I dialed my father’s personal line on my way up the stairs, and punched the SEND button from the kitchen. As the phone rang, I rummaged through the fridge. My mouth was full of someone’s leftover burrito when Michael answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Michael, it’s me,” I said around a mouthful of cold beef and beans. “Let me talk to Daddy.” Why the hell was he answering our father’s phone, anyway? I took another bite and popped open a can of soda, deciding I didn’t care who I talked to, so long as someone came to pick me up. Soon.
“Faythe? Where the hell are you?” His voice dimmed, and I knew he was talking to someone else. “Go get Dad. Now.” I heard a door close, and Michael was back. “Are you okay? What happened? Did they let you go?”
“One question at a time.” I took a long swig of soda and felt my body welcome the caffeine like a soldier home from war. “First of all, we’re fine. A little banged up and pretty hungry, but basically okay. One of our captors turned out to be brain dead, and I took advantage.”
“Where are you?” Michael asked, relief obvious in his voice. A pen scratched paper as he began taking notes.
“Somewhere in Mississippi. Hang on a minute, and I’ll get you the address.” I shoved the last of the burrito into my mouth and chewed all the way through the empty dining room and out the front door. From the porch, I glanced up and down the block for a street sign while Michael relayed what I’d said to someone else on his end of the connection.
“Who’s we?” he asked me.
“Me and Abby. She’s locked up downstairs, but I’m about to break her out.”
“Is she…okay?”
“I think she will be. She couldn’t fight them off, but that may have saved her life. Dr. Carver will probably say she needs therapy, but if you ask me, she could use a good punching bag.”
There was silence over the line for a moment, as if Michael didn’t quite know how to respond. Then, finally, “What about you? Did they—” He stopped and started over. “Are you…?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
Michael exhaled in relief and a second later I heard him shuffling papers over the line. “Good. You got that address yet?”
“Working on it.” The house was on the middle of the block, and though I could see a street sign on each corner, I couldn’t quite make out what either of them said. I didn’t want to leave Abby alone to go look, nor did I want to waste time jogging down to the corner.
The house number was nailed to the front-porch support, in shiny brass numbers, 104. I was at 104 something-or-other street, somewhere in Mississippi. I’d almost decided to go ask a neighbor, but was still working out an explanation for my injuries and the fact that I didn’t know where I was, when I noticed the mailbox. It was one of those old wrought-iron things, attached to the wall of the house right next to the door. And it was full. Miguel must not have checked the mail all week.
The first envelope I grabbed was addressed to Occupant, at 104 Douglas Circle, Crystal Springs, Mississippi. I read the address to Michael, and he read it back to me as he wrote it down, spelling the name of the town to make sure he’d gotten it right.
I shoved the envelope back into the mailbox and went inside, locking the door behind me. A single dead bolt wouldn’t do much good if Miguel got back before we left, but it might at least give me some warning.
“Listen, Michael, I need to talk to Daddy. Now.”
“He’s coming. He was meeting with the council.” Something scratched against the mouthpiece on his end of the connection. He’d covered it up. “Wait, Faythe, here he comes. Dad, she wants to talk to you. She’s with Abby, and they’re both fine.”
Another pause as the phone changed hands. Then I heard my father’s voice. “Faythe? Is it really you?”
“Yeah, Daddy, it’s me.” Nerves tightened my chest as I spoke, and I resolved, once the excitement was over, to have a normal, calm conversation with my father. Just one, to see what it would feel like without the usual emotional charge.
He exhaled in relief, and I couldn’t help but smile. It was good to be missed. “Are you really okay?” Daddy asked, and I heard the tension in his voice. He expected the worst.
“I’m fine. Michael has the address.” I stopped by the fridge again and snagged an unopened package of cold cuts. Ripping open the bag, I stuffed four slices into my mouth, barely pausing to chew them before I swallowed, washing them down with more soda.
“I know. He’s already on the other line, sending the closest search party your way. We had five guys in Louisiana. They can be there in an hour and a half, barring catastrophe.” There was the barest of pauses as he inhaled, clearly steeling himself to hear the details. “Tell me what happened.”
