Pride (14 page)

Radley’s eyes grew wide, his expression eager. “How? How did you force my Shift? Some kind of drug?”

“Yes.” Daddy nodded once, adopting a stronger-than-usual appearance of authority. “But that’s all you need to know about it.”

Radley frowned. “Why?” He ignored Marc now in favor of the Alpha, whom he’d finally identified as the one in charge. “What do you want with me?”

“You’re being held by our Territorial Council, headed by me, on the charge of attempted murder. Of my daughter.”

Surprise tingled up my spine. That was news to me, and based on Lucas’s expression, he hadn’t known, either. Evidently that’s what the Alphas were talking to Marc and Jace about for so long.

Yet in spite of my obvious surprise, the stray showed no fear. He showed nothing but confusion, balanced by a hint of righteous anger. He clearly had no idea how serious his predicament had just become.

My father continued, without even glancing my way. “Officially, you’re facing a probable death sentence, Mr. Radley.
Un
officially, however, we want information from you. If we get it, and if you can convince us that what you did to my daughter was an accident, the charge will be amended to assault, which carries a much lighter sentence.”

Radley’s brow furrowed, and his shoulders tensed. “Sentence? Wait, you’re serious?”

“Perfectly,” Michael said from my right.

Radley glanced from him to our father, then briefly at me. “What the hell does that mean? You guys are like…what? Werecat law enforcement?”

Jace chuckled. “We can’t be the first Pride cats you’ve ever run across.”

“No. I know what a Pride is. Elitist pricks won’t let anyone else play their reindeer games.” Though a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he glanced at Marc, who was clearly a stray and yet a Pride cat. “What I don’t understand is where you get off bringing me up on some kind of bullshit charge. You’re not the police. The police don’t even know you fuckers exist.”

“Watch your mouth,” Marc said, the warning rumbling from his chest like a growl. “Or I’ll watch it for you.”

Radley barely glanced at him, having obviously decided there were bigger things to worry about than Marc. But what he didn’t realize was that if the council sentenced him to death, that death would come in the form of a certain six-foot-two, tall-dark-and-scary enforcer who had absolutely no incentive so far to administer a merciful demise.

Michael stepped up to our father’s side. “Werecat business doesn’t fall under any police department’s jurisdiction, Radley. State and local law enforcement aren’t even in the same
galaxy
as the Territorial Council, and right now you’re in our world. Until we decide to either let you go or put you in the ground, you live, breathe and speak on our collective whim. At the moment, you exist only to please the Territorial Council, and if you cease to please them, you’ll cease to be. Period. You get it now?”

Aaaand here comes the panic…

Okay, Radley didn’t exactly panic. But he did look like he was about to spew his guts all over the floor, which was already splattered with his blood.

I could totally sympathize.

“What do you want?” he demanded, bolstering his floun
dering courage with a heavy dose of anger. “You bastards are crazy, and I just want to get—”

Marc exploded into motion, moving almost too fast to see. His fist slammed into the stray’s cheek. Radley’s words ended in a surprised
oof
of pain, and his head rocked to one side. For a moment, his eyes fluttered as if he might lose consciousness, and only Lucas’s grip on his shoulders kept him upright.

My father made a harsh, disapproving sound in the back of his throat, and Marc stepped back, accepting his wordless rebuke with his hands still clenched into tension-white fists. He’d forgotten the cardinal rule of interrogation: an unconscious cat can’t answer questions.

Daddy did
not
look pleased. But then, neither did Marc. He lost his temper fairly regularly in his personal life, but I’d never heard of him losing it at work before. Something else had to be wrong with him. Something unrelated to Radley. Or at least unrelated to Radley’s foul language.

For several seconds no one breathed, waiting to see whether or not Radley would pass out. But then he blinked to clear his vision, and his eyes focused slowly on Marc, whose penitent expression was now gone.

“I told you to watch your mouth. Consider that your last warning.”

Radley cleared his throat and spat more blood on the floor. This time when he looked up, his eyes were filled with a cold, detached fury. “What do you want?”

Marc crossed his arms over his chest, hiding his fists. He stood several feet back from Radley, removing himself from the temptation to strike out again. “What do you know about the two human hikers who went missing on the mountain several days ago?”

“Nothing.” That was it. No further explanation or questions. Radley was going to give us exactly what we asked for, and no more. Marc’s temper had just erased any progress my
father had made toward convincing our informant to cooperate by choice.

“What about the human cop mauled yesterday afternoon? Know anything about that?”

“No.” Radley glared at Michael now, pointedly ignoring Marc completely. So, at my father’s silent signal, Michael took over, stepping forward as Marc slunk back to lean against the wall by the door, the fury in his expression rivaling Radley’s.

