That’s right: my source, my idea, my party. I couldn’t help a little thrill of adrenaline at the knowledge that I’d made a vital contribution to the effort.
I sat straighter on the couch—between Marc and Jace, to my extreme discomfort—and faced Blackwell in the chair he’d claimed opposite my Alpha. “I just spoke to Brett Malone, who says he has proof that his father framed the south-central Pride for the murder of the thunderbird. Finn.”
Blackwell took a moment to process the information, and to his credit, I had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. He’d had more than seven decades to work on his poker face.
Finally the elderly Alpha gripped the curve of his cane and trained a steady, surprisingly intense gaze on me. “Proof in what form?”
“His own testimony, and the dead bird’s feathers, stained with his killer’s blood.”
“And who is this killer?”
I desperately wanted my father’s guidance before answering that question, but couldn’t get it without making an obvious glance in the opposite direction. So I went with as conservative an answer as I could. “One of the Appalachian territory’s enforcers.”
Blackwell frowned at being stonewalled but did not press the issue. “Did the Malone boy volunteer this information?”
“No.” I fidgeted in my seat and had to remind myself that I’d done nothing wrong; I wasn’t usually under such scrutiny from an Alpha other than my father unless I was in serious trouble. “I called him looking for evidence. For your investigation.”
“And what did he ask for in return?” Blackwell may have been old, but he was no fool.
“Sanctuary.” I felt no obligation to reveal my father’s job offer because technically Brett hadn’t asked for that, thus it fell outside the scope of the question.
Blackwell went silent again, and I risked a glance at my father. He gave me a tiny nod, and I exhaled silently, then returned my attention to the elderly Alpha as he began to speak. “When will you have this evidence?”
“Brett should have already left. So…tomorrow, hopefully.” I wasn’t sure whether he’d fly to save time, or drive to retain possession of his car.
Blackwell stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “Unfortunately, I can’t wait that long. Present your evidence to Councilman Di Carlo, when it arrives. I’ll be waiting for his report.”
My father stood. “You’re leaving now?”
“I think that’s best. I’ll be ready in half an hour.” The elderly tom nodded to his grandson, who came to his side like a trained puppy.
“I’ll send an escort with you to the airport.”
Blackwell hesitated. Normally such precautions wouldn’t have been necessary. But if the sitting council chair were injured while leaving our territory, some of the other Alphas might consider that a reflection of our security. Or lack thereof.Finally the visiting councilman nodded, and my father walked him to the office door. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
My mother checked on her chili, then rejoined us in the office and closed the door. My dad sighed and turned to Parker. “I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, Parker, but according to Brett Malone, it was Lance who killed the thunderbird.”
For an instant, relief was plain on Parker’s face. No one was dead. No one related to him, anyway. Then the ramifications sank in, and relief melted slowly from his features. He blinked, and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “So Malone was protecting him by blaming us?”
My father nodded, and Jace leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, anger flaming behind his bright blue eyes. “Yes, but I can guarantee that your brother’s safety was not foremost on Calvin’s mind. He was saving his own tail, and framing ours.”
“We have a choice now, and I’d like to get your input before I make a decision,” my dad said. “Once we get in contact with them, we can tell Kai’s Flight the truth and try to clear our name, but in doing that, we’d be implicating your brother. Or we can keep quiet about it, in which case we have to find a way to either fight these thunderbirds or convince them to stop fighting us.”
Parker stared at the floor, straight strands of salt-and-pepper hair hanging over his face. “You want me to decide whether or not to turn my brother over to the thunderbirds?”
“No.” My father shook his head firmly. “That’s my call. But I am interested in your opinion.”
Parker sat up then, his face lined in pain and bitter conflict. “Okay, if we turn him over, they’ll kill him. Right?” he asked, and the rest of us nodded. Even my mother, who sat with her ankles crossed primly beneath her chair, her expression just as guarded as my dad’s. “But if we don’t, they’ll keep killing us.”
