Feldman looked surprised for an instant before his face went carefully blank. Then he shut the door in my face and slid the dead bolt home.
“Hi, Dad.” My cell pressed to my right ear, I sank onto the weight bench in the tiny third bedroom Marc had turned into a minigym. There was barely enough room to turn around between the bench press and the punching bag—which he’d obviously bought used— and I wondered how he could exercise without becoming claustrophobic.
“I was about to call you.” Leather creaked over the line, but there was no squeal of springs. He was in his armchair in the office. “Seven of our men made it into the woods along highway 563 about an hour ago, as soon as the fire crews cleared away the wreckage of Eckard’s car. You’ll have three more toms out there before midnight.”
“Thank you.” Those two words couldn’t possibly convey the depth of my gratitude, but at the moment I couldn’t think of how better to say it. “Thank you so much. We’ll be heading out with them in a few minutes.”
We’d stopped at Marc’s for more supplies, and to change into heavier clothes. The current temperature was twenty-two degrees. Too cold for even our natural fur coats to keep us warm. So we’d go out in human form, bundled to twice our normal sizes.
I slowly spun one of the round weights on its bar, trying not to think of how sick and weak Marc would likely be when we found him. “But before we go out, I owe you an update. We figured out why Marc cut a hole in Eckard’s back.”
My father’s armchair creaked again. “I’m all ears.”
“He was removing some kind of high-tech digital tracking device.”
For a moment, there was only silence over the line. “Someone was tracking Adam Eckard? You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. And he wasn’t the only one. We just spoke to Ben Feldman, and he had one, too. He took it out of his own back, if you can believe that. And he says it’s happened to several of the toms here. Daddy, someone’s been taking strays one at a time and putting these tracking things under their skin, then they wake up the next morning with no memory of it. If they wake up at all.”
“The missing toms…” my father whispered, clearly catching on much faster than I had.
“Exactly. We think something went wrong with a few of the implantations, and those strays just disappeared.”
“Feldman told you all this?”
“Some of it. And we pieced together the rest. Unfortunately, Feldman thinks Marc’s involved in this, on your orders, and that the attack on Marc was an attempt to stop the whole thing. But you’re never going to guess who’s really doing it.”
More leather creaked as my Alpha rose from his chair, and I heard his footsteps on the office floor as he paced in thought. “Kevin Mitchell. Though he’s probably working with his father. Or maybe Malone.”
It was my turn for surprised silence. “We’re almost sure. How did you know?”My father chuckled. “I’ve been doing this a while, Faythe. Kevin’s the piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit. And you’ve already established that he’s involved in the attack on Marc.”
“Oh.” I leaned against the wall and my free hand rubbed the cracked bench pad aimlessly.
“So, Marc’s out there injured and alone, with evidence of a Pride plot to tag and monitor strays without their knowledge.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up.” Another rush of gratitude flooded me when I realized my dad was assuming Marc was still alive. “And he’s probably trying to bring us proof.”
“How did he know the chip was there?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. But I hope to be able to ask him soon.” My heart pounded fiercely over the possibility, and I stood, ready to start the search immediately. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“Good.” My father’s footsteps paused along with his words, and I sensed a less pleasant change of subject. “Michael and Manx are on their way home, and they’re going to drop Vic off on the way to help with the search.”
Well, that was good, but… “Is it…over?”
“Yes. They took her claws.”
My whole body suddenly felt heavy, and I sank back onto the bench press, devastated by the weight and permanence of such a…tragedy. Manx would never be the same again, and I couldn’t decide whether I should be happy that she’d survived, or sad for what she’d lost, and the juxtaposition of those two emotions left me feeling confused and off balance.
“Faythe…there’s more.”
My heart dropped into my stomach at the dread echoing in my father’s voice. If he didn’t want to say something, chances were good that I wouldn’t want to hear it. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to come home.”