Michael slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, still sharply creased even in the middle of the night. “Have you seen any other strays on the mountain in the last week?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

Radley thought for a moment, ducking his head to wipe blood from his face onto his bare shoulder. “Three. Maybe four?” he said finally, shuffling backward to lean with his left arm against the front of the couch. “I didn’t know I was supposed to be counting.”

Michael pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, peering down at Radley through lenses he didn’t even need. He wore them because he thought they made him look more like a lawyer. He was right, especially in that moment. “Do you know their names and current whereabouts?”

“No.”

“Do you have any knowledge of their activities on the mountain?”

“No.”

Sighing dramatically, Michael dropped into a limber squat in front of Zeke Radley, looking into the stray’s eyes from an equal height. His tone became friendly, confidential, as if they were the only two people in the room. “Mr. Radley, I want to help you. I believe you didn’t mean to hurt my sister. I think you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I have to be honest with you—that was a
very
wrong
place to be at that particular wrong time. We’re looking for murderers, Mr. Radley, and we came across you instead. Can you see how that looks? You being all alone on the mountain, less than a mile from where a police officer was slaughtered only hours earlier?”

Radley frowned and nodded reluctantly.

“If you want us to help you, you have to help us first. Help
yourself.
Someone on that mountain is murdering humans, and I think you’ve seen something. Or know something. You may not have seen it happen, but you’ve seen the other cats. Right? Smelled them, maybe?”

Radley nodded hesitantly, and my heart thumped in surprise and suspense. Michael was doing it. His good-cop routine was breaking through where Marc’s bad cop had gone horribly wrong. This was no ordinary drifter, accustomed to being threatened and coerced into cooperation. Radley was smart, and he was proud. He could not be pushed past the point defined by his self-respect.

There was more to this stray than we were seeing. I would have bet my life on it.

“Can you help us?” Michael paused before adding the final touch—that last nugget of respect he knew Radley couldn’t resist. “Please?”

Radley stared at the blood-splattered hardwood, as if mentally trying to talk himself out of whatever he was about to do. When he looked up, he met only Michael’s eyes, as if that would block the rest of us from hearing him. We hadn’t respected him—hadn’t earned his cooperation. Michael had.

“Look, I mind my business and try to stay out of trouble.” He shrugged. “But I might have seen these cats you’re talking about.”

Michael nodded, playing his part while the rest of us watched in tense silence. “Where?”

Radley sighed, resigned. “There’s this cabin on the other
side of that hill.” He tossed his head toward the window, and the mountain I could barely see past the inky predawn darkness. “Ten, maybe twelve miles to the northwest. There were several cats staying there a couple of days ago. They may be gone now. I don’t know. But that’s the last place I saw them.”

“Who are they?”

“I told you, I don’t know.” Of course, he’d also told us he didn’t know where they were, but no one seemed inclined to mention that and risk him bottling up. “They’re just cats. All toms, of course. And all strays from what I can tell.”

Which made me wonder how Radley had become a stray. I didn’t recognize the scent of his infector.

“Can you show us this cabin?” Michael asked, rocking slowly back and forth on his feet.

Radley shook his head vehemently. “No. Hell no. In one breath you tell me these jokers are killing people, and in the next you want me to
take
you there? No.” Blood-matted brown hair slapped his brow as his head whipped back and forth.

“You seem to be under the mistaken impression you have a choice in the matter,” Lucas growled, jerking him back sharply. One curt shake of my father’s head, and Lucas shoved him forward in frustration.

Without his hands free, Radley fell forward and would have tipped over if not for the hand Michael steadied him with. “Please.” My brother held the stray’s gaze. “You could save us hours of stomping through the woods.”

Radley hesitated, and I could practically taste temptation in the scent pouring from his body. “Can you get them to drop this bogus charge?”

Michael closed his eyes, as if the stray were asking for the impossible, and I bit my lip to keep from smiling. This was where they’d been heading all along with the whole attempted-murder bit. If Radley had wanted me dead, he could easily have killed me. We all knew that.

Not that I believed his wholesome and gallant act either, though…

Exhaling audibly, Michael glanced over his shoulder at our Alpha, who’d retreated to the edge of the room, next to Marc. My father nodded, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Michael stood as he faced the stray who’d just agreed to help us in exchange for his life, which probably hadn’t been in much danger anyway.

He should have bargained for his freedom,
I thought, barely stifling the smug smile stealing over my face.
That’s what he’s really in danger of losing.
Then a sudden chill washed over me as I realized that the stray who’d practically ripped open my stomach in front of two witnesses was facing a lighter sentence than I was.

