Rogue (Shifters #2)(53)

“No sign of the tabby yet,” he said after a brief greeting.
“But we’ve got Dan Painter here, and he wants to talk to you. He doesn’t seem to know anything about the strays we’re looking for—” Andrew and Luiz, obviously “—but he says he knows the tabby personally. And he’ll only speak to the man in charge.”
Chapter Twenty-six
The phone still pressed to his ear, my father arched his brows in surprise and dropped his pencil on his desk. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah!” Painter’s voice was soft from distance to the phone and high pitched from stress, but still easily recognizable.
“Fucker nearly broke my jaw, but I told ’em I’m only talking to the main man.”
“That would be the Alpha,” Parker said from somewhere over the line. “And there’s no cussing in front of the Alpha.”
Yeah, I was still working on that one myself.
“Sorry,” Painter mumbled, just as Marc said, “Should I put him on the phone?”
My father closed his eyes, considering the request. Then he opened them and said, “Please.” The phone clattered as it changed hands, and then he was speaking to the informant himself. “Mr. Painter? I understand you have some information for me.”
“Yeah, but I got a request first. I want in.”
My father frowned. “In?”
“Yeah, in. In the pack, or whatever you call it. The group. The in-crowd.”
I smiled, as images from high school popped up unbidden, and my father seemed on the verge of a chuckle himself. “Mr. Painter, we call it the Pride. And Pride cats don’t act in anticipation of a reward. They act out of honor. Do you understand what I’m saying?”“Yeah, I get it.” Springs creaked over the phone, as Painter shifted in whatever seat he occupied. “You want me to spill my guts for free.”
“I want to be sure that your character is up to the standard I require of my Pride cats, and by volunteering your information, you’d go a long way toward showing me that.”
Damn, he’s good. I exchanged a knowing grin with Jace.
“Yeah, I see what you’re saying,” Painter said. “I tell you what I know, and you’ll let me play your reindeer games.”
“You have my word that if you help us in this matter, I will give you an opportunity to prove you belong with us. How does that sound?”
There was silence over the line for several seconds, as Painter thought the offer over. Then he sighed. “Fine. You want to know about the woman, right? You call them tabbies?”
“Yes. How do you know her?” My father picked up his pencil and began scribbling as Painter spoke.
“I met her about a week ago, at this club in Mississippi. First girl-cat I ever saw, and I knew what she was right away, even with her walkin’ around on two feet.” Painter sounded so proud of himself that I had to smile.
My father nodded, still writing. “You’ve been following her?”
“Shi—er, shoot, no. I’ve been travelin’ with her. Keepin’ her company. I didn’t know she was killin’ people, though. I swear I didn’t know that until the other day, the first time I called you.”
“How did you find out?”
“I followed her. We drive during the day, then check into a hotel. She goes out every night. Alone. One night I followed her. I think she knew I was there, but she let me tail her anyway. She went to another strip club, and about half an hour later she came out with this dude. Another cat. She took him out back, and the next thing I know, she’s standing over his body. I nearly pissed my pants, ya know? But she just pulled him over to his car and heaved him into the trunk. Then she drove him to the middle of nowhere and dumped him in a field. I told you guys about that one. Remember? Then I ran into this fu—I mean, this big guy here, and another chick, and she knocked me the fu—Knocked me out cold. First time I ever been hit by a girl.”
Jace elbowed me, and I frowned, still embarrassed that I’d silenced our biggest lead before he could tell us what was going on.
“So you’ve been traveling with this tabby…” my father continued. “Where is she going?”
“Man, I don’t know. Somewhere new every night. I think she’s following someone. She gets these calls on her cell phone from some guy with an accent. He just says the name of a town, then hangs up.” 
Son of a bitch! She was getting calls, too. Only I was betting hers were coming from Luiz, rather than from Andrew. What the hell were they doing?
“So she gets a call, you both drive to a new town, where she goes out and kills someone. Then you call us and report the murder?” my father asked, his pencil motionless over the paper. “Why would you do that?”
