Pride (Shifters #3)(58)

The headline read: Father Mourns Missing Daughter.
Kaci’s dad was still alive? If so, what the hell was she doing here alone?
Michael took a deep breath, then launched into an explanation he’d obviously already given the others. “On August 28, Roger Dillon came home from work to find his wife and sixteen-year-old daughter dead in their backyard. Mauled by an animal. Kaci was missing.”
Cold waves of shock washed over me, combining with the frigid air to numb me from head to toe. My fingers throbbed with each painful beat of my heart. “How could we not know about this?” My voice sounded hollow, fuzzy.
My father sighed, clearly frustrated, and rubbed one hand across his creased forehead. “I’m sure the Canadian council knew. Has anyone ever heard of a Canadian Alpha named Dillon?” Heads shook silently, and my father’s frown deepened. “If there is one, this could very well be a strike from a rival Pride. A play for more territory.” 
“That would explain why they left Kaci alive,” Blackwell said, already nodding as he tightened his grip on his cane. “Take the land and the daughter.”
“What about the sister?” I asked, bothered by such an obvious hole in the theory.
Malone shrugged, arms crossed over his chest. “Accidents happen.”
Yeah, right. But that wasn’t what I meant. “What kind of dam has two daughters and no sons?”
“That is unusual, but not really impossible,” my father insisted.
“It’s unheard of.” I propped one boot on an exposed root at the foot of the tree and stretched to reach the branch over my head, just to have something to do with my free hand. “A werecat family structure like that would be big news all over the world, from the moment that first daughter was born. We’d all have heard of them.”
“Unless the council tried to keep it quiet, to avoid just such an attack from an enemy Pride.” Uncle Rick pointed at the printout I still held, and I handed it back to Michael.
Okay, that made pretty good sense. A tabby was her Pride’s greatest resource, and rivals would be jealous of any Pride with two tabbies. But…
“Even if it were possible for one Alpha to have two daughters, what about the father? Wouldn’t he be the primary target of such an attack? Why strike before he gets home? And what about the enforcers? The attackers would have had to go through at least half a dozen to even get to the wife and daughters. Right? But no other bodies were found. Which reminds me, why in he—” Oops. “I mean, why on earth would the father call the human authorities into a werecat matter? That’s just asking for trouble from all involved. There would be questions, and biological evidence, and—”
“I think you’ve made your point,” my father interrupted, his expression an odd mix of pride and embarrassment. He knew I was working my way around to my stray-tabby theory.
“No, she hasn’t. What are you trying to say?” Malone demanded, scowling at me.
“Daddy…” I faced my father, pointedly ignoring Malone. Jace shook his head at me from over my uncle’s shoulder. But the truth had to be heard sometime, and I was obviously the only one willing to say it. “It wasn’t a hit. I don’t think the Dillons are werecats.”
“That’s not possible,” Blackwell said, just as Malone snapped, “That’s ridiculous.”
I arched my brows at them both. “More ridiculous than a single dam giving birth to two tabbies and no toms?”
“Well, there’s an easy way to find out.” My father put a hand on my shoulder, warning me to keep quiet. “Paul, has Colin Dean left yet?”
“No.” Blackwell glanced at his watch, his other hand clutching his cane. “Not for a couple of hours. He’s sitting with Brett.” No doubt Blackwell’s idea of the punishment fitting the crime. And I had to admit I liked it—though not as well as I’d like to see Colin neutered.
Daddy’s iron gaze landed on Jace. “Go get him.”
Jace jogged obediently toward the lodge. I trailed him with my eyes, not the least bit surprised to see Marc watching from the porch. He followed Jace inside, and though I couldn’t hear what they were saying, it was obvious they were both upset.
Michael cleared his throat to regain our attention, flipping through the papers in search of something in particular. “The human authorities assumed it was a wild-animal attack because it looked like a wild-animal attack. And because the Dillon home is very isolated, surrounded on three sides by thick forest populated with deer, wolves, and at least two species of wildcat. Actual wildcats.” He paused, still glancing through the pages, then pulled one from the pile triumphantly.“Here we go. In the two weeks following the Dillon massacre—” my brother held up the page to show me the dramatic headline “—forest rangers shot four cougars, two wolves, a bobcat, and a bear. The locals went a little overboard trying to make sure they got the animal responsible.”
