Yet he was alert enough to snatch the last half slice of toast from my plate as he walked past the bar.

“Get your own,” I snapped, but I wasn’t able to work up any real irritation after he’d tried so hard to console me the night before. Or rather, three hours earlier.

“You know I don’t cook,” he mumbled around a mouthful of my breakfast as he poured the last of the coffee into the teacup he’d grabbed by accident.

“Wake up, Ethan,” my father said, setting a box of dry cereal on the counter in front of him. Michael added two bowls and a half-empty carton of milk, then dug two spoons from the silverware drawer.

Ethan drained his cup, then stared at it, clearly trying to figure out how he wound up with one of our mother’s rose-patterned china teacups instead of his own oversize Cowboys mug. “I’m awake,” he said, rubbing the dark stubble on his chin. He poured a mound of Cheerios into his bowl, then doused it in milk and dug in, eating with the appetite of a two-hundred-pound cat. Which he was.

“Wes insisted on driving here from the airport, to save you all a trip to the car-rental place, so if his flight lands on time, he should be here in less than an hour. Make sure you’re packed and ready to go. Charge your cell phones and take an extra battery, just in case. And, Ethan, make some more coffee.”

Having started his morning off with a list of orders, our Alpha opened the basement door, flipped up the light switch, then descended into the makeshift prison without another word.

When my mother padded in wearing a pale gray silk robe, I loaded my plate into the dishwasher and plodded down the hall to my room, to avoid the sympathetic looks as Ethan spread the news about me and Marc. I col apsed facedown on my bed, on top of my rumpled covers, and was asleep in seconds.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I woke up at ten minutes to nine, after almost three hours of sleep, to the sound of someone pounding on my door frame. “I’m awake,” I mumbled, raising my face from the pillow just enough to be heard. I had no real intention of getting up until Jace called out to me from the hall.

“Well then, come on out. Your dad wants to see you.”

I flopped over onto my back, staring at my ceiling. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”

“You’re not dressed?”

I smiled in spite of myself at the lighthearted quality of his jest. Until my broken door began to move. “Jace!” I shouted, trying to keep from laughing as I vaulted off the bed and scrambled to stop him. He wasn’t seriously trying to sneak a peek; if he had been, he wouldn’t have made any noise. But if I let him get away with a joke today, he’d try it for real tomorrow.

Jace yelped as I ripped the door from his grasp and leaned it against the frame. Then he sulked, his eyes roaming just far enough south to see my tank top and shorts. “Liar!” he accused, the smile in his eyes ruining his pout. “You’re not naked.”

“I meant I wanted to change.”

He grinned. “So, go ahead.”

“Nice try.” I patted his left cheek, smooth from a recent meeting with his razor. The revival of Jace’s former easygoing demeanor told me two things without a doubt: he knew Marc had dumped me, and Marc was currently away from the ranch. If either of those statements had been false, Jace would never have indulged in such comfortable, meaningless banter with me. At least something good had come out of the previous night’s disaster.

“Tell my dad I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I dressed quickly in skimpy denim shorts and a snug red T. After brushing my teeth and pulling my hair into a quick ponytail, I grabbed my cell and headed for the office, already dreading my upcoming call to Andrew.

My father was on the phone when I arrived, so I sat on the love seat next to Jace. Other than Vic, alone on the sofa, and Owen, at my father’s desk, the room was empty. “Where is everyone?” I whispered to Jace, glancing around.

“Michael and Ethan left with Wes Gardner about an hour ago,” he said, leaning over to whisper into my ear. His breath against my skin gave me chills, but it also made me think of Marc, and the way he liked to whisper to me in Spanish while we…

My father cleared his throat, and I looked up to see him drop the phone into its cradle. “Marc and Parker arrived in Henderson twenty minutes ago. They’re scouting for signs of the tabby.”

He didn’t mention my fight with Marc, and as badly as I wanted to tel him, I didn’t. Surely he’d heard what happened by then. Surely someone had told him.

He sat on one corner of his desk and fixed me with a hard stare.

“What happened to your door?”

Or, maybe not.

“Marc.”

“Oh.” My father nodded, and that was it. No more questions, at least for the moment. “In a few minutes, you’re going to call Andrew and try to find out his whereabouts, and his current company. But first, let me say that I verified the information you got from Ryan, and I think you might be on to something with this theory about Luiz.”

Dad sank into his armchair. The white streaks at his temples caught light from the fixture overhead, and made him look tired, and…kind of old.

“Who was that on the phone?” I asked, uncomfortable with the thought that my father would ever be ready to retire. He was the strongest, most stable thing in my life—especially now that Marc had opted out of it.

“If you and Jace hadn’t been whispering—” his voice was thick with disapproval “—you would already know that I was speaking to my source in Venezuela.”