Michael gathered his legal pad and pen from the end table and was already scribbling furiously when he glanced at our father. “Think we can do anything to make Mr. Radley more comfortable?” And with that, my brother’s status as good cop was firmly established.

“Of course.” The Alpha stepped into the dim light from the dusty bulb overhead and made a slicing gesture to Lucas with one hand. Lucas nodded and pulled a pocketknife—nowhere near as nice as the one I’d lost for him—from his back pocket. As my cousin worked his blade between Radley’s wrists and the first band of duct tape, my father turned his attention to Jace. “You and Lucas see that Mr. Radley gets a shower and something to wear. I’ll put together a team to find the cabin, and you can all leave after our guest has had something to eat.”

What?
The bastard nearly cut me in half, and my father was practically rolling out the red carpet for him.

Jace nodded and offered Radley a hand up as Lucas jerked the last wad of tape from the stray’s bare ankles, accompanied by his hiss of pain. Then they each took one of his arms
and escorted him down the hall toward the bathroom, his toes barely brushing the floor with each step.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, I twisted to face my father, encouraged by how dull the bolt of pain in my stomach now felt. “You’re giving him a shower? And a meal?” I demanded. “Why don’t you just lay me out on the floor and let him finish the job?”

“Faythe, stop—”

“Shut up, Michael,” I snapped, one hand gripping the back of my chair in preparation to stand. “When there’s nothing but twenty stitches standing between
your
guts and the motherfucking floor,
then
you get to talk. Until then—”

I stood, anger pushing me past growing pain and the fear of ripped stitches. And suddenly the whole damn room went black.
Those must be some pills,
I thought, just before my legs buckled beneath me.

“—many did she take?” My father’s voice sounded oddly hollow, as if he were speaking into one of those tin-can telephones Ethan and I played with as kids. And everything was dark, but with a weird sort of backlit glow—light shining through my closed eyelids.

“Jace said he gave her three.”

Marc.
I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, dark curls shining in the dim glare overhead. “Here she comes,” he said, concern audible in his voice and visible in the worry lines etched across his forehead. “Feel any better?”

“I’m fine. What happened?” My fingers brushed velour at my side, and I realized I was on the couch. Lying down. “Well, crap. I fainted?”

Marc chuckled, worry melting from his face to reveal relief and more than a little sympathy—definitely not my favorite of his expressions. He lowered himself onto the edge of the couch next to me, careful not to jar me. “Nah, you just passed out. You stood up too fast, and you probably took one too many of those little white pills.”

“But Jace said—”

Marc frowned, cutting me off. “Jace weighs a lot more than you do. He’s also an idiot.”

“It’s not his fault.” I took the hand Marc offered and pulled myself upright slowly, ignoring the dull protest from the stitches in my stomach. As I leaned against the back of the couch, the rest of the room came into sharp focus. My father sat on the coffee table in front of me, slumped in his wrinkled suit jacket, his elbows propped on his knees.

Michael stood in the kitchen doorway behind him, watching me with a steaming mug in one hand. Coffee, based on the scent. Other than the three of them, the living room was empty, but the splatter of running water came from down the hall. Radley was still in the shower. I couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes.

“How’s your stomach?” My father asked, peering into my eyes.

“Still hurts, but it’s only unbearable when I move.”

“Well, I have to give you credit for creativity, at least.” Michael ran one hand over his face, as if trying to rub the feeling back into his features. “I can’t remember anyone ever passing out to avoid being scolded before.”

“What?” Then I remembered what I’d been doing when my legs fell out from under me: complaining about my father’s decision to offer hospitality to the cat who’d left his mark on my stomach. Permanently. “Oh, yeah. I probably got carried away. But seriously, Daddy, if
I’d
carved up some poor cat’s stomach, you guys would have me bound and gagged. But you’re feeding and clothing
him.
How exactly is that fair?”

“He
was
bound and gagged,” Michael reminded me, betraying no trace of a smile. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him look more exhausted. He’d been working long hours with the tribunal on my behalf, and now thanks to Radley and the strays, he’d gotten less than three hours’ sleep in the last twenty-four.

“Was.”
I stressed. “He
was
bound and gagged.
Now
he’s
probably in there using the last of my shampoo. He better not come out smelling like lavender.”

Marc’s hand landed gently on my knee, and a jolt traveled up from the point of contact. “I don’t like him either, but your dad’s right. We don’t have any real reason to hold him. Or any
place
to hold him.”

“What happened to the attempted-murder charge? Was that just a ploy?”

“Not
just
a ploy…” Michael mumbled.

