“Thanks.” I bent to get a good whiff of the doorknob, then stepped carefully toward the window, where I knelt to compare the scent of the vaguely hand-shaped carpet stain to that on the knob. They were from the same tom. “Okay, Dan, I need a box cutter, or a sharp serrated knife and a plastic sandwich bag.” Dan headed into the kitchen and I turned to Parker, who’d begun to stack pieces of the broken furniture in a pile near the door. “I’m gonna call in a report, then I’ll help with the cleanup.”
He nodded and continued cleaning as I dug my phone from my pocket and autodialed my dad.
“Faythe?” my father said into my ear.
“Yeah, it’s me. We’re here and we’re safe, at least for the moment.” His sigh of relief was brief but real; I’d put to rest his fear that we’d been ambushed again, or that we’d walked into a trap. “We’re going to clean up the worst of the mess then go talk to a few strays and see if we can identify the one who got away with Marc.”
“Faythe—”
“Dad, I know what I’m doing. We’ll be careful. I’m not going to sit here licking my fur while Marc’s out there suffering who knows what.” At least, I hope he’s still out there, some soft, traitorous voice whispered from deep in my mind.
But not from my heart. My heart knew he was still alive, no matter how much blood he’d lost.
Springs creaked as my dad leaned forward in his chair, two hundred fifty miles away. “Faythe, you don’t have enough experience interrogating—”
“We won’t be interrogating, we’ll be interviewing…” That’s like interrogating without throwing punches.
“And Dan Painter doesn’t have any.”
“But we have Parker, and he’s been with you for years. We’ll be fine.” I squatted next to the wall and dug my fingertips beneath the baseboard, heedless of the grime that lodged beneath my nails.
“No. I’m bringing Brian home on the next flight from Atlanta—”
“Brian has no more experience than I do!” Irritation fueled me as I jerked the board away from the wall. Wood splintered, and a two-foot length of trim broke off in my hands.
Technically Brian Taylor been enforcing for his father for a couple of years before coming to work for mine. But I was on the fast track toward Alphadom, and he hadn’t yet moved beyond working with his fists. “He’s never even seen an interrogation!”
“Which is why he’s coming home,” my father continued, and I cursed myself silently for interrupting. My dad was upset, too, but he never let grief or worry impede his logic. “I’m sending you one of the wonder twins. Do you want Jace or Ethan?”
I had to think about that for a moment. They were both great fighters, and I’d trust either with my life. But Ethan had more experience with interrogation—despite what I’d told my father, I had a feeling it might come down to a few thrown punches—and while I knew Jace would do everything he could to help us find Marc, his presence in Marc’s house would be uncomfortable for both of us. For all three of us, once Marc was back.
“Ethan. But, Dad, it’ll take him hours to get here. We can’t wait that long.” Especially considering that Marc had already been missing—and bleeding—for five hours.
“You can, and you will.”
Fear washed over me, disguised as anger, and my arm shot out before I could stop it. The detached strip of wood flew across the room and lodged in the Sheetrock over Marc’s couch.
Oops.
My father sighed again. “Do I even want to know what that was?”
I ignored his question and twisted to put my back to Dan and Parker, who were watching me in a mixture of surprise and worry. “Do you want Marc to die?” I demanded, forgetting to think before I spoke as fear and frustration crested inside me.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” My father’s voice had gone hard, but it was a brittle hardness, as if one more word from me might shatter his composure. That rare glimpse into my Alpha’s psyche scared me, as if I were seeing something I shouldn’t. A weakness.
I made myself take a deep breath. A long one. My dad was just as worried about Marc as I was. But he had to think about the rest of us, too.
“Faythe, if he can’t hold on for a few more hours, there’s nothing we can do for him.” The weariness in his voice told me exactly what it cost him to admit that. “Clean up the mess and bury the bodies.” Because our incinerator was a couple hundred miles away and we couldn’t spare anyone to pick up the corpses. “Get me a list of the strays you want to talk to, and I’ll get you any information we have about them. By then, Ethan will be there.”
“Dad…”
“That’s final, Faythe,” he said. My hands curled into fists, but I resisted throwing anything that time.
“Fine.” The concession tasted bitter on my tongue, and I couldn’t spit it out fast enough.
The chair springs squealed again, slowly, and I knew my dad was leaning back in his chair now, probably with his free hand over his eyes. “We’ll get him back.”
“I know.” But I didn’t know that. Not for sure. Nor did I know how to handle the next few hours of not searching for Marc.
