Rogue (21 page)

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “He probably wants some kind of confrontation with me. Acknowledgment.” Which I under
stood, oddly enough. “Doesn’t matter, though. All we have to do is sit back and wait for him. Right?”

“Out of the question,” my father said, and the calm finality in his tone took me by surprise. “We are
not
going to let this mess land on our doorstep. We can’t afford that kind of attention, either from the human authorities or the rest of the council. We have to find him before he gets here.”

Damn. So much for the easy way.

Vic frowned. “Okay, so where do we start?”

“With the phone calls,” I said, and my father nodded, showing just a hint of a proud smile. “We know that Andrew and Dan Painter called from the same place this afternoon.”

“We do?” Ethan interrupted.

“Yes. Both messages contained what sounded like explosions and propeller noise.” I went on, heedless of the confused looks around me. “We also know that Andrew is headed this way from Leesville, Louisiana, where he took the last stripper. So he and Painter—and presumably the tabby—are probably somewhere between here and there, in a town with…a bunch of gunfire and helicopters?” I ended, my pitch rising in question. “Hospital choppers, maybe? Did you guys see anything on the news about explosions?”

Vic, Owen, and Parker all shook their heads.

Rapid-fire tapping broke the silence. “Give me just a minute here….” Michael said, and I glanced up to find him hunched over the computer keyboard again, his head barely visible behind my father’s seventeen-inch flat-screen monitor. “With any luck, I’ll have a location for you soon….” His words faded away as the clicking got louder.

While Michael worked his computer magic, my father turned back to face the rest of us. His gaze settled first on
Ethan as he seemed to consider something. Then he shook his head and turned toward Owen, on my right. “You and Parker get ready. You leave as soon as we get a fix on Andrew’s last-known location, to scout it out and see if he’s still there.”

“We takin’ the van?” Owen asked, already halfway to the door, dusty cowboy hat in hand.

“Yes. And take the full emergency kit, not the trunk version.”

I swallowed thickly, unwilling to imagine what use they’d put the emergency kit to when they found Andrew. Yes, by all indications he was no longer the sweet, quiet math major I’d once known. But that was my fault, as was whatever else happened to him. Suddenly I felt sick.

“Faythe?” my father said, and I met his eyes reluctantly, already dreading whatever he would ask of me. “I assume you have Andrew’s number, since he’s been calling you?” I nodded, and he continued. “If Michael can’t find him, I want you to call him and set up a meeting—somewhere other than here. Say whatever you have to say. Agree to anything he wants. If he’s really looking for a confrontation with you, he should be eager for this chance.”

“Where do you want us to meet?” I asked, my fingers twisting into knots in my lap. I was not looking forward to seeing Andrew again.

“In a park, or campsite. Somewhere that looks open and rural, but that won’t really give him anywhere to run. And that will adequately hide the rest of you,” he said, glancing around at Vic, Ethan, and Jace. “Give me a minute, and I’ll have a location for you. In the meantime…Vic, go make some coffee.”

I started to laugh, assuming my father was joking. But then Ethan and Jace followed Vic into the kitchen, without so
much as a smile. Evidently “make some coffee” was Alpha-speak for, “It’s going to be a long night, folks.”

“Don’t you think Marc should be here?” I asked several minutes later, plucking at a loose string on the hem of my shorts. As awkward as it would be for me to have my current boyfriend present when I spoke to my ex-boyfriend-turned-psychopathic stalker, it would be worse not to have Marc there.

Michael’s tapping paused for an instant, and my father looked up from the atlas, where he’d been eyeing a regional map of East Texas for the past few minutes. “We can fill him in later. You’re going to have to give him some time, Faythe. This is going to be very difficult for him to deal with. Parts of it will be impossible. You know that. You know
him.
”

I nodded. I did know Marc. That was the problem.

“Coffee!” Vic shouted from the kitchen across the hall. “Get it while it’s hot!”

My father scowled deeply, glancing at the open doorway. “He could have at least poured it for us.”

I laughed, my mouth already watering from the scent of the gourmet Amaretto-flavored brew now infusing the air. “I think you’re confusing him with Mom. We’re lucky he even knows how to use the coffeepot.”