The coffee table creaked when my father stood, then lowered himself into the armchair on my right. “We reported the incident to the entire council via a conference call, while you and Radley were both still out. I suggested the charge because all we knew at the time was that he’d chased you and punctured your stomach.”

“Isn’t that enough to hold him on?”

“Of course it is.” He frowned, eyeing me sternly. “If you can honestly tell me you believe he meant to kill you. Can you? Because Marc says you were alone with him for several minutes before they found you, and that he could have killed you anytime he wanted to.”

I glanced at Marc, surprised he would speak up in Radley’s defense. He shrugged. “The truth is the truth, whether I like it or not.”

Impressed all over again with his professionalism, I nodded. I was a big fan of the truth. Usually. “Oh, fine. He wasn’t trying to kill me. But he wasn’t trying to save me from anything
else
bumping around out there, either. He never intended to let me go. I have no doubt about that.”

All three men nodded in agreement, and my father picked up a mug from the end table. “I don’t doubt that. But the fact is that he’s worth more to us out there—” he gestured toward the window and the great outdoors “—than he is tied up in here, where we’ll trip over him every time one of us crosses the room.”

“Not to mention the fact that we don’t need him overhearing our every word.” Michael swept a limp strand of brown hair from his forehead. “I don’t think he’s
that
innocent.”

Overhearing us. Of course. That’s why my dad had put the prisoner in the shower: so the running water would block out our discussion.
Damn, I have a lot to learn…

I nodded. “So what’s the plan?”

“Radley’s going to lead a large team to that cabin, on the off chance they’re still there. If they are, we bring them in. If not, Radley goes about his business with his eyes and ears open for any trouble. He’s been here longer than we have and no doubt knows the woods much better.”

“And if he doesn’t want to play along?”

“He doesn’t have that option.” The hard line of Marc’s jaw said he wasn’t as happy with the plan as he wanted me to think. He’d go along because Zeke Radley held our best chance of catching the strays. And because our Alpha was calling the shots. But Marc didn’t trust the stranger any more than I did.

From the end of the hall, the sound of running water dribbled to a halt and metal rings rattled as the shower curtain was pulled back. Radley was out of the tub, and our privacy had expired.

A quarter of an hour later, a clean, dressed Zeke Radley sat at the kitchen table, ignoring us all as he scarfed down his second microwavable chicken potpie. Michael and Jace sat on either side of him, silently chewing canned clam chowder, and the combined scents of their odd, predawn breakfast were not appetizing, even from the living room where I sat on the couch, trying to move as little as possible.

Radley wore a tattered but fresh pair of jeans and a solid black T, both donated by Marc, just to piss our “guest” off, even though Jace was closer to the stray’s size.

In guy logic—an oxymoron if I’d ever heard one—since Marc had technically done Radley a favor by clothing him,
the stray was now in debt to him, even though he’d only accepted the clothes because refusing them would have been a blatant insult to the lender. And the best part was that now Radley had to walk around smelling like Marc, which was practically an admission of Marc’s dominance. And the source of our
guest’s
steady scowl.

Someone knocked on the front door as Radley spooned the last drops of gravy from the paper pie plate, and Lucas stood to admit the last two members of the team my father and the tribunal had assembled. First through the door was Nate, Paul Blackwell’s grandson, whom I’d expected. But I had
not
expected Danny Carver, who came in right behind him.

“Hey, Doc.” I leaned forward to see around Marc, who sat very close to me. “You here to see me, or to play in the woods with the other boys?”

His ubiquitous smile widened when his eyes met mine. “Both.” He shrugged. “I haven’t gotten my paws dirty in a while. Thought it might be fun.”

“That, and we’re running short on uninjured, available enforcers,” Marc murmured into my ear. Logically, I knew he was just trying to keep Radley from overhearing anything about our manpower shortage. Still, my pulse jumped and my face flushed when his lips brushed my ear.

Dr. Carver edged between the couch and the coffee table and held one hand out to me. I took it, and he helped me gently to my feet. “How you feeling?”

“Like I’m already tired of answering that question.”

He nodded, laughing softly. “Sounds about right. Let’s take a look.”

I let the doctor lead me back to my bedroom, where I lowered myself gingerly onto the bed and pulled the hem of my shirt up to my sternum. He carefully peeled back the tape holding my bandages in place and inspected the stitches, talking the whole time.

“I just treated similar wounds on Brett Malone, and I have to say, you’re a much easier patient to deal with. You haven’t hissed at me once.” He grinned. “Of course, you only have twenty stitches. He has closer to one hundred.”

Smiling, I closed my eyes as the doctor spread clean squares of gauze over my stomach. “Is he okay?”

