. Ever since they’d put the woman on the gurney, she’d begun staring off again. It was heartbreaking and disturbing. Kara could only imagine what she was seeing in her mind’s eye.
    At the hospital, Detectives Rodriquez and Slater stood waiting outside with a psychiatrist who specialized in overcoming physical abuse and trauma. Dr. Matthews would wait until the woman’s injuries were cared for before doing her best to start the road to recovery.
    “Don’t forget to tell them we need DNA samples,” Kara quietly reminded the EMTs.
    “You got it.” They unloaded the gurney and rushed her inside.
    Slater approached with Rodriguez on his heels. “We have to question her.”
    When women were hurt with sexual crimes, it hit home in a way that made Kara very tired. “We will, when she starts talking again.” All she wanted now was to bring that poor woman some justice. “They have people at the scene?”
    The men nodded. Rodriguez jogged his head toward the cafeteria as they walked inside. “Let’s get some coffee.”