I rubbed my forehead, trying to decide how to begin. “I wasn’t running away,” I said, leaning against the kitchen counter for support. “I want you to know that. I just went out to the barn to think.”
“We can talk about that later. It doesn’t matter now.” A chair creaked, and I knew he’d sat down behind his desk. “Are you in any immediate danger?”
“I don’t think so.” I closed my eyes, wrestling with indecision. I’d have to tell him everything eventually, but so much of it would be awkward over the phone. Taking a deep breath, I plunged ahead with the necessary information. “I bit through one guy’s throat and locked another in the basement.” I paused, waiting for his reaction, but none came. His exhale was long and smooth, and very controlled. He had something to say but was saving it for a better time. So I continued, “I haven’t seen the stray I fought on campus, and the other two were already gone when I broke out, and they shouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Good,” he said, and I knew he had his emotions in check. Having established that the immediate threat was over, he turned his attention to the next course of action. “I want you to take Abby and go to the nearest public building. A store, a gas station, anything you can find, so long as there are plenty of people around in case—”
“We can’t leave yet, Daddy,” I said, interrupting him. “I’m still looking for the key to Abby’s cage, or for something strong enough to knock the lock off. And I’m not in any shape to be seen in public.”
“Why? Are you hurt?” His voice was tight with anger, for once not directed at me.
“Just bruised,” I said, comforted when he exhaled in relief. “But I’m barefoot, and I’m sure my face looks like hell.”
“Are you sure you’re safe until the guys get there?”
“As safe as I’d be anywhere else,” I said, despite the voice of dissension in my head screaming for me to run away as fast as I could. “There’s no one left here to be scared of.”
“Who are they?”
“You know about Sean, and there was another named Eric, but he’s dead now. Luiz is the cat I fought on campus, but no one’s seen him in a couple of days. R—” I stopped in midsyllable, for a last second rephrase. “Miguel might have killed him, but I don’t think we can be sure of that yet. Miguel’s the jungle cat they smelled on Sara. He’s in charge.”
“The jungle cat. I’ll be damned,” he said, and I choked on a mouthful of soda. I’d never heard my father cuss before. “What about the fifth?”
I hesitated, thinking of my mother. Finding out about Ryan would kill her. “Are you alone?”
“I can be. Why?”
“Just make sure no one can hear you, and I’ll tell you the rest.”
He cleared the room while I finished off the lunch meat and drained the can of soda. Out of habit, I threw my trash away and rinsed my hands at the sink. Then I went in search of the key to Abby’s cage.
“Okay, it’s just me now,” Daddy said as I scanned the living room, picking through junk piled on end tables made of used fruit crates. “I take it you know the cat in question?”
I put one hand over my eyes, as if that would shield me from his reaction. “It’s Ryan.”
Silence, as he considered what I’d said. “Ryan.” Anyone who didn’t know my father might have assumed that he was calm because his voice was steady. I knew better. Daddy’s temper was like lava, slow-moving but unyielding, and hot enough to incinerate anything in its path.
“Yeah…Ryan.” I tossed threadbare couch cushions to the floor. “But before you decide what to do with him, you should know a few things.” I shoved my hands between the seat of the couch and the back, feeling for the key.
“What things?”
The living room had produced no keys, but on the right, a hallway led to four more doors.
“He didn’t want to be involved at all,” I said. “He only cooperated with Miguel to save his own life, and Mom’s. They told him they’d go after Mom, and he believed them.” I opened the first door on the left and inhaled deeply. From the scent alone, I knew I’d found Sean’s room. I didn’t stop to look; he didn’t have keys.
“That’s no excuse,” my father said, his voice as smooth and hard as polished stone. “They could never have gotten to your mother. Ryan should have—”
“I know. I’ve already been over all that with him.” I opened the second door and inhaled again. Bingo. It reeked of Miguel, and his room was a wreck. It would take forever to search.