I said goodbye to my father and Alpha, closed my phone and slid it into my pocket. Then I looked up to take the steak knife Dan offered me, handle first. “What’s it for?” he asked, and it took me a moment to realize he meant the knife. It takes a brave man to hand an angry werecat a knife. Especially when he doesn’t know what she plans to do with it.
He nodded and continued cleaning as I dug my phone from my pocket and autodialed my dad.
“Faythe?” my father said into my ear.
“Yeah, it’s me. We’re here and we’re safe, at least for the moment.” His sigh of relief was brief but real; I’d put to rest his fear that we’d been ambushed again, or that we’d walked into a trap. “We’re going to clean up the worst of the mess then go talk to a few strays and see if we can identify the one who got away with Marc.”
“Faythe—”
“Dad, I know what I’m doing. We’ll be careful. I’m not going to sit here licking my fur while Marc’s out there suffering who knows what.” At least, I hope he’s still out there, some soft, traitorous voice whispered from deep in my mind.
But not from my heart. My heart knew he was still alive, no matter how much blood he’d lost.
Springs creaked as my dad leaned forward in his chair, two hundred fifty miles away. “Faythe, you don’t have enough experience interrogating—”
“We won’t be interrogating, we’ll be interviewing…” That’s like interrogating without throwing punches.
“And Dan Painter doesn’t have any.”
“But we have Parker, and he’s been with you for years. We’ll be fine.” I squatted next to the wall and dug my fingertips beneath the baseboard, heedless of the grime that lodged beneath my nails.
“No. I’m bringing Brian home on the next flight from Atlanta—”
“Brian has no more experience than I do!” Irritation fueled me as I jerked the board away from the wall. Wood splintered, and a two-foot length of trim broke off in my hands.
Technically Brian Taylor been enforcing for his father for a couple of years before coming to work for mine. But I was on the fast track toward Alphadom, and he hadn’t yet moved beyond working with his fists. “He’s never even seen an interrogation!”
“Which is why he’s coming home,” my father continued, and I cursed myself silently for interrupting. My dad was upset, too, but he never let grief or worry impede his logic. “I’m sending you one of the wonder twins. Do you want Jace or Ethan?”
I had to think about that for a moment. They were both great fighters, and I’d trust either with my life. But Ethan had more experience with interrogation—despite what I’d told my father, I had a feeling it might come down to a few thrown punches—and while I knew Jace would do everything he could to help us find Marc, his presence in Marc’s house would be uncomfortable for both of us. For all three of us, once Marc was back.
“Ethan. But, Dad, it’ll take him hours to get here. We can’t wait that long.” Especially considering that Marc had already been missing—and bleeding—for five hours.
“You can, and you will.”
Fear washed over me, disguised as anger, and my arm shot out before I could stop it. The detached strip of wood flew across the room and lodged in the Sheetrock over Marc’s couch.
Oops.
My father sighed again. “Do I even want to know what that was?”
I ignored his question and twisted to put my back to Dan and Parker, who were watching me in a mixture of surprise and worry. “Do you want Marc to die?” I demanded, forgetting to think before I spoke as fear and frustration crested inside me.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” My father’s voice had gone hard, but it was a brittle hardness, as if one more word from me might shatter his composure. That rare glimpse into my Alpha’s psyche scared me, as if I were seeing something I shouldn’t. A weakness.
I made myself take a deep breath. A long one. My dad was just as worried about Marc as I was. But he had to think about the rest of us, too.
“Faythe, if he can’t hold on for a few more hours, there’s nothing we can do for him.” The weariness in his voice told me exactly what it cost him to admit that. “Clean up the mess and bury the bodies.” Because our incinerator was a couple hundred miles away and we couldn’t spare anyone to pick up the corpses. “Get me a list of the strays you want to talk to, and I’ll get you any information we have about them. By then, Ethan will be there.”
“Dad…”
“That’s final, Faythe,” he said. My hands curled into fists, but I resisted throwing anything that time.
“Fine.” The concession tasted bitter on my tongue, and I couldn’t spit it out fast enough.
The chair springs squealed again, slowly, and I knew my dad was leaning back in his chair now, probably with his free hand over his eyes. “We’ll get him back.”
“I know.” But I didn’t know that. Not for sure. Nor did I know how to handle the next few hours of not searching for Marc.
I said goodbye to my father and Alpha, closed my phone and slid it into my pocket. Then I looked up to take the steak knife Dan offered me, handle first. “What’s it for?” he asked, and it took me a moment to realize he meant the knife. It takes a brave man to hand an angry werecat a knife. Especially when he doesn’t know what she plans to do with it.
