Prey (16 page)

That rotten bastard wouldn’t rest until he had every eligible tabby in the country barefoot and pregnant, married off to one of his easily manipulated sons, making him the most powerful Alpha on the Territorial Council.

“Damn it!” I snapped as Parker joined Ethan in the doorway, probably drawn by the sharp tone of my voice. “If someone doesn’t stand up to him, we’re gonna wake up one day and discover that we need Calvin Malone’s permission to take a piss in our own territory.” Michael sighed over my crude phrasing, but I ignored him. “How long is he going to get away with this?”

“As long as he’s able to retain the appearance of the moral high ground. He couches everything he does in the letter of the law, so we can’t even argue about his less-than-honorable intentions.”

Michael was right, of course, and that was the whole problem. Malone hadn’t actually broken any rules—not that we had proof of, anyway—so there was nothing we could do to stop him until he messed up. In the meantime,
we
seemed to be handing him screwup after
screwup, and an uncomfortable number of those instances could be laid at my paws.

“Well, that’s gonna change. He’s going to make a mistake sooner or later, and we’re gonna hang him with it.” Assuming he didn’t get his hands on our noose first.

I sighed, and stood when the oven timer went off. “When are they taking Manx’s claws?”

Parker scowled as I passed him. He must not have heard that part of the call.

“Tonight,” Michael said, as I slipped a thick mitt over my free hand and pulled open the oven door, flooding the room with the scents of butter and garlic. “Bert’s doctor is coming to do it, and we’re leaving for the ranch in the morning. Dr. Carver will follow up with Manx there.”

I pulled an aluminum baking sheet from the top rack and set it on a towel I’d spread over on the countertop.

“If you haven’t found Marc by then, Vic and I will join the search.”

“Thanks.” I wanted to insist we wouldn’t need them by then, but I didn’t want to jinx our efforts.

I hung up as Parker scooped huge piles of pasta onto paper plates, but when I sat down in front of my dinner, I couldn’t help wondering when Marc had last eaten. And as I picked at my noodles, aimlessly twirling a bite around my fork, one thought kept chasing itself through my head.

“We can’t kill Kevin. We have to find him and turn him over to the council.” Chewing ceased around the table as the guys’ attention shifted from their food to
me, surprise clear in each expression. “We have evidence against him.” The tape we’d taken from Eckard’s ancient answering machine. “And there’s no way the council can refuse to convict him once they hear that.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Ethan muttered, and I frowned at him. But he had a point. “If you hand him over to the council while Malone has so much pull, they’ll find a way to let him go. Especially if Malone’s the one he’s working with. He and his allies will be thrilled if Marc shows up dead, and they’d rather reward Kevin than punish him. And Kevin
has
to pay for this.”

“I know, and personally, I’m ready and willing to pull his heart right out of his chest, Temple of Doom style.” My brother nodded eagerly, but I pressed on. “But, Ethan, Michael’s right. If we kill Kevin in anything other than self-defense, we’ll be hammering another nail in Daddy’s political coffin.” And that might happen even if it
was
self-defense, because lately, we never knew who the council would agree to hear testimony from. Or whether they’d believe what they heard.

Because Kevin was now a wildcat, jurisdiction for his crimes technically belonged to the council at large, and if our Pride, or any faction of it—namely me and Ethan—acted without the council’s permission, my father would pay the price. Probably with his position on the council.

“We have to let the council handle this. But I don’t see any reason we can’t be the ones to turn Kevin over
to them. And if he resists capture and must be beaten into submission, so much the better.” I lifted my brows at Ethan, and he answered with an eager grin.

Unfortunately, the larger issue would be much harder to prove: that Kevin was working for one of those very council members who’d be sitting in judgment of him. Assuming we were right about that, surely the Alpha responsible wouldn’t have left evidence of his own connection to the crime. That way he could let Kevin take the entire fall, if necessary. And while I was more than willing to give Kevin that last big push, I wanted his coconspirator to go over the edge with him.

