Did I? My uncertainty stung like salt rubbed into the open wound that was my own indignation. Whoever the tabby was, she was a murderer. But she was also a tabby cat. The species needed her just as badly as it needed me. Did that mean she should literally get away with murder?
Based on the expressions around me, the guys had come to an unspoken, unanimous conclusion: yes. She should get a walk—at least from the death penalty—because of her gender. They thought they could reform this murderess, whoever she was. Or they at least thought it was worth a try. Even Marc, who met my eyes unflinchingly.
My father cleared his throat, effectively cutting off the retort I hadn’t even thought of yet. All eyes turned toward him, and I noticed idly that no one was looking at poor Harper anymore. Our interest had shifted from the dead guy to the girl who’d introduced him to his current state of rigor mortis.
Our Alpha eyed each of us in turn. “We’ll cross that bridge when it crumbles beneath our feet. For now, I believe the most important question is, Who is she? While I seriously doubt she killed her entire family, the fact remains that she’s running around the southern U.S. killing strays, so I’d say there’s a very good possibility she’s no longer on good terms with her Pride. But without more information, or a stronger scent, I couldn’t begin to guess which Pride that is.”
My father dropped his shoes on the ground in front of his feet and glanced around the barn. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve had enough excitement for tonight, and we need some time to think about all this. I’m going to bed, and I suggest the rest of you do the same. Except for Jace and Ethan, of course.”
Ethan nodded, and he and Jace came forward to wrap the body for its date with the industrial incinerator.
I turned to Marc, intending to ask if I’d get away with murder just because I had ovaries, but before I could even open my mouth, my father popped his knuckles. Several at once.
My eyes closed in dread. Knuckle-cracking was never a good sign.
Marc elbowed me and I opened my eyes to find the Alpha watching us both. As I’d expected.
“You two pack your bags before you go to bed.” My father leaned against the van and pulled on one black dress sock, then stepped into his shoe. “I want you both on the first flight out in the morning from Houston International.”
“Where to?” Marc asked, pulling me toward him. I let myself melt into his chest, pulling his arms around me as my head fell back to rest against his shoulder. I didn’t want to go anywhere. We’d only been home for two days, and I’d rather spar with Ethan twice a day for the next month than go out on another assignment.
“New Orleans. If memory serves, Kevin Mitchell still lives there. I want you to meet up with him and find out what you can about Harper. Check out the restaurant and the alley, and see if you can figure out what he was doing there. Then drive out to Picayune and look around his apartment. I’ll get you the address.”
My father paused to put on his other sock and shoe, then stood and gathered the rest of his clothes. “Talk to his neighbors. Be discreet, of course, but find out if any of them saw him with a woman who could be the tabby. Get a good description. While you’re doing that, I’ll work on her identity from another angle. I have a contact in Venezuela who should be able to tell us who’s missing a daughter, and why.”
My mouth dropped open, and I clamped it shut before anyone noticed. “You have a contact in Venezuela?” How could I not have known that?
“Faythe, I’d been to six different continents before you took your first step. When will you stop sounding surprised that I bring a bit of worldly experience to my position?”
“I’m not surprised, Daddy. I’m just ready to accumulate a little of my own.”
He raised one brow. “Fine. Start with New Orleans. And, Faythe?”
“Yeah.”
“Be careful what you ask for. Life has a way of giving you what you want, whether you’re ready for it or not.”
I frowned. “Why do you say that?”
With a cryptic smile, the Alpha strolled past me and through the barn doors. A moment later, his voice floated out of the darkness. “I got you, didn’t I?”
Chapter Eleven
Kevin Mitchell met us at baggage claim. I didn’t recognize him until he stepped into my path and stuck his hand out, his broad smile brightening an otherwise ordinary face.
“Faythe Sanders, you look amazing!” he said, brown eyes shifting upward as his gaze slid over my denim shorts before stalling at the low neckline of my shirt. His leering appraisal made me wish I’d opted for painter’s coveralls instead of the snug black tank top. Or maybe a big paper sack. Rather than shaking the hand I extended reluctantly, he used it to pull me into an intimate hug, as if we’d known each other for years, when really I’d only met him once before.