“All men know how to make coffee,” my father insisted, rising to follow me across the room. “It’s a survival instinct. I made my first pot at twelve, though my mother wouldn’t let me drink any for another four years.”

In the kitchen, I padded past Ethan and Jace, who’d come in ahead of me, and stood on tiptoe to take two oversize latte mugs down from the cabinet while my father put spoons out on the counter. I set one mug in front of my father and kept the other for myself, then filled them both.

“Hey, Vic, if I pour coffee for Marc, will you take it to him?” Normally, I’d have told Marc to come get his own damn coffee, but considering he’d just found out that I was secretly still in contact with my murdering psychopath of an ex, I figured I could manage an apology in the form of a simple mug of coffee. Two sugars, no cream.

“He left about an hour ago,” Ethan said, pulling a loaf of bread from the breadbox.

“Where’d he go?”

Vic emerged from the fridge with a carton of French vanilla creamer, kicking the door shut behind him. “Don’t know. I think he just needed to get away for a while. Don’t worry. He’ll be back.”

I poured creamer into my coffee and stirred, not comforted in the least by Vic’s assurances.

“Hey, Faythe?” Jace asked, and I looked up to find him watching me from a stool on the other side of the bar. “How much does Andrew know about us? About him
self?
”

“I don’t know.” I frowned, sipping from my mug as I considered the question. “He seems to know quite a bit.” Which I realized only in retrospect, thinking back over our recent conversations. “He certainly knows what we are, and where we live. And he seemed to know my parents wouldn’t be happy about my infecting him.” Though I’d had no idea what he was talking about at the time.

“How is that even possible?” Jace pushed his stool back and rose, heading straight for the now nearly empty coffeepot. “I understand how he knows he’s infected. I assume that one’s fairly self-explanatory. But if you never Shifted in front of him—and I
know
you never told him about any of us—how the hell does he know that you infected him? Or
that the rest of us are werecats, too? Or that infecting humans is a big no-no?”

“Actually, I have no idea how he knows any of that.” I snatched a slice of ham from the collection of sandwich ingredients Ethan was setting out on the counter. “But that’ll be the first thing I ask him, if he answers his phone.”

“Well, off the top of my head, I’d say someone told him.” Vic blew carefully into his Atlanta Braves mug. “But I’m sure that’s much too simple to be it.”

My father took another sip of coffee. “On the contrary, usually the simplest possibility
is
the answer, and it stands to reason that Andrew must have had contact with another werecat at some point in the past few months. He’d have to be pretty tough to have survived the initial sickness and first Shift on his own. And while unlikely, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that another stray took pity on him, rather than running him off or attacking him.”

My father’s response sent one of Andrew’s bobbing to the surface of my memory.
You’re fucking lying, and we damn well know it.
We.

“Son of a bitch, that’s it!” I dropped the spoon into my mug, and several drops of coffee splattered on the counter, but I barely noticed.

“What?” Jace looked up from the ham, cheese, and pickle slices he was layering on a piece of bread.

“Andrew’s not in this alone.” I plucked a pickle from his plate and gestured with it as I spoke. “New strays don’t come out of their initial transition mentally or physically strong enough to pull off the kind of major-league mischief he’s been up to. Not on their own.”

“You think he’s working with someone?” my father asked, green eyes alight with the new possibility.

“Yes.” I tossed the pickle into my mouth and spoke around it as I chewed. “I think he has been from the beginning. The same someone who got him through his first Shift and taught him how to survive as a stray.”

Ethan smashed his huge sandwich flat with one palm. “The rogue tabby?”

I shook my head. “Couldn’t be her.
She’s
following
him,
not the other way around.”

Vic frowned. “So, maybe she
was
helping him, and he went crazy and took off on his own, and now she’s trying to catch him and stop him.”

“But she’s a murderer. Why would one murderer try to stop another?” Jace argued, voicing a thought we’d surely all had—no one believed we’d find those strippers alive.

“I don’t think she wants any part of Andrew’s game,” I said, stirring my coffee again as I thought aloud. “She’s clearly no saint, but look at the
way
she’s killed the toms. No slashing, and no biting. No signs of violence of any kind, other than the whole neck-breaking thing. I don’t know why she’s killing them, but I don’t think it’s out of rage. But Andrew, on the other hand, is definitely pissed off, and I’d be willing to bet those missing strippers bear evidence of that, wherever they are.”