“I’m not saying he shouldn’t be punished,” I said, picking through empty candy wrappers and loose change on the dresser. “I was tempted to rip his tongue out myself. I’m just saying that none of this was his idea, and he didn’t go along voluntarily.”
A strange grating sound met my ears through the phone as I squatted to search a small trash can beside the dresser, in case the key had fallen in. At first, I didn’t know what I was hearing, but then I understood: Daddy was grinding his teeth. “Go on,” he said, his voice barely audible.
Frustrated, I shoved the can aside. It didn’t matter how little Ryan had participated and why, because being involved at all was bad enough. Even if my father was willing to spare Ryan’s life—and it wasn’t looking good—at least two other Prides would demand my brother’s blood. Unless I could give them a good enough reason not to…
“He’s still in contact with Miguel and Sean,” I blurted, then rushed on before I lost my nerve. “Daddy, we can use him, if the council is willing to let him live.”
“Use him for what?” he barked over the line.
A fur coat, I thought, but held my tongue. Daddy certainly didn’t need any suggestions on what to do with traitors. His imagination was far more capable than mine in that respect. “To catch them.”
“What did you have in mind?”
I fell on my rear on the filthy carpet, stunned by his response. I hadn’t expected my father to care what I thought, and here he was asking for my opinion. Encouraged, I took a breath and jumped into the deep end of the pool. My father’s end. “Sean and Miguel are checking in with him by phone. If they call and he doesn’t answer, they’ll know something’s up, and they’ll run. And we may never catch them. But if we can get him to answer like nothing’s happened, they’ll keep going, and we can be there waiting for them.”
Daddy’s chair squeaked as he sat up suddenly. “You know where they’re going?”
“Yeah. They want one more girl.” Which reminded me that I still hadn’t told him what they wanted us for. There would be time to explain that later. Or maybe I should let Ryan have the honor…
One by one, I opened Miguel’s drawers, tossing clothes to the floor. Luckily, two of the four drawers were empty, another indication of how temporary their living arrangements were meant to be.
“Who are they after?” Daddy asked.
I hesitated, leaning against the empty dresser.
“Faythe?” His voice was hard and dark, if it was possible for a sound to be dark. “Tell me where they’re going. Now.” It was his business tone, the one no one ever challenged—until now. I couldn’t let Miguel get away. Not after what he’d done to Sara and Abby. Not after what he’d tried to do to me. I’d go after them on my own if I had to, but I stood a much better chance with my father’s help. And I knew how to get it.
“Are you willing to deal with Ryan?” My pulse pounded as I waited for his answer.
A pause, then, “Are you trying to negotiate with me?”
I crossed my fingers and swam in a little deeper, hoping I’d learned something since the last time I bargained with my father. “Yes.”
“Why? I want to catch them too.”
“I have a plan. And I want to lead the hunt.” I held my breath, preparing to have my request denied. I wasn’t disappointed.
“No, Faythe.” Now he sounded weary. “It’s too dangerous, and you don’t have the experience.”
Pushing away from the dresser, I took a firm stance, even though he wasn’t there to see it. “I had the experience to fight off Miguel and save my own life. I had the experience to kill Eric and break out of my cell. I had the experience to lure Ryan downstairs and lock him up.” My father tried to interrupt but I cut him off, desperate to have my say. “I deserve a shot at Miguel, Daddy, and I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you. I’ll work with a partner and however many of the guys you want to send with me. Just give me a chance.”
My father sighed. “If we’re negotiating, I need to know what you’re bringing to the table. Tell me who they’re after and outline your plan. Quickly.”
“Promise not to decide anything until you’ve heard me out,” I said, kneeling by the nightstand to rifle through X-rated magazines and packs of chewing gum.
“Fine.”
“They’re going after Carissa, but they’re driving, and it’ll take them all day to get there.” I dumped the contents of the night-table drawer onto the bed, and went through it with one finger. More loose change, more candy and gum wrappers, a Spanish-language audiocassette, and a coil of nylon cord. Hmm, where have I seen that before?
“When did they leave?”