“Any idea how to find him?” Parker asked, a forkful of spaghetti near his mouth.

I glanced at my watch. “We still have at least a couple of hours until we can head back into the woods. Why don’t we go utilize our resources?” My focus shifted to Dan, who’d listened in silence up to that point. “Didn’t you say Ben Feldman was trustworthy?”

He nodded, and speared a slice of bell pepper on his plate. “Some. But that doesn’t mean he’ll help you.”

I shrugged. “It can’t hurt to try.”

We devoured the rest of our dinner, me included, because I knew I’d need the energy if we spent the entire night hiking through the woods in search of Marc. Then we piled into Parker’s car and made our second trip to Feldman’s house in less than twenty-four hours.

This time he was home.

It was twenty minutes after nine when we pulled to
a stop in front of Ben Feldman’s house, two small towns and nearly forty-five minutes from Marc’s driveway. A well-kept ten-year-old Toyota sat in front of the single-car garage, and the minute Parker cut his engine, the silhouette of a head appeared in the front window of the house.

Feldman knew we were there.

“Okay, I know I’m one to talk in this regard, but we can’t let this one go down like it did with Yarnell,” I said from the backseat, unbuckling my seat belt. “Another incident like that won’t do much to convince the stray population that we’re not out to get them.”

Parker nodded in agreement. “We play nice this time.”

Dan looked relieved, and I could tell he really respected Feldman—a rarity among strays, who typically spent very little time in one another’s company. Though Dan was shaping up to be an exception to that rule.

When we stepped out of the car, the head disappeared from Feldman’s window. We crossed the tiny brown lawn with me and Dan in front, Parker and Ethan close at our backs.

The front door opened before we could knock, and Ben Feldman appeared behind the storm door, backlit so that his face was a shadowy compilation of wide planes and rugged angles. Feldman was so broad he took up the entire glass panel, and so tall I couldn’t see the top of his head. He wasn’t quite as big as my cousin Lucas, but was easily the largest stray I’d ever seen.

And he did not look friendly.

“Painter? What the hell are you doing here?”
Feldman’s voice was like granite—smooth, hard, and beautiful. A pleasant surprise in all three respects.

Before Dan could answer, I stepped forward and smiled my brightest, friendliest smile, determined to win Feldman over, rather than fighting him. We couldn’t afford to make an enemy of every stray we met, and based as much on his confident stance as on his size, this tom would be a formidable opponent. “I asked him to introduce us. I’d really like to talk to you, Mr. Feldman, if you have a few minutes.”

“And you are…?”

More smiling. My jaw was starting to ache. “I’m Faythe Sanders.” I paused to see if he would react to my name.

Feldman’s dark eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but the flaring of his nostrils was much more noticeable, as he verified from my scent that I was indeed who I said I was. Or at least that I was a tabbycat.

But rather than returning my smile, or ushering me inside, both of which I’d expected from a tom who’d probably never met a female of his species, he pressed his lips together in a frown. “What can I do for you, Miss Sanders?”

“May we come in? I have a few questions, and it’s pretty cold out tonight.” I rubbed my arms through my jacket for emphasis.

Feldman’s frown deepened, and he crossed bare, dark arms over a pale button-down shirt. His eyes focused over my head on Parker and Ethan, then he scanned the yard slowly, inhaling deeply.

“It’s just the four of us,” I assured him, impressed that he’d thought to check for backup. I used to forget that one a lot myself.

After another moment’s hesitation, he pulled the screen door open for us.

I stepped inside with the guys at my heels, all of us relieved by the warmth of the small room, but before he closed the door, Feldman took one last glance and sniff outside, to verify that we were alone. “Sit.” He waved one arm at a tan couch. The sofa was by no means new, but it was cleaner than anything in the guesthouse back home, and it matched the armchair in one corner, against which Feldman leaned, facing both us and the front door.

“Thank you.” I sank onto the cushion farthest from our host, and all three guys squeezed in with me, intentionally avoiding the aggressive backup stance. On the coffee table, a fat, hardbound book lay open next to a spiral notebook covered in neat, slanted writing. One glance at the book, and I nearly choked on my own surprise. It was a textbook anthology, open to
Antigone.