I paused and drained my mug. “And I have a theory about why Andrew’s done such a one-eighty. Why he’s suddenly so angry and violent.”

“Yeah.” Ethan shrugged. “He’s a stray.”

“But so’s Marc, and he’s never kidnapped anyone. He’s completely devoted to this Pride. Loyal beyond all logic. He’d give his life to save any of us, any day of the week.”

“Yes.” My father nodded decisively. Proudly. “He would.”

I smiled at him. “As far as I can tell, the difference between
Marc and Andrew is that Marc has us. He’s what and who he is today because you and Mom took him in when he was sick, injured, and newly orphaned. Because you made him one of us and gave him a chance. If the Pride had such a profound influence on Marc, at such a critical stage in his life—his initial transition—doesn’t it stand to reason that someone might have had an equally strong influence on Andrew?”

“A
bad
influence, you mean?” Jace said, snatching a spare slice of ham from Ethan’s plate.

“Well, yes.” I leaned back against the counter, where I could see them all. “I think whoever helped him through the scratch-fever—and taught him what he knows about us—also turned him into what he’s become. And I don’t think it was the tabby. Based on the way she killed those strays, I don’t think she’s capable of that much rage.”

My theory explained, my opinion given, I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, waiting for someone to speak.

My father looked impressed but also worried. “So, you think Andrew’s still with this bad influence, whoever it is?” I nodded, and he popped several knuckles at once. Then he set his empty mug in the sink and stalked out of the kitchen and across the hall, leaving us all to trail behind him.

In the office, I set my mug on a coaster on the nearest end table and sank onto the couch. Jace plopped down next to me, and Ethan sat by him, still clutching his half-eaten sandwich. Vic settled onto the love seat opposite us.

At the desk, Michael was still clicking away. I leaned back to glance at him and found him chewing his lower lip as he worked. Which meant he was frustrated. Apparently he’d had no luck tracking down the explosions.

“You ready for me to call Andrew?” I asked my father.
While I still dreaded the phone call, I was now eager to get it over with.

“I’m having second thoughts about that now.” He frowned, templing his hands beneath his chin. “If Andrew’s really working with someone else, I’m not sure I want to grant him this confrontation until we know who we’ll actually be facing.”

“It has to be someone who knows Faythe infected Andrew,” Ethan said, speaking around a bite of ham sandwich. “Otherwise, Andrew wouldn’t know that, either. So…who knows you bit him?”

“No one,” I said, turning from my father to face my youngest brother. “
I
didn’t even understand what happened until tonight. But anyone who smells him will know who infected him—assuming the smeller recognizes my scent threaded through his. So…we’re back to someone who knows me. Or at least my scent.”

“Exactly,” my father said, obviously displeased with the new development. “I think we should put that phone call off for a little bit, until we have a better idea of who he’s with, and where they are—”

“Henderson,” Michael interrupted, amid another flurry of frantic keystrokes. “Andrew’s in Henderson, Texas. At least, he was this afternoon.”

“Are you sure?” My father stood to turn and look at Michael, at the desk behind him.

“Pretty sure.” Michael nodded, shoving his glasses farther up on his nose. “Those propellers Faythe heard weren’t helicopters. They were vintage aircraft from a World War Two demonstration team that did a big show this afternoon in Henderson, as part of the town’s centennial celebration. Complete with a pyrotechnic display, which no doubt explains the ‘gunfire.’”

“Well, that should make it pretty easy to find Andrew,” Vic said, though I could barely hear him over the grinding of gears in my own head. “Henderson’s only an hour from the ranch. He could be sitting outside the gate right now.”

Ethan choked on the last bite of his sandwich, and Jace pounded on his back. When my brother’s throat was clear, he said, “He could have been watching us for hours, for all we know.”

“He’s not here,” I said, surprised to hear how very calm my voice sounded, in contrast to how panicked I actually felt. “Not yet. He said he had something else to take care of first. Apparently I’m not his top priority at the moment.”