“His father.” I folded the invoice again and slid it back into my pocket. “And Alpha of the northwest territory. ”
Feldman’s eyes closed briefly, and the muscles of his jaw bulged. Then he met my gaze again and nodded. And opened his door.
“Thank you.” I stepped into the warm living room, but the guys had to edge past him carefully, because the stray refused to back up to give them more room—an Alpha move if I’d ever seen one. I couldn’t help smiling. Feldman was a good tom to have on our side.
When he closed the front door behind us, after a quick glance and sniff outside to be sure we were alone, I gestured to Jace with one hand. “Ben Feldman, this is Jace Hammond, one of my fellow enforcers, and another friend of Marc’s.”
Feldman nodded curtly at Jace, then waved a hand at the couch. I claimed the same cushion I’d occupied last time, and Jace sat next to me, while Dan perched on the arm of the couch. I opened my mouth to speak, but Feldman cut me off.
“Just because his father’s name is on that invoice doesn’t mean that Kevin has anything to do with the microchips.”
I nodded. “Especially if you believe in massive coincidences. But I don’t. Let me give you a little background on Kevin Mitchell. He was a member of our Pride for nearly a decade after losing a job as an enforcer to Marc. Then, a few months ago, he was exiled for breaking a very serious Pride law. He applied to be readmitted to his birth Pride, but his father—Milo Mitchell—was humiliated by his son’s disgrace, and refused to take Kevin back. So Kevin’s been here—exiled and humiliated—ever since. And I think he’d do anything to regain his place in Pride society. Especially if that anything included bringing misery to Marc, whom he’s hated for the better part of ten years.”
“Circumstantial…” Feldman said, but I could tell he was listening.
“Yes,” I agreed, elbowing Jace gently when it looked like he might interject. He had built no rapport with Feldman, and would better be used as silent backup until he had. “But enough to warrant a little investigation, don’t you think?”
Feldman nodded hesitantly. “What do you have in mind?”
“A joint effort for solid proof. If Kevin’s involved, there will be evidence in his house.”
“And if he’s not?”
I grinned, but my pulse raced. “Then we owe you a huge apology. And as a gesture of our good intent, we’ll give you everything we’ve found out about the company that manufactures these chips.”
“But by then you’ll already have gotten what you wanted—Kevin—even if you were wrong.”
I nodded, momentarily at a loss for how to reply. Fortunately, Dan was not.
“We’re not wrong, Ben.” He held Feldman’s gaze, and I was impressed with his nerve. “There was one o’ those chips in my back, too. And think what you want about Marc—he’d never do that to me, even if he was gonna do it to everyone else. He’s saved my ass a bunch a times. Why bother, if he was just gonna hand me over to the Prides anyway?”
Feldman studied his fellow stray for a moment, taking in his every movement, and likely his scent, as he judged Dan’s honesty. Finally, he was satisfied. “Fine. Tomorrow we’ll go to his house together. But if there’s no evidence that Kevin is involved, I don’t ever want to hear from you people again.”
“Fine. I promise.” I nodded eagerly. “Except for one thing. We have to go tonight.”
“Why?” Feldman frowned at me in suspicion. “What’s your hurry?”
I glanced at Dan and Jace in turn, seeking their opinions, and when they both nodded, I sighed and met our host’s gaze again. “Mr. Feldman, there’s part of this whole thing we haven’t told you yet.”
Feldman nodded, with no hint of surprise on his strong, dark features. “I gathered….”
I hesitated, then plunged forward, as if the words burned my tongue. “Adam Eckard didn’t kill Marc. It happened the other way around.”
Feldman went stiff in his chair. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I inhaled deeply, then continued. “Remember me saying we’d found a scar like yours on another stray’s back? Well, that stray was Adam Eckard. We found his body in the woods. Marc wasn’t dead when Eckard took him, and we’re not entirely sure how it happened, but Marc killed Eckard and it looks like when he took Eckard’s clothes for warmth, he found the scar, which he’d already seen on Dan. He put the pieces together and dug the chip out of Eckard’s back with his own pocketknife.”Feldman blinked slowly. “Adam Eckard is dead?” I nodded, and he continued. “And Marc Ramos is alive, carrying Eckard’s microchip.”
