Prey

by Rachel Vincent

  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 co
incidence.”

  “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.”

  We’d stopped at Marc’s for more supplies, and to change into heavier clothes. The current temperature was twenty-two degrees. Too cold for even our natural fur coats to keep us warm. So we’d go out in human form, bundled to twice our normal sizes.

  I slowly spun one of the round weights on its bar, trying not to think of how sick and weak Marc would likely be when we found him. “But before we go out, I owe you an update. We figured out why Marc cut a hole in Eckard’s back.”

  My father’s armchair creaked again. “I’m all ears.”

  “He was removing some kind of high-tech digital tracking device.”

  For a moment, there was only silence over the line. “Someone was tracking Adam Eckard? You’re serious?”

  “Dead serious. And he wasn’t the only one. We just spoke to Ben Feldman, and he had one, too. He took it out of his own back, if you can believe that. And he says it’s happened to several of the toms here. Daddy, someone’s been taking strays one at a time and putting these tracking things under their skin, then they wake up the next morning with no memory of it. If they wake up at all.”

  “The missing toms…” my father whispered, clearly catching on much faster than I had.

  “Exactly. We think something went wrong with a few of the implantations, and those strays just disappeared.”

  “Feldman told you all this?”

  “Some of it. And we pieced together the rest. Unfortunately, Feldman thinks Marc’s involved in this, on your orders, and that the attack on Marc was an attempt to stop the whole thing. But you’re never going to guess who’s really doing it.”

  More leather creaked as my Alpha rose from his chair, and I heard his footsteps on the office floor as he paced in thought. “Kevin Mitchell. Though he’s probably working with his father. Or maybe Malone.”

  It was my turn for surprised silence. “We’re almost sure. How did you know?”

  My father chuckled. “I’ve been doing this a while, Faythe. Kevin’s the piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit. And you’ve already established that he’s involved in the attack on Marc.”

  “Oh.” I leaned against the wall and my free hand rubbed the cracked bench pad aimlessly.

  “So, Marc’s out there injured and alone, with evidence of a Pride plot to tag and monitor strays without their knowledge.”

  “Yeah, that about sums it up.” Another rush of gratitude flooded me when I realized my dad was assuming Marc was still alive. “And he’s probably trying to bring us proof.”

  “How did he know the chip was there?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. But I hope to be able to ask him soon.” My heart pounded fiercely over the possibility, and I stood, ready to start the search immediately. “I’ll keep you updated.”

  “Good.” My father’s footsteps paused along with his words, and I sensed a less pleasant change of subject. “Michael and Manx are on their way home, and they’re going to drop Vic off on the way to help with the search.”

  Well, that was good, but…“Is it…over?”

  “Yes. They took her claws.”

  My whole body suddenly felt heavy, and I sank back onto the bench press, devastated by the weight and permanence of such a…tragedy. Manx would never be the same again, and I couldn’t decide whether I should be happy that she’d survived, or sad for w
hat she’d lost, and the juxtaposition of those two emotions left me feeling confused and off balance.

  “Faythe…there’s more.”

  My heart dropped into my stomach at the dread echoing in my father’s voice. If he didn’t want to say something, chances were good that I wouldn’t want to hear it. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need you to come home.”

  “I will. As soon as we find Marc. I want to bring him to the ranch to recuperate. We can’t leave him here with the strays trying to kill him. And I don’t think the council is in any position to say no to that, considering what one of your fellow Alphas has been up to lately. I can’t wait for that load to hit the fan—”

  “No, Faythe, you have to come home now. Kaci’s getting worse. She passed out this afternoon.”

  A groan began deep in my throat, and my hand clenched around the metal bar. “You mean passed out, like ‘fell asleep at the table,’ right?”

  “No.” My father exhaled heavily. “She fainted in the hallway and hit her head pretty hard on the tile. She felt a little better after dinner, but then she fell asleep at seven-thirty. She’s getting weaker, Faythe. If she doesn’t Shift soon, she’s not going to have the strength to do it at all. And you know what Dr. Carver said.”

  Yes, I knew. The doc thought we should force her Shift, but I had no doubt that if we did, she’d never forgive us. Never forgive me. She’d never trust me again, and she needed to trust someone.

  “I can talk her into Shifting.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt. “But, Dad, I can’t leave until we find Marc. I can’t.”

  My father sighed, sounding every bit as conflicted as I felt. “I know how you feel. But the guys can look for Marc without you, and you’re the only one who can help Kaci.” Because everyone seemed to agree that I had the best shot of convincing her to Shift on her own. “But I’m not going to order you to come home. I can let Dr. Carver monitor a forced Shift, if you think she’d make it through okay. He’s coming for a look at Manx’s hands anyway.”