Radley frowned and nodded reluctantly.
“If you want us to help you, you have to help us first. Help yourself. Someone on that mountain is murdering humans, and I think you’ve seen something. Or know something. You may not have seen it happen, but you’ve seen the other cats. Right? Smelled them, maybe?”
Radley nodded hesitantly, and my heart thumped in surprise and suspense. Michael was doing it. His good-cop routine was breaking through where Marc’s bad cop had gone horribly wrong. This was no ordinary drifter, accustomed to being threatened and coerced into cooperation. Radley was smart, and he was proud. He could not be pushed past the point defined by his self-respect.
There was more to this stray than we were seeing. I would have bet my life on it.
“Can you help us?” Michael paused before adding the final touch—that last nugget of respect he knew Radley couldn’t resist. “Please?”
Radley stared at the blood-splattered hardwood, as if mentally trying to talk himself out of whatever he was about to do. When he looked up, he met only Michael’s eyes, as if that would block the rest of us from hearing him. We hadn’t respected him—hadn’t earned his cooperation. Michael had.
“Look, I mind my business and try to stay out of trouble.” He shrugged. “But I might have seen these cats you’re talking about.”
Michael nodded, playing his part while the rest of us watched in tense silence. “Where?”
Radley sighed, resigned. “There’s this cabin on the other side of that hill.” He tossed his head toward the window, and the mountain I could barely see past the inky predawn darkness. “Ten, maybe twelve miles to the northwest. There were several cats staying there a couple of days ago. They may be gone now. I don’t know. But that’s the last place I saw them.”
“Who are they?”
“I told you, I don’t know.” Of course, he’d also told us he didn’t know where they were, but no one seemed inclined to mention that and risk him bottling up. “They’re just cats. All toms, of course. And all strays from what I can tell.”
Which made me wonder how Radley had become a stray. I didn’t recognize the scent of his infector.
“Can you show us this cabin?” Michael asked, rocking slowly back and forth on his feet.
Radley shook his head vehemently. “No. Hell no. In one breath you tell me these jokers are killing people, and in the next you want me to take you there? No.” Blood-matted brown hair slapped his brow as his head whipped back and forth.
“You seem to be under the mistaken impression you have a choice in the matter,” Lucas growled, jerking him back sharply. One curt shake of my father’s head, and Lucas shoved him forward in frustration.
Without his hands free, Radley fell forward and would have tipped over if not for the hand Michael steadied him with. “Please.” My brother held the stray’s gaze. “You could save us hours of stomping through the woods.”
Radley hesitated, and I could practically taste temptation in the scent pouring from his body. “Can you get them to drop this bogus charge?”
Michael closed his eyes, as if the stray were asking for the impossible, and I bit my lip to keep from smiling. This was where they’d been heading all along with the whole attempted-murder bit. If Radley had wanted me dead, he could easily have killed me. We all knew that.
Not that I believed his wholesome and gallant act either, though…
Exhaling audibly, Michael glanced over his shoulder at our Alpha, who’d retreated to the edge of the room, next to Marc. My father nodded, arms crossed over his chest.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Michael stood as he faced the stray who’d just agreed to help us in exchange for his life, which probably hadn’t been in much danger anyway.
He should have bargained for his freedom, I thought, barely stifling the smug smile stealing over my face. That’s what he’s really in danger of losing. Then a sudden chill washed over me as I realized that the stray who’d practically ripped open my stomach in front of two witnesses was facing a lighter sentence than I was.Michael gathered his legal pad and pen from the end table and was already scribbling furiously when he glanced at our father. “Think we can do anything to make Mr. Radley more comfortable?” And with that, my brother’s status as good cop was firmly established.
“Of course.” The Alpha stepped into the dim light from the dusty bulb overhead and made a slicing gesture to Lucas with one hand. Lucas nodded and pulled a pocketknife—nowhere near as nice as the one I’d lost for him—from his back pocket. As my cousin worked his blade between Radley’s wrists and the first band of duct tape, my father turned his attention to Jace. “You and Lucas see that Mr. Radley gets a shower and something to wear. I’ll put together a team to find the cabin, and you can all leave after our guest has had something to eat.”
