“Thanks for talking to me. When I get back, if you’re feeling up to it, I’d love for you to come down and have dinner with the rest of us.”

“Maybe…” Her gaze followed me as I backed toward the door. “But not that guy who yelled at you. The one who came in while you were gone. I don’t want to eat with him.”

Malone. “I don’t want to eat with him, either,” I said, and she grinned. I had my free hand on the doorknob by the time I remembered the question I’d forgotten to ask her. “Kaci, where are you from?”

“Cranbrook.” I must have looked confused, because she elaborated to oblige my geographical ignorance. “It’s about an hour from the U.S. border. In southeastern British Columbia.”

Huh. That was two Canadian strays in as many days. What are the chances?

But then I realized the chances were far greater in Montana than they would have been back on the ranch. The cabin complex was less than a hundred miles from the Canadian border.

Kaci’s nose wrinkled in concern. “I think I crossed the border illegally. Am I going to be in trouble for that?”

I smiled, amused that she was worried about being deported, with everything else she had on her plate at the moment. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Marc’s eyes burned into mine as I shut the bedroom door behind me. “They called in backup a couple of hours ago,” he whispered, taking the plates from me as we headed down the hall. “Ethan and Parker, and two more of Malone’s men. Plus, whoever Blackwell’s bringing in to replace Colin.”

“Peachy.” We were running low on uninjured enforcers and had yet to find the band of strays, so we could certainly use some extra claws on hand. But I didn’t relish having a bigger audience when my verdict was finally read.

Downstairs, I dropped the empty cans in the trash and set our plates in the sink, then followed Marc out the front door, ignoring Malone and Blackwell entirely. Jace and Malone’s enforcer were waiting for us on the porch, and from Jace’s index finger dangled a set of keys attached to a bauble reading Hertz.

I had one foot on the floorboard when Michael called my name. I looked up to see him jogging toward us from the direction of our cabin. “What’s wrong?” I asked, watching him over the roof of the car.

“I’ve spent the last three hours on the Internet, looking for your tabby. There is no girl by her name, fitting her age and physical description, anywhere in the western half of the country. Is there any chance she lied about her name?”