“I will. As soon as we find Marc. I want to bring him to the ranch to recuperate. We can’t leave him here with the strays trying to kill him. And I don’t think the council is in any position to say no to that, considering what one of your fellow Alphas has been up to lately. I can’t wait for that load to hit the fan—”
“No, Faythe, you have to come home now. Kaci’s getting worse. She passed out this afternoon.”
A groan began deep in my throat, and my hand clenched around the metal bar. “You mean passed out, like ‘fell asleep at the table,’ right?”
“No.” My father exhaled heavily. “She fainted in the hallway and hit her head pretty hard on the tile. She felt a little better after dinner, but then she fell asleep at seven-thirty. She’s getting weaker, Faythe. If she doesn’t Shift soon, she’s not going to have the strength to do it at all. And you know what Dr. Carver said.”
Yes, I knew. The doc thought we should force her Shift, but I had no doubt that if we did, she’d never forgive us. Never forgive me. She’d never trust me again, and she needed to trust someone.
“I can talk her into Shifting.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt. “But, Dad, I can’t leave until we find Marc. I can’t.”
My father sighed, sounding every bit as conflicted as I felt. “I know how you feel. But the guys can look for Marc without you, and you’re the only one who can help Kaci.” Because everyone seemed to agree that I had the best shot of convincing her to Shift on her own. “But I’m not going to order you to come home. I can let Dr. Carver monitor a forced Shift, if you think she’d make it through okay. He’s coming for a look at Manx’s hands anyway.”
I was pretty sure Kaci’d be fine, physically, after a forced Shift. But not psychologically. She needed to want to Shift, or we’d be in the same position a few weeks later. Only she’d no longer trust me to talk her through it.
“It’s your decision,” my father continued, and my heart beat so hard my chest actually ached.
My head fell against the wall at my back. Less than a year earlier, I’d whined about never being allowed to make my own choices. What the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t choose between Marc and Kaci!
My dad cleared his throat to recapture my attention. “Faythe? What are you going to do?”
It was strange to hear that question coming from the man who, in the past, had simply told me what I would be doing.
“I don’t know,” I said, and immediately hated the sound of what had to be the weakest sentence I’d ever uttered. “Kaci clearly needs me. But I need to be here when we find Marc.” The weight room swam as tears formed in my eyes, and I rubbed them away roughly, silently scolding myself. Tears wouldn’t help Marc. Or Kaci.
“What would Marc say, if you could ask him?” my father asked gently.
I closed my eyes, wiping away more moisture. “He’d say that he’ll be fine without me, but she needs me, and I damn well know it.”
“And would he be right?”
“Yes.” My next exhalation seemed to deflate me completely. “But I’m coming back as soon as she Shifts.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I flipped the phone closed and glanced up to find Dan watching me from the hall, barefoot and naked from the waist up, a clean shirt in one hand. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough.” He smiled sympathetically.
“And?”
His smile grew, even as the sad wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “You’re doin’ the right thing. Parker and I will be here for Marc. And he really would want you to go.”
He was right. “Thanks.”
Dan nodded, and turned to pull his shirt over his head, but as he lifted his arms, light from the dusty bulb overhead shined on something I’d never noticed. A small, smooth white scar right between his shoulder blades.
“Dan, wait!” My pulse raced, and I flipped my phone open, autodialing my father again.
“Faythe, what’s wrong?” he asked in lieu of a greeting, as Dan raised one brow at me in question.
“Dad, can you have Dr. Carver leave for the ranch now? I think I just found the proof we needed.”
Sixteen
We made it home by four-thirty in the morning with no trouble, and I actually managed nearly three hours of sleep while Dan and Ethan took shifts behind the wheel. They’d insisted I wasn’t alert enough to drive, and I wasn’t going to argue.In spite of the early hour, my parents were both up when we walked through the front door, my mother wrist-deep in a colossal pile of shredded potatoes, while grease warmed in two massive cast-iron skillets on the stove. She was making hash browns to go with the huge platter of bacon already fried and ready to eat. Next would come eggs, and I knew by the scent of the entire house that homemade biscuits were already baking in the oven.