“Are you in college, Mr. Feldman?” I asked, eyeing him in interest as I flashed back to my own days as an English major. Feldman looked to be in his midthirties—a little old for an undergrad, but not unheard-of.

His dark eyes hardened, and thick, brown hands smoothed his shirt as he settled into the armchair. “Is that what you came to ask me?”

Okay, he wasn’t exactly approachable, but at least he hadn’t kicked us out. Or tried to kill us. Yet. “Um, no. I was just curious.”

“Then no, I’m not in school. I teach Classical Humanities at the junior college in Natchez. Mostly night classes.”

“Oh.”
Ohhh.
I felt my face flame, and I glared at Dan, irritated by the lack of background information on our host. He only shrugged and, to my further embarrassment, I thought I saw amusement flit across Feldman’s face, softening it for just an instant.

“It’s late, Miss Sanders, and I take it this isn’t a social call, so why don’t you get to the point?”

“Of course.” I crossed my legs at the knee, hoping to look competent and official. “This is Parker Pierce and my brother Ethan.” I gestured at each tom in turn, without taking my eyes from our host. “We’re enforcers for the south-central Pride, and personal friends of Marc Ramos—”

Feldman’s thick eyebrows arched. “The way I hear it, regarding your relationship with Ramos, that’s a bit of an understatement, Ms. Sanders.”

I blinked in surprise, and when I met Feldman’s gaze again, I saw challenge in his eyes. He knew exactly who I was and what I wanted, and he was daring me to drop the pretense and stop wasting everyone’s time.

So I did.

“Yes.” I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward with both elbows propped on my knees. “Mr. Feldman, Marc is more than a friend to me. More than a boyfriend. There’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do to find him.”

He nodded, acknowledging that I’d met his challenge, though his stony expression did not soften.

“Yesterday, three tomcats broke into Marc’s house and attacked him. Two of the toms died, but injured Marc severely in the process. The third hauled Marc off.” I was
not
going to reveal that we’d found Eckard, and that Marc had escaped, because if the strays didn’t yet know he’d survived, I wasn’t going to tip them off. “We know Kevin Mitchell is in on this somehow. I’m here because rumor has it you have your ear to the ground and might be able to tell me where to find Kevin.”

Feldman simply watched me for several seconds, letting me stew. Or maybe trying to judge my sincerity. He had the upper hand, and he damn well knew it. Then, finally, he blinked, and leaned back in his chair, digging something from his right hip pocket.

“Yes, I can tell you were to find Kevin Mitchell. Or at least where he lives. But I’m not going to do that. Not now, and not ever. Because of this.”

Feldman’s thick fist swung forward, and I jerked back from the blow to come, as the guys shot to their feet, ready to defend me. But Feldman’s blow never landed. Instead, he slammed his hand palm down on the battered coffee table, and when he withdrew it an instant later, he left something on the laminated wood surface.

A clear, rounded cylinder, half the diameter of my smallest finger and no longer than the first joint. Inside the cylinder was another cylinder made up of tiny green and black parts I couldn’t focus on without a microscope.

“What
is
that?” I asked, leaning forward to squint at it, as the guys mimicked my motion.

“That,”
Feldman spat, glaring across the coffee table, “is the microchip I dug out of my own back last week.”

“A
microchip?” Parker reached for the tiny cylinder, but Feldman snatched it back, holding the object up where we could still see it between his thick fingers. But we couldn’t touch it without taking it from him. Which would not fit into our playing-nice approach.

“Yes.” Feldman eyed us closely, each in turn, obviously studying our reactions.

“That was in your back?” An image of Eckard’s corpse flashed behind my eyes, complete with the precisely slit skin between his shoulder blades.

Feldman nodded, frowning at my obvious surprise as I made the connection.

“Your
upper
back? Just to the left of your spine?”