“Yes. But it’s a bit more complicated than that,” my father said.
“Because of my dad?”
Again our Alpha nodded. “I’m assuming that if we turn your brother in, our chances of gaining your father’s support drop dramatically.”
“You might say that.” Parker raked one hand through his hair, and in that moment he looked much older than his thirty-two years.
“Maybe there are choices we’re not seeing…” I ventured, and both of them turned to me expectantly. “Maybe we could offer Lance sanctuary, too, in exchange for his testimony to the birds.” My father started to object, but I rushed on before he could. “Via video, or something. I don’t know. I don’t have the details worked out yet, but there has to be some way to fix this without handing him over to be slaughtered.”
But before anyone could argue—or agree—an electronic version of an old-fashioned telephone ring cut into the air, and I glanced down to see that I still had Jace’s cell phone in my lap. I picked it up and glanced at the display, hoping to see Brett’s name.
Patricia Malone. I reached across the rug to hand Jace his phone. “It’s your mother.”
Jace raised one brow at our Alpha, asking permission to take the call. My father nodded, and a sick feeling unfurled deep inside my stomach. Jace flipped open the phone. “Hello?”
“Jace?” His mother’s voice was only vaguely familiar, and I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Patricia Malone. “I just thought you’d want to know that Brett’s dead.”
Nine
“What?” Jace went pale. His forehead crinkled and his blue-eyed gaze met mine as my heart threatened to collapse beneath the mounting pressure of guilt. “That’s not possible. I just talked to him.” He stood, and probably would have left the room if his brother’s fate weren’t of crucial consequence to our entire Pride.
“Don’t tell me what’s possible—I saw the body,” his mother snapped, true anguish fueling her anger. But then her tone softened. “You spoke to Brett today?”
Jace sank back onto the love seat, almost seeming to deflate in front of us. “Well, Faythe did. But I was here.” He glanced at me, and I could only stare back at him as I clutched Marc’s hand with my good one. It was my fault. I’d pressured Brett into helping us, and now he was dead.
And we had no evidence.
“What did he say?” His mother’s voice dropped even lower. Like she didn’t want to be overheard.
“Nothing. They were just talking.” Jace bent with his forehead cradled in one palm. “What…? How did it happen?”
Mrs. Malone sighed, and her anger seemed to bleed away with that one soft exhalation. “It was an accident. He and Alex were sparring in the woods. Just training. Brett lost his balance and fell out of a tree.”
“He fell out of a tree?” Jace glanced first at me, then at our Alpha, to see if either of us was buying the coincidence. My father’s steadily darkening scowl said he was not, and my own expression hopefully mirrored his. We’d told the few humans in his life that Ethan had died when he’d fallen out of a tree, but it was no more plausible a story for Brett than it had been for my brother.
The tree bullshit was a message to us, from Malone. He’d found out what Brett was doing and had killed his own son as much to hurt us as to keep his own dealings from going public. And it sounded like Alex, Malone’s second-born son, had done the honors.
The knots in Jace’s family tree made mine look straight and strong in comparison.
“You can’t be serious.” Jace leaned back on the love seat and stared at the ceiling.
“Hon…”
“Mom, you don’t really think Brett fell out of a tree. Today, of all days?” She started to interrupt again, but Jace spoke over her. “You can pretend you don’t hear things, but you know what’s going on. I know you do, so you can’t seriously believe Brett was out goofing off in the woods—today—and fell out of a tree. What did they tell you? That he broke his neck?” His eyes watered, and his voice halted as he choked up. “How closely did you look?”
“Honey…”
Jace shot to his feet and stomped toward the bar but made no move to pour a drink. “Did you see his neck, Mom?” he demanded.Patricia Malone sobbed over the phone, one great, heaving, hiccuping cry of despair that left me hollow inside, my guilt and regret a mere echo of her pain. Then she sniffled twice, and after a brief silence seemed to have herself under control. “I need you to come home,” she said, in little more than a whisper.