What? The bastard nearly cut me in half, and my father was practically rolling out the red carpet for him.
Jace nodded and offered Radley a hand up as Lucas jerked the last wad of tape from the stray’s bare ankles, accompanied by his hiss of pain. Then they each took one of his arms and escorted him down the hall toward the bathroom, his toes barely brushing the floor with each step.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, I twisted to face my father, encouraged by how dull the bolt of pain in my stomach now felt. “You’re giving him a shower? And a meal?” I demanded. “Why don’t you just lay me out on the floor and let him finish the job?”
“Faythe, stop—”
“Shut up, Michael,” I snapped, one hand gripping the back of my chair in preparation to stand. “When there’s nothing but twenty stitches standing between your guts and the motherfucking floor, then you get to talk. Until then—”
I stood, anger pushing me past growing pain and the fear of ripped stitches. And suddenly the whole damn room went black. Those must be some pills, I thought, just before my legs buckled beneath me.
Eleven
“—many did she take?” My father’s voice sounded oddly hollow, as if he were speaking into one of those tin-can telephones Ethan and I played with as kids. And everything was dark, but with a weird sort of backlit glow—light shining through my closed eyelids.
“Jace said he gave her three.”
Marc. I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, dark curls shining in the dim glare overhead. “Here she comes,” he said, concern audible in his voice and visible in the worry lines etched across his forehead. “Feel any better?”
“I’m fine. What happened?” My fingers brushed velour at my side, and I realized I was on the couch. Lying down. “Well, crap. I fainted?”
Marc chuckled, worry melting from his face to reveal relief and more than a little sympathy—definitely not my favorite of his expressions. He lowered himself onto the edge of the couch next to me, careful not to jar me. “Nah, you just passed out. You stood up too fast, and you probably took one too many of those little white pills.”
“But Jace said—”
Marc frowned, cutting me off. “Jace weighs a lot more than you do. He’s also an idiot.”
“It’s not his fault.” I took the hand Marc offered and pulled myself upright slowly, ignoring the dull protest from the stitches in my stomach. As I leaned against the back of the couch, the rest of the room came into sharp focus. My father sat on the coffee table in front of me, slumped in his wrinkled suit jacket, his elbows propped on his knees.
Michael stood in the kitchen doorway behind him, watching me with a steaming mug in one hand. Coffee, based on the scent. Other than the three of them, the living room was empty, but the splatter of running water came from down the hall. Radley was still in the shower. I couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes.
“How’s your stomach?” My father asked, peering into my eyes.
“Still hurts, but it’s only unbearable when I move.”
“Well, I have to give you credit for creativity, at least.” Michael ran one hand over his face, as if trying to rub the feeling back into his features. “I can’t remember anyone ever passing out to avoid being scolded before.”
“What?” Then I remembered what I’d been doing when my legs fell out from under me: complaining about my father’s decision to offer hospitality to the cat who’d left his mark on my stomach. Permanently. “Oh, yeah. I probably got carried away. But seriously, Daddy, if I’d carved up some poor cat’s stomach, you guys would have me bound and gagged. But you’re feeding and clothing him. How exactly is that fair?”
“He was bound and gagged,” Michael reminded me, betraying no trace of a smile. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him look more exhausted. He’d been working long hours with the tribunal on my behalf, and now thanks to Radley and the strays, he’d gotten less than three hours’ sleep in the last twenty-four.
“Was.” I stressed. “He was bound and gagged. Now he’s probably in there using the last of my shampoo. He better not come out smelling like lavender.”
Marc’s hand landed gently on my knee, and a jolt traveled up from the point of contact. “I don’t like him either, but your dad’s right. We don’t have any real reason to hold him. Or any place to hold him.”