The result was definitely nontraditional, and I’d heard people openly question the longevity of the housing arrangement. But the advantage to us was obvious. The back outbuilding was almost completely shielded from the main house by the middle one. If Jace was in the last one, we might just be able to get to him without alerting the rest of the Pride.

From where we stood near the tree line, we could see all three buildings from the side. “We should approach from directly behind the back building,” I whispered, then glanced up to find that Marc was already on the move. I rushed after him, careful to avoid anything that could crunch beneath my boots, and we hiked a quarter of the way around the property.

The middle building had almost disappeared behind the rear trailer when hinges squealed suddenly, then a door slammed shut. I froze, Marc at my side.

“…just thought you might want to make something special tonight. You know, since Jace is home.”

“Well, I hadn’t really thought about it, but he always did like homemade stew. And maybe I could make some potato bread to go with it.”

My heart ached at the familiar voice. Patricia Malone. A moment later, she appeared between the last two buildings, heading toward the side yard of the main house. She was facing away from us, but even from behind I could see that she was thinner than I remembered, her brown hair now streaked with gray.

Alex Malone guided her gently but firmly by one arm, encouraging her and making suggestions for Jace’s homecoming dinner.

“Shit. They got rid of Patti,” I whispered, and Marc whined. We watched as the Malones circled the middle building and disappeared from sight, veering toward the back door of the main house. “Let’s go.”

From the edge of the woods at the back of the property, we could see through the windows of the last building. Unfortunately, two of them were covered by threadbare but mostly opaque curtains, and a third was a total blind spot, thanks to a set of plain white miniblinds. But two others were uncovered, and by some stroke of luck, one looked into the kitchen, the other into the living room.

I was starting to wish we’d brought binoculars when a blur of movement drew my focus to the larger of the two windows, and I saw Jace sink onto the couch in the living room. He looked exhausted, and tense, and nervous.

I pulled my own phone from my right hip pocket and started typing again. Marc glanced over my shoulder, reading along.

They think U R a spy. We’re out back. Can C U thru window.

I sent the message, and an instant later, Jace sat straighter on the couch and leaned forward to pull his phone from his back pocket. He flipped it open and went stiff—which is exactly why I hadn’t texted Jace earlier. I didn’t want his reaction to give us away before we were close enough to help.