Bristling, I broke free from the involuntary embrace and bent to pick up my bag, determined to get Kevin’s brain focused on business and keep it there. He was only a few years older than Marc, but my gut had labeled him a dirty old man the minute he’d made eye contact with my breasts. If that’s where he thought my eyes were, I didn’t want to know where he’d look for my brain.
But I was pretty sure where to find his.
“Hi, Kevin.” I glanced at Marc and started to take his hand out of habit. But then I stopped. I didn’t want either of them to think I was using Marc to shield myself from unwanted attention. Instead, I gripped my bag in both hands, though it wasn’t heavy, and met Kevin’s eyes candidly as I introduced him to Marc.
“Marc Ramos, Kevin Mitchell.”
“We’ve actually met before, but it’s been a while,” Marc said, extending his hand. His expression remained admirably neutral, in spite of the possessive growl I knew he held ready deep in his throat.
Kevin studied the offered hand for several seconds, as if inspecting it for grime, and my grip on my bag tightened as I watched Marc’s eyes harden and his shoulders tense. This wasn’t going to be pretty. I could already tell.
“Of course.” Kevin finally accepted Marc’s hand, but instead of shaking it, he squeezed it, and to my horror, Marc squeezed back. “Who could ever forget Greg’s pet stray?”Marc’s hand tightened visibly around Kevin’s fingers, his digits going white. Again. Both men clenched their jaws, Kevin in pain, and Marc in an obvious effort to control his temper and keep from breaking Kevin’s hand. Off.
Why couldn’t guys find a more original way to test each other’s manly prowess? Arm wrestling might have been more subtle. Or maybe comparing the length of their…canines.
I elbowed Marc in the ribs, and he let go. Then he turned an insincere smile on me for a moment before aiming it at Kevin. “I guess this is your big chance.”
Kevin raised one eyebrow at Marc. “For what?”
“To prove yourself. Isn’t that why you’re here? You think if you impress the boss’s daughter, he’ll finally make you an enforcer.”
His verbal jab jarred loose an old memory and I realized I’d actually met Kevin not once, but twice, the first time nearly eleven years earlier. I’d been just a kid when Kevin applied for a job as one of the south-central territory’s enforcers. My father accepted him into our Pride from his birth Pride, but turned him down as an enforcer, along with four other tomcats, including my brother Ryan.
Though Marc hadn’t quite been eighteen, he’d gotten the job. And apparently he wasn’t above lording that over Kevin, though I could hardly blame him after the stray comment.
“Actually, I just want to help.” Kevin swallowed thickly and made an awkward attempt at a smile.
Marc nodded, wearing his business face, nearly expressionless and impossible to read. “Good. Keep that in mind, and we’ll be fine. But if you forget your altruistic intentions, we’re going to have a serious problem. Got it?”
For a moment, Kevin said nothing, and I could almost see the possible answers cycling through his brain as expressions flitted across his face. “Look, I’m just doing Greg a favor,” he finally said, settling on an arrogant I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about look as he tried to imply that he and my father had a much closer relationship than they actually did.
No one was fooled.
Marc threw his backpack over one shoulder, snatched his overnight bag from the floor, and took off toward the parking lot, without even a glance back to make sure we would follow him.
I scowled at Kevin, then raced to catch up with Marc.
In the parking lot, as the muggy Louisiana heat settled in around us, Kevin stormed past Marc, and we followed him to a green four-door sedan with a dent in the rear bumper and a four-inch scratch on the driver’s-side door. Kevin came around the car to unlock the front passenger-side door first, holding it open for me with an inviting smile. I almost admired his tenacity. Marc did not. He took my bag from me and tossed it onto the front seat along with both of his own, then reached through to the back door and unlocked it himself.
He held the back door open for me as I climbed in, then slid over to sit directly behind the driver’s seat. Marc settled onto the seat next to me and slammed the door on Kevin’s irritated pout. By the time our driver had stomped around the car and unlocked his own door, his resolute smile was firmly in place once again. He was resilient; I had to give him that.