I cut him off with a harsh look and a firm grip on his arm, hauling the doctor quickly toward the staircase at the end of the hall. “She can hear us, genius,” I hissed, clomping onto the first step.
One corner of his mouth turned up in surprise. “Yeah, I guess she can. Why is it we forget children can hear us, and we talk about them like they aren’t even there?”
“Children? Hell, that’s how most of you treat women. And that’s not always a bad thing.” I got most of my privileged information when some stupid tom or arrogant Alpha forgot I was within hearing range.
“I suppose you’re right.” The doctor shrugged, but had the sense to look embarrassed.
Downstairs, I found Michael surrounded by Jace and all four Alphas, all staring at whatever he held. Lucas and the other enforcers were gone, presumably having joined the search for the still-missing female hiker.
Marc hovered on the edge of the room, fists clenched in irritation. Though his flight wouldn’t leave until early the next morning, he’d been removed from the proceedings by virtue of his official banishment, and I’d never seen him look more frustrated.
All heads turned my way as I thumped to the hardwood floor from the last carpeted step. “Is this about Kaci?” I whispered.
“Yeah, I found—”
I cut Michael off with a curt toss of my head toward the door as I marched past him, snatching my jacket from the back of an armchair on the way. “Let’s take it outside. She can hear bits of everything said down here.” To my amusement, they all followed me through the kitchen and into the backyard without a word of protest.
We wound up beneath the high, broad branches of an old oak, and I gave myself mental kudos for picking the side of the building the tabby couldn’t see from her window. Michael stopped in front of me and the Alphas re-formed that same semicircle around him, Jace and Dr. Carver hovering around the edges.
“I found her,” Michael announced. “Kaci, with a K and an I, and Dillon with two L’s.”
“Yeah?” I’d been expecting that, of course. “What’d you find?” My gaze strayed to the thin stack of papers in his right hand. On the front page, a black-and-white school photo of a young girl stared up at me. It was upside down from my perspective, and her face was much fuller, eyes glittering with innocence and unspoiled youth. But it was Kaci, without a doubt.
Michael handed me the top sheet—an online-newspaper printout—and I turned it around to stare into Kaci’s eyes while he spoke. “The Dillons were big news in their little town a couple of months ago. They even made a few of the papers down here.”
The headline read: Father Mourns Missing Daughter.