“I heard chicks are valuable to you guys. Girl cats. I thought you might be interested in this one. Plus, she’s kind of makin’ a mess in your territory. Thought that information might be worth something to you.”
Painter wanted the best of both worlds. He was enjoying his time with the hot young tabby, but snitching to us the whole time, hoping for an invitation to join the Pride. An idiot’s version of a double agent.
My father hesitated, then shook his head. “What is this tabby’s name?”
“She calls herself Manx. Won’t tell me any more than that.”
“Where is she now?” My father tapped his eraser on the legal pad.
“Like I told these guys, I don’t know. She got one whiff of them and took off!”
A second later, Marc was back on the line. “So, what do we do with him?”
“Does Painter have a car there?”
“Yeah.” Marc gave a short, ironic laugh. “We’re sitting in it right now, in his hotel parking lot.”
“Good. I’m sending reinforcements. Cuff him and send him back with Owen, when the others get there.”
“No problem,” Marc said.
My father hung up the phone and stood, eyeing the four of us gathered on the sofas. “Go. Now. Meet up with Marc and Parker. Owen, bring Painter back in one piece. I have several more questions for him. The rest of you check out Henderson in teams. No one works alone. If you can’t find anything in a quick once-over, I want one team watching the local strip club—Michael said there’s only one—for the tabby. The rest of you keep looking around town. Watch the motels, restaurants, and grocery stores in particular. They’re going to have to eat and sleep somewhere.”
Jace was already in the doorway, ready to go. Vic stood in front of the couch, looking just as eager.
“Keep in contact with me and with Marc,” my father said, eyeing me in particular. “And we need Luiz and Andrew alive, if at all possible.”
Vic frowned, clearly disappointed. “Both of them? Why?”
“There’s still a slim chance Andrew might be able to help Faythe. He probably doesn’t remember actually being infected, but I don’t want to execute the best witness on her behalf, just in case he can vouch for the partial Shift.”
“And Luiz?” Jace asked from behind me.
“The missing tabbies,” I answered for my father, pleased that he and I were finally thinking along the same lines. “If they’re still alive, he’ll know where they are. And their parents will want a word or two with him.”
My father nodded.
“No problem.” Vic dug his keys from his pocket. “Let’s go. I’m driving.”
“Go start the air conditioner in the car,” I said, glancing down at myself. “I just have to change into some work clothes.”
Vic gave my snug T and shorts a quick once-over, then shrugged and headed for the hall. Jace and Owen followed him to the car and I raced toward my room, barely pausing when I heard my mother’s car pull up out front.
I picked up my bedroom door and shimmied through the gap before propping it back in place. I was going to insist that Marc fix my door personally. It would teach him a lesson for making such a mess, and…well, he’d have to actually come near me to repair the damage.After changing I met my mother in the hall, looking perfectly composed in white slacks and a blouse the exact shade of pink as her cheeks. She carried a large white leather purse in one hand and an afghan over the opposite arm.
“Where’d you go so early?” I asked, frowning as she stopped to brush a strand of hair from my forehead.
“I had brunch with Mrs. Jennings and her daughter. Look what Natalie made for the silent auction.” She slipped her bag over one arm and shook out the red-and-gold afghan. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Lovely,” I said, for lack of a better response.
“Look at the intricate pattern,” my mother insisted, bringing a corner of the blanket close to my face. I looked, but couldn’t tell one…stitch, or whatever, from another. And what was that smell? It was kind of familiar. I leaned closer to the afghan, inhaling deeply. It must be Natalie.
The scent was soft, and feminine, and…full. Or something like that. And definitely human, so I must have been imagining the familiarity.
“You know, Natalie’s expecting her second.”
I arched my brows at my mother, not following the change of subject. “Second what?” Mortgage? Conviction? Chance at a new life?
“Baby, of course. Her second baby. The doctor says this one’s a girl.”