How on earth was that possible? There was no way in hell he had me tagged, so I must have been misreading him. He’d probably just recovered from his shock quickly.

“Surprise.” I stepped forward slowly, hands in the pockets of my open jacket, hoping I looked like half the badass Ethan had considered me the day before. Because if there was any of that badass left in me, I would need it now.

“Faythe!” Kevin shot me a leering grin, and behind him, a muffled voice went silent, and a door closed from somewhere in the back of the house. “Come on in.” He stepped farther onto the porch and held the screen door open for me.

It took a lot of control to keep my pulse from racing as I brushed past him intoYarnell’s living room, now empty, thanks to the flurry of activity preceding my entrance.

Kevin closed the front door and leaned against it, and again my heartbeat tried to rally. My inner cat hated being caged, and neither the size nor the opulence of the enclosure mattered to her. It was the blocked exit she objected to. So I placated her with a long, satisfying look at the bloodstains on Yarnell’s carpet, right in front of the couch.

“I wish I could say I’m surprised to see you here, but that would be giving you too much credit.” Kevin crossed his arms over his chest and lied through his canines. “We’ve been expecting you.”

I laughed, letting derision ring in my voice. “Yeah. About as much as you’re expecting the tooth fairy.” Kevin’s gaze smoldered as he tried to burn a hole through my forehead, but I only smiled. “My guess is that you were about to leave for your house. Without Marc.” Because why bother to haul around an unconscious tom, if they weren’t planning to trade him anyway…?

“I was about to leave, but Marc’s already there waiting for you. You just missed him.”

“You’re lying.” My smile grew, bolstered by the uneasy glint in his eyes. “I can smell him.” Because unlike some people, I took full advantage of my enhanced cat senses.

“That’s because he was here. Pete left with him about ten minutes ago.”

My confidence wavered. Could I really be smelling the scent lingering in his absence? The gadget in my pocket said Eckard’s microchip was inYarnell’s house, but that meant nothing if it was no longer in Marc’s possession.

“Fine. If Marc’s gone, there’s no reason for me to stay.” I reached out with my left hand to haul Kevin away from the door, my right fist curled around the knife in my pocket. But Kevin shook his head and batted my hand away, holding his cell phone up for me to see, like a grenade missing its pin.

“Sit.” He gestured to the plush gray couch. “Or Marc’s dead. All it takes is one call to Pete.”

I hesitated and inhaled deeply again, trying to judge how fresh Marc’s scent was. Had it faded a bit since I’d come in, or was I being paranoid?

“Well?” Kevin arched one eyebrow at me, and the left side of his mouth turned up in a crooked, malicious smile. But his eyes…they were the key. He looked relieved by my doubt. Relieved that I appeared to believe him.

Which meant he was lying.

“Okay, let’s call Pete….” I smiled and pulled my own phone from my jacket pocket. “Allow me.” I’d added his number to my call list from the information Michael had given us before we’d come to Yarnell’s house the first time.

Kevin’s grin froze as he tried to decide whether or not to call my bluff, but I’d lost patience. I scrolled quickly through my contacts—watching both Kevin and the kitchen doorway on the edge of my vision— and pressed Call when I got to Yarnell’s entry.

“It’s ringing….” I said merrily, for Kevin’s benefit.

His gaze slid to the left, toward the hallway across the room from me. And an instant later, obnoxiously twangy country music rang out from the kitchen. I took one step forward, and the granite-topped island came into view, and with it, a slim black phone buzzing on the smooth surface.

“Oh, no!” I covered my mouth in mock horror. “It looks like Pete forgot his phone.”

Kevin growled, and his eyes went hard with anger. “Pete, come get your damn phone,” he snapped, but his gaze never left mine. “And you…” His voice sharpened when he addressed me, as a door opened down the hall. “You put your bitch ass on that couch, or I will personally walk back there and stomp Marc’s neck beneath my foot.”

As Peter Yarnell limped awkwardly into the living room—his good hand holding his injured ribs—I pressed the End Call button and slid my phone back into my pocket. I watched him casually, careful not to tense and clue Kevin in to my intentions. As soon as Yarnell rounded the corner into the kitchen, I leapt into motion.

My feet pounded on thick carpet. I crossed the room into the hall in less than a second. Kevin panted behind me. Grasping fingers brushed my shoulder, then tangled in my hair. I shrieked as a strand pulled free, but kept running.

I dashed through the open door—the last in the hallway—and slammed it shut. Kevin howled as the hollow wood panel hit his face, but I held it closed, bracing my feet against the floor. Tossing hair out of my eyes, I glanced around for something heavy to push in front of the door, just long enough for me to haul Marc out the window. But my hasty plan was born of desperation, not flawless planning, and it depended rather heavily on Marc being alone in the back bedroom.

Which he was not. Kevin and Peter had backup.