“I think you’ve made your point,” my father interrupted, his expression an odd mix of pride and embarrassment. He knew I was working my way around to my stray-tabby theory.

“No, she hasn’t. What are you trying to say?” Malone demanded, scowling at me.

“Daddy…” I faced my father, pointedly ignoring Malone. Jace shook his head at me from over my uncle’s shoulder. But the truth had to be heard sometime, and I was obviously the only one willing to say it. “It wasn’t a hit. I don’t think the Dillons are werecats.”

“That’s not possible,” Blackwell said, just as Malone snapped, “That’s ridiculous.”

I arched my brows at them both. “More ridiculous than a single dam giving birth to two tabbies and no toms?”

“Well, there’s an easy way to find out.” My father put a hand on my shoulder, warning me to keep quiet. “Paul, has Colin Dean left yet?”

“No.” Blackwell glanced at his watch, his other hand clutching his cane. “Not for a couple of hours. He’s sitting with Brett.” No doubt Blackwell’s idea of the punishment fitting the crime. And I had to admit I liked it—though not as well as I’d like to see Colin neutered.

Daddy’s iron gaze landed on Jace. “Go get him.”

Jace jogged obediently toward the lodge. I trailed him with my eyes, not the least bit surprised to see Marc watching from the porch. He followed Jace inside, and though I couldn’t hear what they were saying, it was obvious they were both upset.

Michael cleared his throat to regain our attention, flipping through the papers in search of something in particular. “The human authorities assumed it was a wild-animal attack because it looked like a wild-animal attack. And because the Dillon home is very isolated, surrounded on three sides by thick forest populated with deer, wolves, and at least two species of wildcat. Actual wildcats.” He paused, still glancing through the pages, then pulled one from the pile triumphantly.

“Here we go. In the two weeks following the Dillon massacre—” my brother held up the page to show me the dramatic headline “—forest rangers shot four cougars, two wolves, a bobcat, and a bear. The locals went a little overboard trying to make sure they got the animal responsible.”

Which they obviously had not done. Proof that werecats exist would have made front-page news the world over.

I squinted, staring at another black-and-white photo on the paper Michael held, this one of two men in hunting gear, grinning like fools as they held the corpse of a cougar upside down between them, the poor cat’s head dragging on the ground.