Over the phone Owen shuffled more papers. “There might have been, but she was buried this morning. I already checked.”

“What about her clothes?”

“I’m sure they’re in police custody.” Owen paused while Dr. Carver said something I didn’t catch. “But Dad, the chance of there being two different psycho strays operating at the same time with the same M.O. is practical y nil. It’s got to be the same son of a b—”

“I agree,” Daddy interrupted, leaning back in his chair. “I was just hoping to be able to confirm my suspicions.”

I glanced at Michael to find him staring at the rug between us, but I knew better than to think he’d zoned out. He’d heard every word Owen said, and was filing it away in his lawyer’s brain for later use. If I knew Michael, he’d know everything there was to know about both murders by the end of the day, having used every professional resource at his disposal. And when those ran out, he’d surf the Net, riding the waves of information like a first-generation digital surfer, which is exactly what he was.

“So, what do you want me to do?” Owen drawled, his accent thickened by tension.

Daddy sat up, laying one forearm against the top of his desk. “Thank Danny and come home. And tel him to keep his eyes and ears open.”

“What if the stray strikes again?”

I closed my eyes, silently praying he wouldn’t. My heart ached for Abby and Sarah, and for those two human girls, who’d probably never known what hit them. If they were lucky.

The desk chair creaked, and I looked up to find my father standing in front of his desk, with his back to me. “If he does, Danny probably won’t have access to the victim. This stray would have to be an idiot to strike twice in the same state.”

“Maybe he is an idiot,” Owen said. “He’s certainly crazy.”

“Crazy, no doubt. But if he were stupid, we would have known about him before now.” Daddy’s voice was tight with anger. He was mad at himself; I could hear it in the way his words were clipped short. He was angry that he hadn’t known about the stray sooner, and about the girl in New Mexico. “Come on home.”

“There’s a flight out at nine,” Owen said, his words coming faster than usual.

He must have recognized the anger, too. “I should be home by eleven.”

“Fine.” Daddy dropped the phone into its cradle and stared at it. I heard his heartbeat slow, then steady, and I knew he was counting silently in an attempt to rein in his temper. His shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath as he prepared to turn from one problem to face another: me.

“Faythe, this is not a good time for your theatrics,” he said, tugging down his jacket sleeves.

He was right about that; my timing was awful. But there was nothing I could do about it now, short of backing down completely. And that wasn’t an option. Not if I wanted him to ever treat me like an adult.

I set my feet on the floor and started to stand, but one glance at Michael froze me in place. He would follow the letter of Daddy’s law until otherwise instructed. So I took a deep breath and launched my argument from the couch, substituting good posture for the erect stance I would have preferred.

“I’m not being theatrical,” I said, doing my best to project a respectful tone into my voice. “I’m completely serious. I’m leaving.”

My father final y turned to face me, and the gravity in his expression made my mouth go dry. “Stop arguing on autopilot and listen to what I’m real y saying.”

Nervous and curious in spite of my determination to stand my ground, I nodded. Could he possibly be saying something other than the usual no?

My father eyed me somberly, as if to convey the weight of what he was about to say through expression alone. “Freedom from the Pride doesn’t mean true freedom for you.” I started to argue, but he cut me off. “What would happen if I let you strike out on your own in a free territory? Do you think the strays would respect your wishes? Would they leave you alone?” He paused, but I made no reply. I was too busy thinking.

“Whether you see it or not, you have choices here. I do care what you want.

But the strays in Mississippi won’t give your rights a second thought. They’l care what you’re worth, and how having you would affect their rank among the others.”

I frowned as if I didn’t understand, but his point was frighteningly clear, and devastating to my argument. Alone in the free territory, I would be a living, breathing status symbol. A trophy for the biggest, fastest and strongest stray.

Unless I was wil ing to fight every day of my life, I would have no life worth living.

Not in the free territories, anyway.

But what about the south-central territory? I thought, a new plan rising from the ashes of its predecessor. Daddy had more land than he knew what to do with. I could live six hundred miles from the ranch and stil be safe within the territorial boundaries.

“Fine.” I nodded in concession to his point. “You’re right. Leaving the territory isn’t the greatest idea I’ve ever had. But it’s a big territory, and I don’t have to leave to gain a little privacy and independence. I’l go to Oklahoma. Or Kansas. I’d stil be a member of the Pride—just living on my own. Like Michael.” I glanced across the rug at my oldest brother, hoping for his support. I should have known better. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, unwil ing to take my side against our father.