“Yeah.” Feldman lowered his hand into his lap, fist wrapped around the tiny device again as excitement made my heart beat faster. Eckard had had one, too—until Marc had cut it out of him. But how had he known it was there? If Marc knew about the microchips before he was attacked, he would have told me.

“First of all, that’s weird,” Ethan said as he caught my gaze, silently telling me he’d made the connection, too. Parker and Dan nodded; we were all on the same page. “And it doesn’t look like any microchip
I
ever saw.”

“Me, either.” I smiled to thank him for keeping the tone light. Whatever these microchips were, we’d stumbled onto something big, and we couldn’t afford to piss Feldman off before he told us what he knew. I met the stray’s gaze. “Though admittedly, my familiarity with chips is limited to the guts of my cell phone. So enlighten me, please. What does it do?”

Feldman frowned, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You really expect me to believe you don’t know what this is?”

I blinked at him in genuine surprise. “Why would we? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“So you have no idea how this got under my skin?”

“None.” I met his eyes boldly, letting the truth shine in mine.

“Holy silicone suppository, Batman!” Ethan said, grinning. Dan snorted, Parker coughed to disguise a laugh, and I glared at them all. “What?” My brother shrugged defensively. “That’s what it looks like.”

Un-amused, Feldman ignored Ethan and focused on me. “Then how did you know where it was implanted?”

Crap.
My mind raced. I had to answer, to keep him talking, but how much could I say without revealing that Marc had survived? “We, um…” I hesitated, glancing at the guys for advice. Dan shrugged, clearly at as much of a loss as I was, and Parker gave me a
slight nod, telling me to say
something.
But as little as possible.

I took a deep breath and continued. “We found a body with a small hole in his back. Just big enough to implant one of those.” Or remove it. “But we didn’t know what that hole meant until now.”
Please, please don’t ask whose body we found!

Fortunately, Feldman was too preoccupied with the chips to waste questions on tangential issues. “And you don’t know what this is?” he repeated, his face a tense mask of suspicion. We hadn’t convinced him yet.

“No clue,” Ethan said, with no trace of a smile.

“It’s a digital tracking device.” Feldman still scrutinized our reactions. “So whoever’s monitoring it can know where I am all the time. Or at least where the chip is.”

“They can do that?” Parker stared at the clear capsule in amazement. “Track people with something so small?”

“No. Not officially.” Feldman sat back in his chair. “There’s nothing this advanced available to the public. Not that I’ve been able to find, anyway.”

“Sounds like supersecret spy shit to me.” Ethan grinned, but his eyes held little humor. He knew how serious this had just become.

“Not quite.” Feldman rolled the chip between his thumb and forefinger, and his jaw tightened in anger. “It’s a high-tech
pet
tracking device, designed to find rich-bitch poodles that wander too far from their gated communities,” he said. “But it’s still in the prototype
phase. We’re being tagged like apes in the wild, using a technology that hasn’t yet been approved for dogs, and should
never
be used on people.”

Indignation shined like inky flames of fervor in Feldman’s coal-colored eyes. Not that I could blame him. “And yet you’re surprised when we don’t welcome your boyfriend with open arms…”

What?
Was he blaming Marc for the microchips?

“Mr. Feldman, Marc had nothing to do with this,” I insisted, my stomach clenching around the lump of apprehension lodged in my gut. “A violation of privacy like this stands to benefit him no more than it does you. Quite the opposite, in fact. So why would he participate in it?”

Feldman shrugged broad shoulders. “I assume he’s following orders.”

Adrenaline scorched my nerve endings, and I glanced at Ethan to find my dread mirrored in his expression. They thought our
father
had ordered strays illicitly tagged and monitored?

“You’re wrong,” I said, fighting to remain calm. To slow my racing heart. “My dad would never do something like that, and neither would Marc.”

“That you know of.” Feldman leaned forward, studying me carefully, looking for a lie in my bearing or the race of my heart. Then, apparently satisfied, he exhaled softly. “I believe that you knew nothing about this.” He widened his gaze to include the guys. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And I’m holding the proof that it did.” He held the chip higher for emphasis.

