He nodded and lifted the mostly empty bottle of tequila from the end table, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Faythe, this is only to be used under the supervision of a responsible adult. And for the record, Jace Hammond doesn’t qualify.”

But he had no idea how much growing up Jace had just done.

I sighed, dreading what I had to say next, but knowing it had to be said. “Dr. Carver, Danny, please don’t tell anyone….” I let my eyes plead for me and, to my horror, they began to water, and suddenly the doc swam in a swirling pool of my own regret and confusion.

“About you and Jace?”

“There is no me and Jace,” I insisted, wiping away tears with the heels of my hands. There can’t be….

“That’s not what it looked like.”

“Doc—”

But he held up one hand to cut me off. “It’s none of my business.” That was an attitude no one else seemed to share and part of me thought it would be easier if he’d just start yelling. I knew how to handle yelling.

The doctor shrugged and tequila sloshed in the bottle. “You’re both upset, and when people aren’t thinking straight, shit happens.” Bending, he picked up the lid and screwed it on before setting the bottle down. “And we all know Cuervo’s good at making shit happen. Just tell me you know what you’re doing and promise you won’t have any more of this, and I’ll forget I saw anything.”

I sighed and sank onto the couch, my head buried in both hands. “I’ve got that second one covered. No more tequila. But the truth is that I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.”

Carver smiled sympathetically. “Well, until you figure it out, I suggest you take a shower. You smell like Jace.”

Twenty

“Put your father on the phone this instant,” my dad shouted, stomping the length of the Oriental rug, then several feet onto the hardwood before turning. “You do not want to get mixed up in this, Brett. I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing. Find him. Now!”

I flinched when he shouted, and my hand clenched around the arm of the leather couch.

“I’m sorry, Councilman Sanders,” Brett Malone said over the phone, but judging from the rage on my father’s face, he could never be sorry enough to make any difference. And he got no bonus points for referring to my father as a councilman in spite of his tenuous position on the council. “But my dad’s not here right now. I don’t know where he went, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

My father blinked in blatant disbelief. “It’s nine-thirty in the morning, and he works from home.”

“Yes, sir.” Brett sounded truly miserable—and scared shitless—and I almost felt sorry for him. He hadn’t chosen to be born to Calvin Malone, and what little contact I’d had with him in the past had convinced me he did not see eye to eye with his father. It was thanks to Brett that we’d had a heads-up about my dad’s impeachment a couple of days in advance.

But my father was beyond logic, and I couldn’t really blame him.

“You can’t tell me he doesn’t have a cell phone!” Our Alpha stomped back across the rug toward his desk this time. The floor shook with each step, and I ran both hands through my shower-damp hair to keep from fidgeting.

I’d thought I would enjoy this—seeing him jerk a much-anticipated knot in Malone’s figurative tail. But instead, I dreaded every moment of it, because each word my dad spoke reinforced my certainty that he was losing control.

He wasn’t acting like an Alpha. He was acting like a father. A devastated, enraged father.

“Yes, sir, my dad has a cell phone,” Brett mumbled miserably. “Unfortunately, I’m standing here looking at it. He, uh, must have forgotten it.”

My father stopped pacing long enough to slam one palm flat on his desk. The entire surface bounced, over-turning a stapler, a paperweight shaped like a cat, and a paper-clip holder, which rolled to the floor and spilled its contents all over the floor.

Owen was there in an instant, scooping paper clips up by the handful, but our Alpha didn’t notice.

“Give me the number,” he demanded, whirling in a precise about-face to head for the wet bar on the other side of the room. “I’ll leave him a message.” But we all knew he would do no such thing. He’d keep calling until he got an answer, even if it took all day.

“I’m sorry, Councilman, but I’m not authorized to give out his personal phone number. He uses the one you called for Pride business, and it’s the best way to reach him.”

“Yet he’s not there.”

“No, sir. Not at the moment.”

“Aaaaggghhhh.” My father’s fist clenched, and the wireless phone exploded, showering him with electronic shrapnel. “Get me another phone!” our Alpha roared, and I flinched as Dr. Carver dashed into the hall.

My dad sank into his desk chair and leaned forward with his head in his hands, elbows resting on the blotter. It was a closed posture and strongly suggested that he did not want to be bothered, but with Jace watching me from the love seat across the rug and Owen still on the floor picking up paper clips, I felt I had to say something.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?” He lifted his head to glance at me, but there was no real interest in his eyes.

“Do we have a plan?”

“Yes. We make them pay.” The cold determination in his voice chilled me worse than the January wind, and deep in my gut I knew I should try to talk him out of immediate action. He was obviously not thinking clearly, and rash decisions were rarely well thought out. He’d taught me that himself—that whole thing about revenge being best served cold.