“Yes.” I nodded again. “And we need Kevin’s GPS tracker thing to find Marc.”
“And once we have, Marc can tell you exactly what really happened,” Jace said.
Feldman’s eyes went hard, and for a moment I thought he’d kick us out without another word. Instead, he stood, digging his keys from his front pocket. “Let’s go. I’m driving.”
Twenty-Four
We wound up taking two cars—Jace’s and Feldman’s—because Jace and I did not know Feldman well enough to close ourselves into such a small space with him, and he felt the same way about us. Which was perfectly understandable, considering his general distrust of Pride cats. And the fact that he’d probably already heard what we’d—okay, I’d—done to Pete Yarnell by then.
So I rode with Jace in his Pathfinder, following Dan and Feldman in a white, late-nineties-model Camry across two small, neighboring towns. It was ten-thirty by the time we pulled onto Kevin’s street, and for the most part, his neighborhood already seemed to be sleeping.
Dan called from his cell when we turned onto Kevin’s street, to give us the address, and both vehicles made a slow, quiet first pass, taking everything in.
Except for the house number flaking off the curb on the right side of his short, cracked driveway, Kevin’s house was virtually indistinguishable from its neighbors. White clapboard with black shutters. Four foot square concrete porch, with no rail and no plants. Small windows, tiny lawn, neat but bare. There was no garage, and the carport was empty. Two cars were parked on the street across from the house, but neither was the car I’d last seen Kevin driving four months earlier.
“I don’t think he’s home,” Feldman said over Dan’s open phone line, flicking his right blinker on as he came to a four-way stop a block past the house. “Wanna get a closer look?”
“Absolutely.” We drove around until we found a neighborhood playground two streets over, where we parked both vehicles side by side beneath the lone streetlight. Then we headed down the walking trail in the direction of Kevin’s street. If anyone stopped us—and that wasn’t looking likely; the whole town seemed to be sleeping peacefully—we’d say we were out for a little late-night exercise.
We snuck between two houses, then crossed the road quickly, as far as possible from the nearest streetlight. After tiptoeing past a sleeping cat in a fenced-in rear lawn, we could see the back of Kevin’s house, two lots down. Trees provided excellent cover in the dark, and we stepped carefully into Kevin’s backyard less than ten minutes after we’d parked at the playground.
All manner of normal family racket came from the house to the east: television violence, loud country music, the soft hum of a dishwasher. Kevin’s house was silent—a very good sign—but we went carefully anyway.
Jace and I went right and Dan and Feldman went left, checking each window. Most of them were covered by miniblinds, but all of those blinds were at least a decade old and had gaps through which we could easily see. There were two bedrooms, a living/dining combo, and a kitchen. I assumed there was also a bathroom, but that one had no window.
“Well?” I whispered when we met again beneath a tree in the backyard.
“Nothing.” Feldman shrugged, and when he stopped moving and talking, he faded so thoroughly into the shadows I could easily have overlooked him. “He’s not here.”
I agreed. “Let’s go in.”
“Will the lock be a problem?” Dan asked, and I shook my head. It was just a knob twist-lock—typical security for werecats. We had little reason to fear intruders, because even if the potential thief had a gun, chances were good that a werecat could disarm him before it went off. Humans are slow and noisy.
Of course, in Marc’s case, that theory had backfired….
I hesitated briefly, well aware that if we were caught, we’d get arrested. It was the possible consequence that gave me pause, not the moral dilemma of the act itself. I was sure Kevin was working with his father—and possibly Calvin Malone—on the microchip conspiracy, which was more than enough to justify a little breaking and entering. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Jace popped the lock on the back door with one quick twist of the knob. The screen door wasn’t even locked. We were inside in under two seconds. While most werecat characteristics carry over in human form to some extent, on two feet, our eyesight is our weakest sense. Fortunately, Kevin had left several lights on, so we could see pretty well without having to flip any more switches.