“If that’s true, she may have blocked his number.” Titus frowned. “We probably shouldn’t show up at her dorm room in the middle of the night.”
“No,” I agreed. “But I might be able to ‘run into’ her tomorrow on campus.”
“And how would we know where she’d be?”
“Through the miracle of cyber-stalking. How do you think I tracked down certain dead psychopaths who shall remain nameless?”
Titus laughed, then waved one hand magnanimously at the computer on my lap. “Go for it.”
While he finished his sandwich, I scrolled through Ivy Lowe’s posts on every social media account I could find for her. In spite of their apparent breakup, she and Justus were still friends online, so I was able to see pictures that would otherwise have been hidden on her private accounts.
“Well, Ivy plays tennis for Millsaps, but she doesn’t win much. On the weekends, she works at a vintage clothing store. And she eats enough ice cream to keep a dairy farm in business all on her own. Not that you can tell it from her pictures.” I frowned as I took another bite of my sandwich. “Maybe it’s low-fat yogurt.”
“Can you tell where she gets it? We could people-watch at an ice cream place tomorrow.”
“I can’t see the name of the shop, but it has a pink logo, with—”
A phone rang, and I thought it was Justus’s until Titus pulled his cell from his pocket. “It’s Faythe.” His heartbeat took up a rapid, stressed cadence, and mine raced to match its pace. And again, that connection surprised me. Do all Pride cats have sympathetic physical reactions to their Alphas’ stress? Or excitement? Was that part of some weird Pride bonding?
Did my reaction mean that my feline half recognized Titus as its Alpha? Or was the connection more personal in nature?
My pulse raced even faster with that thought.
“What are you going to tell her?” I asked, dragging my thoughts back on track.
“I don’t know. But I owe her an explanation.”
I grabbed his phone and pressed the button to reject Faythe’s call.
“Robyn!” Titus took his phone.
“You can’t tell her much without incriminating your brother, so let her get the scoop from Jace and Abby for now. We’ll call her when we have more information.”
He scowled, disapproval radiating from his gray gaze, and I had to push past my inner cat’s instinct to cower. But then he took the laptop from me and set it on the coffee table, next to my toothbrush. “If that’s the plan, let’s go get that information.”
When he stood, I stood with him, my pulse racing again. After two months of metaphorically sitting on my hands at the Di Carlo compound, a chance to play detective with Titus—and help his brother, a fellow stray—felt like waking up from a psychological coma. “Where? How?”
“We’re going to start in the woods east of I55. If Justus infected Corey Morris there, it might be his regular hunting grounds. For however long he’s been a shifter.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “I have no idea how long that is. How can I not even know how long ago my own brother was infected?”
“This isn’t your fault, Titus.” I sat again and opened the laptop. “If we’re going to the woods in the middle of the night, we need a plan. Or at least a starting point.”
“Okay…” He sat next to me again, his warm leg pressed against mine, and watched while I pulled up a map of Jackson, Mississippi, online and clicked on the satellite filter. “Okay, east of I55. North or south of the city?”
“South. Isn’t that what Morris said?”
“I think so.” I zoomed in and panned around in the wooded areas until I found a cabin. The satellite view wouldn’t let me see the small building up close, but it gave me the longitude and latitude.
“How do you know that’s the right cabin?” Titus asked, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. I had to concentrate to keep my focus on the task at hand.
“I don’t.” I jotted down the coordinates, then panned around on the map a bit, but only found one other cabin nearby. “Okay, these are the only two they could have gotten to without having to cross a river. It’s a good starting point.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
I set Justus’s laptop on the glass coffee table and Titus reached down to pull me up from the couch, his gaze locked on mine. His grip on my hand loosened and lingered until he was just…holding it. Renewing the connection.
That sweet, innocent contact—his hand warm against mine—should have been nothing, but it felt like…something.
Something that I wanted, for the first time since the night I’d been scratched.