Which they obviously had not done. Proof that werecats exist would have made front-page news the world over.
I squinted, staring at another black-and-white photo on the paper Michael held, this one of two men in hunting gear, grinning like fools as they held the corpse of a cougar upside down between them, the poor cat’s head dragging on the ground.
Gorge rose in my throat, and I swallowed it, keeping my lunch down with sheer will. “Well, that’s just…lovely.” I couldn’t find a word graphic enough to describe such pointless slaughter. At least we ate the animals we hunted. “What about Kaci? What does it say about her?”
“Officially, she’s missing and the investigation is still open. But an aunt told the local paper that they don’t expect to find her alive. Last month her dad bought a burial plot next to her sister and put up a stone memorial.”
Well, at least that was in our favor. Morbid, but definitely good from our perspective. No matter what happened next, Kaci couldn’t go back to live with her father, if he was truly human. That wasn’t safe for him, or for us.
The back door of the lodge slammed, and we turned as one to see Colin trudging across the grass toward us, Jace on his heels.
“You rang?” the blond tom said, not bothering to screen malice from his tone.
Paul Blackwell stood straight on his crooked old spine, both hands on the curve of his cane. “Until that plane leaves the ground, you are in this jurisdiction and under my authority. You will adopt an attitude of respect, or I will see you pay for your impertinence. Can you wrap your thick skull around that, Dean?”
Colin nodded curtly, his gaze focused several inches over his Alpha’s head. The Canadian import was one big motherfucker—Lucas was the only one of us who could look him in the eyes—and he towered over the old man. But size isn’t everything, which Colin’s own cowardice had proved.
“Good. If you want to make it home in one piece, listen up and answer Councilman Sanders’s questions.”
Still scowling, Colin turned expectantly to my father, reluctant curiosity written in each frown line on his face.
“Your father is Alpha of one of the Ontario Prides. Curtis Dean, right?”
Colin’s curiosity deepened, as did his put-out glower. “Yes. Why?”
“Give me his phone number.”
Colin’s eyes went wide in panic. “Why? What did I do now?” 
Paul Blackwell growled viciously, glaring at his disgraced enforcer, and I nearly choked on surprise. I’d had no idea such an ancient set of vocal cords could produce a sound so fierce. “Give him the number.”
The unfortunate tom glanced from his Alpha to my father, and prattled off a series of numbers. My dad dialed, then dismissed Colin with one careless wave of his hand. Colin stepped back, but lingered at the edge of the circle to listen in, obviously still convinced the call involved him.
“Curtis?” my father said into his phone. “This is Greg Sanders, from the U.S. council.” He paused, and we all listened to the elder Dean’s gregarious greeting. “Yes, it has been a while.” Another pause, during which Colin’s dad apologized for his son’s abominable behavior. “Don’t even mention it,” my father said, somehow managing to sound generous. “That’s between you and your boy now. I have a question for you on a separate matter.”
Behind me, Colin sighed in relief, but his stance remained tense. He clearly wasn’t looking forward to the afternoon’s family reunion  .
“Do you guys have an Alpha named Dillon?” my father continued, turning to Michael for confirmation. “Roger Dillon?”
Michael nodded, and all eyes went back to my dad’s phone, waiting for the answer. But I knew what it would be before Mr. Dean ever made a sound, because Kaci’s father was no Alpha. He wasn’t even a werecat. I had no doubt about that.
“No, there’s no Dillon,” Councilman Dean said, curiosity pitching his voice a little higher. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, we’re just trying to straighten something out down here. I’ll tell you all about it when I have more time.”
But we all knew that when he did, he would not be mentioning Kaci. Since she was either born into or infected in Canadian territory, one of the local Alphas might decide he had a legitimate claim on the “extra” tabby. Such an assertion would make it very difficult—politically speaking—for us to hold on to Kaci, assuming she wanted to stay with us. Which I didn’t doubt for an instant.