“Sometime this morning. Ryan could tell you exactly, if you’re willing to deal with him.” I plucked a small bottle of Tylenol from the junk on the bed and popped open the lid. My shoulder and cheek throbbed dully, but it was nothing a couple of gel tabs couldn’t fix.
A pause, a thump, and the rustle of pages turning. Daddy had opened his trusty atlas. “Crystal Springs, Mississippi, to Oak Hill, Missouri. That’s at least a nine-hour drive. What do you have in mind?”
With the phone wedged against my shoulder, I shook two pills onto my palm and blinked. They weren’t Tylenol. And they certainly weren’t over-the-counter. Evidently Miguel had discovered something stronger than alcohol to help him escape the demanding life of a modern-day pillager.
Taking a deep breath, I dumped the pills back into the bottle and closed the lid, then dropped the container on the bed. “If you just move Carissa somewhere safe, you’ll never see Miguel. He’ll have a plan. He’ll sit outside and wait for her to come out alone. If she doesn’t, he’ll move on, and you’ll never even know for sure that he was there. He’s smart, Daddy.”
“You’re stalling, Faythe. Get on with it.”
Another deep breath. “Carissa’s about my height, maybe an inch or two shorter, but Miguel won’t know that. And her hair’s dark enough to look black at night. Mine’s a little longer, but he won’t know that either.”
“No. Absolutely not.” The desk chair groaned, and I knew he was on his feet. “I’m not going to give him another chance at you.”
“Just hear me out.” I spoke over his next objection. “The guys will be right there. The best and the fastest. Marc, Parker, Ethan, if he wants. And anyone else you can get there in time. You know the Di Carlo brothers will want a shot at the man who killed Sara. And goodness knows, Uncle Rick will want justice for Abby.”
My father sighed as if I was testing his patience. “He’d only need one whiff of you to know he’s being set up.”
Okay, so far so good. He’d only said no once. I could work with one no. “He might,” I admitted. “But I’ll wear Carissa’s clothes and perfume. By the time he gets close enough to recognize my scent beneath hers, the guys will already be closing in on him.”
“No. It’s too much of a risk.”
Damn. A second no. I sank onto the unmade bed, gathering my resolve. It was time to play my trump card. I’d really hoped I wouldn’t have to use it, but my anger raged just thinking about what Miguel had done, what he was still trying to do. I would do anything to stop him. To punish him.
Unfortunately, the key to negotiating with my father was to hide my desperation. Easier said than done.
“You’ve been trying to make me take an active role in the Pride since I was a kid. Is that still what you want?” I took out my nerves and frustration on Miguel’s pillow, ripping open an end seam as I waited for my father to take the bait. Feathers fell from the breach, floating to the floor to tickle my bare feet.
“I’d like nothing better,” he said, his voice cautiously optimistic.
“Good. I’m ready to compromise.”
Daddy laughed, and under the circumstances it sounded pretty strange. His chair groaned again as he sat back down, comfortable enough with the turn of the conversation to relax physically. “Let me get this straight. If I let you set the trap, you’ll quit school and train to take over the Pride?”
“Well, that’s where the compromise part comes in.” A smile snuck up on me and I realized with more than a little alarm that—just like my father—I enjoyed negotiation. Damn. I hate it when my parents are right. “If you let me set the trap, my way, I’ll agree to take next year off from school and work for you, on a trial basis.”
“Not good enough,” he said without a second of hesitation, and I knew I was no longer talking to my father. The Alpha had arrived. “Five years. It will take at least that long to train you, and I gave you five years for school.”
“No way.” I shook my head, though he couldn’t see it. “That’s too long, especially if I don’t like it. Two years, max.”
Static crackled in my ear as he turned on the speakerphone. I could almost see him thinking, eyes closed, hands crossed over his stomach as he leaned back in his chair. “Three years. And you give Marc another chance.”
Indignant, I huffed air through my nose. “Nice try, but my private life is not part of the deal. I’ll give you two and a half years, and Marc can partner me on the hunt. Take it or leave it.” A tingle zinged through me. I’d always wanted to say that to my father.
“You’ll stay within sight at all times?”
“Of course. Is that a yes?” I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
“Is that your final offer?”
