Timur, who had brought up the rear, guarding him carefully, made a move toward Brice. Sevastyan and Gorya shifted smoothly around to put their bodies between the three cops and Alonzo. Alonzo held up his hand and all of them halted, but none of them liked it. They wanted action. Their leopards demanded it. Their leopards were every bit as savage as his, and he knew what it took to fight the big temperamental cats daily. Now, when everything had gone to hell and there was no one to challenge, the cops were making it easy to view them as targets.

Silence stretched along with the tension. If the three wanted to blow the fact that they were undercover, they could demand permits for the weapons his bodyguards—as well as Alonzo—were all obviously carrying. Alonzo didn’t speak. Didn’t react. He merely stared at Brice with his glacier-cold eyes, freezing him out. He was good at that. He’d perfected the look by the time he was thirteen. He scared grown men with that look back when he’d been a teenager. Brice wasn’t any different. He could see the killer in Alonzo and it brought him up short.

“Why couldn’t you just leave her alone?”

There was genuine grief in the cop’s voice. He hadn’t been playing her to get at Alonzo. He’d actually wanted a chance with her.

“She’s mine,” Alonzo said quietly. “She’s always been mine. She told you, but you couldn’t hear her.”

“She’s lying on a damn surgery table because of you.”

Alonzo didn’t reply. What was there to say? It was the truth. He didn’t have to like it, but it was still the truth. He didn’t owe Brice Addler an explanation, nor was there an explanation good enough. He just turned his back on the man and walked over to the window to stare out over the city. Waiting. His heart beating. Frozen inside.

He could see the other two cops move in on either side of their buddy, afraid he’d do something crazy. His leopard still raged and clawed, but he was used to it, that continual fury that seemed endless without Evangeline. He was weary of it, weary of the cat wanting to kill.

You are not worthy of your mate if you continue. It was the first time he’d ever rebuked his cat. Ever. He’d always known the leopard was reacting to the things done to him. The violence surrounding them. The kills and the battles and the blood. He’d never blamed his leopard until that moment. If he could find the discipline to stay still and quiet waiting for word on his woman, the leopard should be able to as well.

I hate the smell of him.

He cares for her.

Not him. The other one. Deceit. Treachery. He smells like the men surrounding your father.