I sank onto the end of the bed, careful not to jar her. “Why the hel would he do that?”

“To take me back.”

Of course. Luiz was baiting her into coming after him. She was the

“business” he and Andrew planned to take care of before coming for me.

Manx knew what he was up to the whole time, and stil came after him.

That was one ballsy tabby cat, and as much as I wanted to hate her, I couldn’t help respecting her courage.

“I try to take Ana with me, but she screams when she is touched. We would not have made it.”

“What about the others?” I asked, as my mother leaned down to pick up the knitting bag beneath her chair. “Did they escape, too?”

From Ethan’s bedroom, tires squealed, and canned gunshots rang out.

I smiled. Jace had found an action movie.

“No.” Manx twisted the edge of the down comforter in her good hand, and I briefly considered offering her my punching pillow. “Rosa died in childbirth, two years ago. Another boy. Carmela kill herself when they take her son.”

“So now there’s only Ana,” I said, thinking aloud. And she’s mad.

“No, they still have Sonia.”

“Wait, who’s Sonia?” I sat up straight, closing my eyes as I did the mental math. My father’s contact had said four girls went missing. Manx was one of them. Then there were Ana, Carmela, and Rosa. “I thought they only took four tabbies,” I added, when my mother shot me a questioning look.

Manx blinked up at me, and her gray eyes seemed to see straight through me. “They bring Sonia later. Maybe… eight months ago. She was human. Scratched. What you call scratched cats?” Her forehead crinkled and her eyes closed in thought.

“Strays,” I whispered in incredulity. “We call them strays.”

“Yes. She was stray. Very scared. Very sick.” Manx tapped her left temple. “Like Ana.”

My mother’s clicking knitting needles paused, leaving a heavy, meaningful silence. Frowning, I scratched a mosquito bite on my foot.

The implications of Manx’s claim swirled around in my head, making me dizzy. “How the hell did they—”

My mother stood suddenly and blinked, as if that’s al it took to clear her mind of unpleasant thoughts. She laid her latest project—a scarf, from the looks of it—on the seat of her chair. “Is anyone hungry? I don’t think I ate any lunch today. Faythe?”

I shook my head. Food was the last thing on my mind. We’d already had dinner, and I had more questions for Manx….

“Mercedes, you must be starving, especially with the little one on the way,” my mother said, and Manx nodded, caressing her stomach. “I feel like chicken and dumplings. I don’t usually make that during hot weather, but some broth would be good for Jace.”

“Thank you.” Manx smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Faythe? Come help me?”

I arched my eyebrows at my mother in surprise. She wanted my help?

With dinner? I didn’t even know where she kept the Crock-Pot—or whatever she used to cook four whole chickens at a time. Unfazed, she beckoned me with a wave, and I followed her into the kitchen. “That poor girl has been through hell,” she whispered fiercely, pulling a massive cutting board from the cupboard beneath the bar. Before I’d recovered from my mother’s use of profanity, she continued. “I want you to leave her alone and be nice to her. She’l have to repeat everything for your father, anyway, and I see no reason to traumatize her twice. Hand me the meat cleaver.”

Huffing in frustration, I reached across the countertop and pulled the heavy nine-inch meat cleaver from a huge rack of knives, and hesitated only a moment before giving it to my mother. I was very reluctant to hand over such a big knife to someone so obviously irritated with me.

I gripped the countertop hard enough to make the wooden trim creak. “First of all, this is me being nice to Manx.” I hadn’t cuffed her. I hadn’t thrown her downstairs with Ryan. I hadn’t even really questioned her. “And the truth is that I feel damn sorry for her. She has been through hell. But she also has information we need about Luiz, and whoever’s running this whole operation in the jungle. Not to mention the fact that she’s murdered three innocent tomcats!”

My mother pulled a whole, plastic-wrapped chicken from the fridge and dropped it on the cutting board, much harder than necessary. “Her experience with men has hardly been positive, Faythe. I can certainly understand how she might have felt threatened by a couple of strange tomcats putting their hands on her.”

“And the council may see things your way.” Though I had my doubts.

“But the fact remains that you can’t pronounce her innocent just because you feel sorry for her. It’s the council’s place to try her, not ours.” Yet I had the distinct feeling I’d be supporting the other side of that argument when my own time came to face the council.

“I agree with you completely.” She lifted her meat clever into the air with both hands and brought it down with a mighty thud, slicing the first unfortunate chicken clean in half, plastic wrapping and all. “Her fate is up to the council. But until then, her well-being—and that of her child—is up to us, and I will not have you upsetting her with questions you have no business asking. Leave the interrogation to your father, and be nice to Mercedes. That’s the end of this discussion.”