“Why?” Parker asked with his typical quiet composure, drawing all eyes his way.

Feldman frowned. “Why, what?”

“Why are you still holding the proof?” He gestured at the pill-size capsule. “You could have crushed that thing like a bug. Why didn’t you?”

“Because then whoever’s monitoring it would know I’d found it. They’d know we’re onto them.”

“We, who?” Dan asked, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Who else has one?”

“I don’t know. Kevin Mitchell knows about the chips because I told him, but as far as I know, I’m the only one who’s actually found one. And we agreed to keep it quiet to avoid panic and public outcry until we’ve decided what to do about it. With Marc out of the picture, that should be a little easier.”

Fury scalded my cheeks and Feldman watched my face, but he seemed to get no pleasure from my reaction. He was stating facts—at least as he saw them—not trying to get a rise out of me.

“For the last time, Marc is not…”
Dead.
“Involved,” I finished, avoiding the tactical error at the last second. I closed my eyes, thinking. Kevin knew about the chips. And Kevin had arranged the attack on Marc. He was the only thing bridging the gaps in our understanding.

Now, if we could just figure out how he fit in.

Dan shifted on the couch cushion beside me, and I looked over to find him frowning, a mixture of guilt and loyalty highlighting the tired creases around his eyes. If he didn’t let go of that misplaced guilt soon, he was
going to drive himself nuts. “She’s right, Ben. Marc had nothin’ to do with this. I’da known about it.”

Feldman eyed him in both pity and scorn. “You think he told you everything he ever did? Every man has secrets, Painter.”

“I know.” Dan dropped his gaze and cleaned grime from beneath one fingernail with another. “But he wouldn’ta done this. Marc doesn’t have that in him.”

“Bullshit!” Feldman’s voice rose, and he scooted to the edge of his seat, his fists hanging over the coffee table between us. “Ramos is neck-deep in this! He’s been taking us one at a time for weeks. Some of us never return, and some come back with chips in our backs—” he held up the microchip as evidence “—and no memory of what happened.”

“If you have no memory of it, how do you know what happened?” Parker asked softly.

Feldman’s angry gaze found him. “I discovered a scar I couldn’t account for, and there was a little lump beneath it. Almost too small to feel. And I dug this
thing
out of my flesh. At first I couldn’t figure out how it got there. Then I remembered a night a couple of weekends ago. I went out drinking with some colleagues, and I stayed a while after they left. I woke up in my own bed twenty-four hours later, with no memory of going home, or what I’d done since. I assumed I’d partied too hard.”

“Do you do that often?” I interrupted, and he scowled at me.

“No. But nothing else made any sense, since I woke
up with both of my kidneys in place.” The acid in his tone could have melted through flesh, but I couldn’t resist a small smile, in spite of the seriousness of his accusations.

“I didn’t put it together until I found the chip.”

“Why didn’t you notice the wound?” Ethan scratched the dark stubble on his chin.

“Because there was no wound. I’d have noticed stitches and a bandage, but there was nothing but a fresh scar, which I didn’t notice for another week. Now, how they managed that, I have no idea.”

But
I
did. They’d forced his Shift—possibly several times—to accelerate healing, so that when they let their tagged tom go, he had no pain to clue him in to the procedure.

I looked from Ethan to Parker and knew at a glance that they’d come to the same conclusion. The bastards behind this were well organized and smart. And efficient. They’d carried the whole thing off in only
one
stolen day of Feldman’s life.

Our host continued, having evidently missed our silent communication. “But at least I made it home. Some of them don’t come back at all. Maybe the procedure goes wrong. Maybe the victims wake up and remember what happened.” Feldman shrugged. “I don’t know. But there are too many toms missing for this to be a coincidence.”

“Yes, including Marc!” I couldn’t filter anger from my tone. “Marc didn’t take those toms. He’s
one
of them! Kevin Mitchell sent three strays to his house to take him, and that’s exactly what happened with the
other toms. I think they were trying to tag him, but something went wrong, just like you said.”