Dr. Carver nodded, taping the new bandages in place. “He’s gonna be fine. Not as soon as
you
will, naturally. Your gashes are closing up nicely.” Standing, he tossed the used gauze into the trash can by the door. “But I want you to go to sleep.”

I nodded, but he ignored my assurances as if he knew I didn’t really mean them. “I’m serious, Faythe.” He frowned down at me, showing the strict-doctor side of him I rarely saw. “If you don’t get some rest and let your body do its job, you won’t be ready to Shift tomorrow, and you’ll have to spend another day sitting on the couch.”

“I got it, Doc.” Surely my wide-eyed, innocent look was more convincing than a mere nod. “Stay in bed, sleep all night.” Fortunately, the night was nearly over.

“Exactly. And this is to make sure you do as you’re told for once.” From his pocket, Dr. Carver pulled a brown plastic prescription bottle, from which he poured two more of those stupid sleeping pills. “Don’t worry,” he said in response to the panic that must have been written all over my face. “These don’t work very well on us, as you may have noticed. You’ll only be out for a few hours, and you’re not going to miss anything.”

“Oh, fine.” I swallowed the pills with a gulp from the water he handed me. Then I had to stick my tongue out and wiggle it up and down to convince Dr. Carver that I’d actually ingested the damn things.

Ten minutes later, the guys filed out the front door, Zeke Radley sandwiched between Marc and Lucas. Marc and Jace both said good-night before leaving, but neither of them even
hesitated to go on without me. They’d made the usual promises to come back safely, and to tell me the whole story when they returned. Then they’d left me alone with my father and brother, both of whom refused to speak to me for fear of keeping me awake.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I definitely remember waking up. When my eyes opened, the first thing I noticed was how bright my bedroom was, even though the lamp was unlit. The alarm clock read 8:04.

Damn. It’s morning
. I’d slept through the whole rest of the night—nearly three hours.

But the annoyingly bright sunlight wasn’t what woke me. Voices had interrupted my sleep. Angry voices, one of them my father’s.

“—let him go? Why would you
do
that?” Malone demanded. From the sound of it, he and my father were arguing in the living room, right outside my door. And they clearly had no idea I was awake.

“It was
my
call, and I made the decision I thought best. I stand by that decision. The cabin was empty—probably had been for a couple of days—and Radley stands a much better chance of finding them than we do. He knows the forest, and they have to be familiar with his scent by now, so they won’t think twice about him wandering around, whereas one whiff of any of our toms would send them running. We need Radley’s help, and we’re not going to get that with him wasting away in front of the television.”

“He’s a
criminal,
Greg. I know your perspective on criminal behavior has changed a bit lately, but Radley’s a stray. You have no reason to protect him. He nearly killed your daughter, for crying out loud. You should have his rear paw hanging from your key chain like a rabbit’s foot. Instead, it’s prancing around the woods with his other three, without a care in the world.”

“You’d see my daughter executed tomorrow if you could, Calvin.” My father’s voice was dangerous, and so low I could barely hear it. “Should I take your paw, too?”

A thrill raced up my spine and down my limbs at Malone’s silence. I would have given almost anything to see his expression at that moment. It was fear. It
had
to be. Surely he was about to mess in his pants after being threatened by my father, even indirectly. Anyone else would be.

“That’s not the same, and you know it,” Malone finally said. “I’m
not
out to get her, no matter what you think.”

Yeah, right, you sorry bastard.
I had to shove my knuckles into my mouth to keep from shouting it out loud.

“It’s my job to make sure Faythe’s hearing is fair, not just to her, but to the entire werecat community. She infected her boyfriend, then killed him to cover up her crime. She’s
dangerous,
whether you can see that or not, and it’s not fair to the rest of us to leave her free to do it again.”

“She killed him in self-defense, and you
damn well
know it.” The floorboards groaned, and I pictured my father stepping closer to Malone, invading his personal space. “Having my daughter executed won’t get you a seat at the head of the council. You must know that.”

“
My
position within the council has
nothing
to do with this. This is about
your
priorities, and the fact that they no longer represent the interest of the majority.”

“That’s out of line. I released Radley in hopes that he can help us. No, I’m not certain he will. But neither am I certain we can find the strays on our own before they do any more damage. Trusting Radley was worth a shot, so I took it. If it was up to you, you’d probably have had him executed.”

“Damn right. That’d be one less str—”

The bathroom door creaked open from down the hall, then silence fell, as sharp and sudden as the blade of a guillotine. I wanted to get out of bed and creep closer to the door, but I
was afraid the rustle of my blankets would cover whatever happened next.