“Yeah, and you’re damn lucky to get it.”
He chuckled, apparently amused by my attempt to hardball him. “Done.” He paused, and I heard what sounded like a pen tapping against the top of his desk. “That’s assuming I can get Umberto and Rick to go along, since this involves their Prides, too. And the Taylors. But I think I can convince them.”
Yes! A successful negotiation with my father was almost as good as another chance to kick Miguel’s ass. Both at once? Better than Christmas. I stood in front of the mirror doing Ethan’s victory dance, pointed fingers and all.
“Faythe?”
I glanced back at Eric’s phone, lying on Miguel’s bed where I’d dropped it when the urge to dance struck. Flushing from embarrassment, I grabbed it and held it back up to my ear. “Yeah. I’m here. Sorry, I dropped the phone.” I knelt on the floor and looked under the bed but found nothing more than a frighteningly thick accumulation of dust.
“I’ll have Michael make the arrangements.” More papers shuffled. “The guys should be there to get you in just over an hour. You’ll all be flying out of Jackson Municipal Airport on the first available flight. I’ll make the reservations. Do you need anything else from me?”
I hesitated, going over the plan in my head. “Yeah. I need one of Carissa’s brothers to stay behind and help, so everything looks normal. Or maybe one of the enforcers. Can you swing that?”
“I’m sure I can.”
“Great. Thanks, Daddy.” I left Miguel’s room and tried the next door. It was a bathroom, which I passed over in favor of the last remaining room. It had to be Eric’s, and my nose confirmed my guess.
“What about Abby?” I asked, tossing clothes from Eric’s dresser. We couldn’t bring her, even if she wanted to go. She’d been through so much already, and should never have to see Miguel again.
“One of the guys can drop the rest of you at the airport, then drive her back to the ranch. Her parents are pretty anxious to see her.”
I poked through Eric’s desk drawer, pushing aside pencils, stamps, paper clips, and several unlabeled CDs. “You can tell them it’s mutual. She’s something else. Very strong.”
“I’ll tell them you said so.” Coming from a cat, there was no bigger compliment than being told you are strong, whether physically or mentally. Speed and strength are our most valued assets.
“Daddy?” I paused in front of the bedside table, searching it with my eyes only, because the entire surface was coated in a sticky, sweet-smelling, brownish film. My best guess was that Eric had spilled soda and hadn’t bothered to clean it up. The key was not in the sticky scattering of junk.
“Yes?”
I paused, rethinking what I was about to say. But I’d made too much progress toward conquering my fears to back down now. “Can I talk to Marc?”
“He’s not here.”
“Oh.” I swallowed thickly, trying to hide my simultaneous relief and disappointment. The last thing I needed was Daddy reading anything into my request. I’d never hear the end of it.
“You’ll see him in an hour.” Daddy let his meaning hang in the air for me to do with as I would. He was learning.
“Oh. Okay.” Marc was with the nearest search party, on his way to Mississippi. My pulse raced, and I was glad my father couldn’t hear my heartbeat over the phone. At least, I didn’t think he could.
“I need to talk to Ryan now,” he said, gently drawing me out of my thoughts.
“Sure, just a sec.” I grabbed a pair of jeans lying over the back of Eric’s desk chair. Abby’s key was in the right front pocket, and I took the time for another abbreviated victory dance with it clenched in my fist. Then I ran all the way down the hall, through the living room and kitchen, and shoved open the basement door with the phone in one hand and the key in the other.
“Abby, I found it,” I shouted the minute my foot hit the first step. I stopped on the fourth tread, checking my signal to make sure I hadn’t lost the connection with my father. So far, so good. As I knelt to set Eric’s phone on the step, the first notes of “Bad Boys” rang out from my pocket.
Damn. Standing with Eric’s Nokia pressed to my ear once again, I shoved the key into one pocket, then fished Ryan’s phone from the other. The area code was unfamiliar; it couldn’t be my mother. I only knew of one other possibility.
Ryan confirmed it for me. “That’s Miguel’s dedicated ring.”