Feldman shook his head, his jaws clenched in irritation. “Kevin Mitchell has
nothing
to do with the chips. He probably sent those toms to
kill
Marc. For his part in
this.
” He waved the chip again, like a patriot’s flag.

“No.” Parker shook his head, still sitting serenely on the couch, as if we were having a friendly chat with a trusted friend. “Pete Yarnell said Eckard
accidentally
killed Marc, and called him an idiot for it. They were supposed to take him.”

Feldman huffed in bitter amusement. “Kevin didn’t orchestrate this. Strays and wildcats have neither the funding necessary to get our paws on so many commercially unavailable devices, nor the organizational network needed to implant them. This is Pride work. No way around it.”

“Well, it wasn’t
our
Pride!” I snapped, glancing at the others for support. Then I froze as what I’d said truly sank in. Ours wasn’t the only Pride out there. Nor was it the only one Kevin had connections to.

“Please, Mr. Feldman. Help us find Kevin.” I leaned forward, shamelessly begging, because if we caught Kevin Mitchell and brought proof before the council, my father’s case could be infinitely strengthened by a show of our Pride’s competence. “I swear to you that he’s responsible for the microchips.”

Feldman raised both eyebrows. “Can you prove that?”

I sighed. “No.”

Feldman stood slowly, staring down at me until I felt obligated to stand also. “Ms. Sanders, I would think that as an enforcer, you would have
some
understanding of the concepts of loyalty, truth, and consequences. Kevin Mitchell has given me no reason not to trust him, and I will
not
hand him over to you without solid proof that he deserves it.”

My mind raced furiously, but I couldn’t think of any way to prove my claims. Yet. “Fine. I’ll get you proof. But in the meantime, may we borrow the microchip? I want to show it to my Alpha. He’s our best chance at ending this, and he needs to see what’s happening.”

“No.” Feldman wrapped his fist firmly around the chip and stuffed it into his pocket. “For all I know, you’ll stomp it to bits on my front porch, to destroy proof of your Pride’s involvement.”

My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. “No! We wouldn’t do that. We’re trying to
help
you!”

The stray’s gaze hardened. “It sounds more like you want
my
help.” Feldman stomped toward the front door, and the floor shook with every step. “You should go now, before I lose my temper.” His voice was gravelly with a deep current of anger.

I walked slowly toward the front door, the guys at my heels, when what I really wanted to do was take the microchip I desperately needed as proof to the council that someone among their ranks was egregiously violating the civil rights of random strays in the free zone. And if that someone turned out to be Calvin Malone, his case against my father would die a blissfully violent death.

But I did none of that because something told me that though Ben Feldman didn’t yet trust me, I could trust
him
to do what he thought was right, once he had a clear view of the big picture. And that he would be a very dangerous enemy to have.

I stepped onto the porch and turned back to face Feldman as the guys brushed past me into the cold, disappointment and frustration obvious in their clenched jaws and fists. “I’m sorry. This didn’t turn out how I’d hoped. But thank you for talking to me. And I
will
get you that proof.”

Feldman looked surprised for an instant before his face went carefully blank. Then he shut the door in my face and slid the dead bolt home.

“Hi, Dad.” My cell pressed to my right ear, I sank onto the weight bench in the tiny third bedroom Marc had turned into a minigym. There was barely enough room to turn around between the bench press and the punching bag—which he’d obviously bought used— and I wondered how he could exercise without becoming claustrophobic.

“I was about to call you.” Leather creaked over the line, but there was no squeal of springs. He was in his armchair in the office. “Seven of our men made it into the woods along highway 563 about an hour ago, as soon as the fire crews cleared away the wreckage of Eckard’s car. You’ll have three more toms out there before midnight.”

“Thank you.” Those two words couldn’t possibly
convey the depth of my gratitude, but at the moment I couldn’t think of how better to say it. “Thank you so much. We’ll be heading out with them in a few minutes.”