In the kitchen, the guys—all but Marc—were gathered around several half gallons of ice cream, each shoveling indiscriminately with his own spoon. I smiled at them, then turned toward the office. My fingers had just closed over the doorknob when it turned on its own.

The door swung open and Marc stepped out, his hands curled into fists at his sides and his eyes blazing. He paused just long enough to meet my eyes, then brushed past me and stomped off down the hall and out the back door.

All commotion from the kitchen ceased. Then, after mere seconds of silence, Ethan became the first to break it. As usual. “What crawled up his ass?”

In his office, my father looked up from his desk at the sound of Ethan’s voice. But his eyes settled on me instead. “No sense standing in the doorway, Faythe. Come in and sit down.” He glanced over my shoulder and across the hal at the guys in the kitchen. “The rest of you put up the ice cream and get in here.”

As I plopped on the end of the couch closest to him, tucking my feet beneath me, he stood and crossed the room to his armchair without waiting to see whether or not his orders were followed. He still wore his suit jacket, but his top button was undone and his tie was gone. It lay draped over the back of his empty desk chair.

With the exception of the occasional postbedtime emergency, when my father came to his office still in silk pajamas and a matching robe, I couldn’t remember ever seeing him work in less than a ful suit. It was disconcerting.

And a little disorienting.

“What’s wrong with Marc?” I asked, eyeing my father in suspicion.

He watched me for a long moment, his lips pressed into a firm, straight line. “I split the two of you up.” He crossed one ankle over his knee, waiting for my reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.

I sat up straight and my heels hit the rug a little harder than I’d intended. “You what?”

“Not as a couple,” he said calmly, his hands folded in his lap. “As field partners.”

Did that mean Marc would be taking his vacation, after all? I wrapped my hands around the scrolled arm of the couch, sinking my fingers into the cool, smooth leather. “Why? We work well together.”

“Not on this assignment. You’re clearly better equipped than the guys to find and question Andrew, but I don’t want Marc anywhere near him.

We need Andrew alive, and not just on the off chance that he might be able or willing to testify about his infection in front of the council. We have to know what happened to the missing strippers, and where they are, and we need him for that. Unfortunately, I’m not sure Marc can deliver him intact.”

“He promised he would.”

“And I don’t doubt that he meant that when he said it. But the fact that you needed a promise from him should say something. We can’t afford for him to accidentally go too far with Andrew.”

“He won’t—”

“It’s done.”

Damn it. But I couldn’t help thinking it was a good sign that Marc was upset about being separated from me. If he’d taken it well, I’d have been worried. Jace sat next to me on the couch, and Owen settled onto the love seat, but I barely noticed either of them.

Apparently neither did my father. “When this is all over, we’ll revisit the issue.”

“Any room for negotiation on this one?” I asked, my voice sounding hopeless and drained, even to my own ears.

“No.” He didn’t even smile, and with an almost bitter amusement, I realized I was tired of arguing, at least for today. Marc and I could probably handle one assignment without each other. After all, absence made the heart grow fonder, right?

Or was it out of sight, out of mind?

Chapter Twenty-Two

“So what’s the plan?” I asked my father as Vic and Parker stepped into the room, each carrying several canned sodas.

“Michael wants to go to Jamey’s funeral,” he said, politely waving off the can Parker offered him. “So, Owen, I’m keeping you here to help me.”

Owen nodded, popping open the can Vic handed him.

“I sent Michael to sleep in the guest room. Wes Gardner will be here first thing in the morning, and Michael and Ethan are accompanying him home for the funeral.” That was standard practice whenever a Pride cat died. Each Alpha would be expected to send his own sons to represent both the Pride and the family, regardless of the inconvenience it might cause. “Did you hear that, Ethan?” my father asked, without raising his voice.

“Got it,” my youngest brother cal ed back from the kitchen, where he was loitering.

“Faythe, when we find Andrew, I’m sending Jace and Vic out with you.”

I glanced at Jace, surprised that my father would pair us after the last time we were alone together. But then, this time we wouldn’t be alone.

Vic would be with us, which brought up another question. Vic and Marc had been partners for nearly a decade before I became an enforcer, so if my dad wouldn’t let me work with Marc, why hadn’t he put them back together?

“Thanks,” I said, accepting one of Parker’s Cokes. But before I could question my father’s reasoning, Ethan came in carrying a mug of coffee.

“Here you go, Dad,” he said, extending the mug. My father accepted it and nodded at Ethan in thanks.

Someone was certainly trying to get on the Alpha’s good side.

“Ethan, I want you to go to bed. We can’t afford for you to be pulled over tomorrow because you were too tired to be careful.”