Blind Tiger
Page 46
“And, the Nerd of the Year Award goes to Titus Nathaniel Alexander…” I said without turning away from the screen. “It looks like his computer is set to remember his other passwords, which is a security nightmare, but convenient for our well-intentioned but illicit purposes.”
“Turkey, pepper jack, and pickles. Justus doesn’t stock tomatoes or lettuce, or anything fresh. At all.” Titus sank onto the couch next to me holding two sandwiches. Each on its own paper plate. His leg touched mine from hip to thigh, and I could feel the warmth of his skin through both layers of denim. “So what do we know so far?”
I accepted my plate and set it on the couch cushion on my other side, trying not to think about how warm his leg felt. About how his shoulder brushed mine as he leaned in to see the screen. About how, if I turned, my lips would be less than two inches from his, and he’d be damn near obligated to kiss me. Or to hold still and let me do it.
“Well, it looks like he hasn’t posted on any social media in nearly a week,” I said, trying to purge thoughts that made me feel warm and raw all over. “But six days ago, he put up a shot of himself and the girl from the picture having lunch from a food truck. The caption reads, ‘Me and Ivy at Molly’s Tamales’.”
“Ivy. Shit,” Titus said around his first bite. “Wasn’t that the name of Corey Morris’s roommate’s girlfriend? The one who owned the cabin where he was attacked?”
I closed my eyes, trying to remember everything Corey had said about how he’d been infected. “I think so. Maybe it’s a different Ivy.”
Titus huffed. “That’d be a hell of a coincidence. The more logical conclusion is that Justus was involved with Morris’s friend’s girlfriend. Or she was cheating on Justus with Morris’s friend.” He leaned closer to glance at the laptop screen. “Do we have a last name?
“No, but he’s tagged her. Just a sec.” I clicked the link and took a bite of my sandwich while the page loaded. “Ivy Lowe. She’s a sophomore at Millsaps. There are several pictures of her in a dorm room, so it looks like she lives on campus. I bet her number’s in his phone. Why don’t you call her?”
Titus set his plate on the coffee table and pulled his brother’s phone from his pocket. He typed a four-digit number into the lock screen, and it disappeared.
“You knew the password?”
“No, but I can see the pattern. It was the date our parents died.”
Morbid, but understandable.
Looking over Titus’s shoulder—and breathing in his scent, inches from his neck—I could see that there was no Ivy in Justus’s short favorites menu. I took another bite, watching while Titus scrolled through the longer contacts list, then stopped. “Ivy Lowe. Cross your fingers.” He pressed call, then held the phone up to his ear, and I could hear perfectly well when her voicemail picked up. “Well, that’s not good.”
“Maybe she’s in class.” I licked a smear of mustard from my upper lip, pleased to find him watching my mouth.
“At ten-thirty pm?”
I shrugged. “Maybe she’s studying. Or working. Or driving with her phone on do not disturb.” I took another bite and spoke around it. “She’ll probably text you back any minute in all caps, yelling at Justus for whatever he did to break them up.”
Titus glanced at me with one brow arched. “You’re assuming he broke them up?”
“Your brother trashed his room, shredded his girlfriend’s underwear, and infected a stranger. Even if he didn’t mean to be, chances are that he was the problem.”
“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?”
“Turkey, pepper jack, and pickles. Justus doesn’t stock tomatoes or lettuce, or anything fresh. At all.” Titus sank onto the couch next to me holding two sandwiches. Each on its own paper plate. His leg touched mine from hip to thigh, and I could feel the warmth of his skin through both layers of denim. “So what do we know so far?”
I accepted my plate and set it on the couch cushion on my other side, trying not to think about how warm his leg felt. About how his shoulder brushed mine as he leaned in to see the screen. About how, if I turned, my lips would be less than two inches from his, and he’d be damn near obligated to kiss me. Or to hold still and let me do it.
“Well, it looks like he hasn’t posted on any social media in nearly a week,” I said, trying to purge thoughts that made me feel warm and raw all over. “But six days ago, he put up a shot of himself and the girl from the picture having lunch from a food truck. The caption reads, ‘Me and Ivy at Molly’s Tamales’.”
“Ivy. Shit,” Titus said around his first bite. “Wasn’t that the name of Corey Morris’s roommate’s girlfriend? The one who owned the cabin where he was attacked?”
I closed my eyes, trying to remember everything Corey had said about how he’d been infected. “I think so. Maybe it’s a different Ivy.”
Titus huffed. “That’d be a hell of a coincidence. The more logical conclusion is that Justus was involved with Morris’s friend’s girlfriend. Or she was cheating on Justus with Morris’s friend.” He leaned closer to glance at the laptop screen. “Do we have a last name?
“No, but he’s tagged her. Just a sec.” I clicked the link and took a bite of my sandwich while the page loaded. “Ivy Lowe. She’s a sophomore at Millsaps. There are several pictures of her in a dorm room, so it looks like she lives on campus. I bet her number’s in his phone. Why don’t you call her?”
Titus set his plate on the coffee table and pulled his brother’s phone from his pocket. He typed a four-digit number into the lock screen, and it disappeared.
“You knew the password?”
“No, but I can see the pattern. It was the date our parents died.”
Morbid, but understandable.
Looking over Titus’s shoulder—and breathing in his scent, inches from his neck—I could see that there was no Ivy in Justus’s short favorites menu. I took another bite, watching while Titus scrolled through the longer contacts list, then stopped. “Ivy Lowe. Cross your fingers.” He pressed call, then held the phone up to his ear, and I could hear perfectly well when her voicemail picked up. “Well, that’s not good.”
“Maybe she’s in class.” I licked a smear of mustard from my upper lip, pleased to find him watching my mouth.
“At ten-thirty pm?”
I shrugged. “Maybe she’s studying. Or working. Or driving with her phone on do not disturb.” I took another bite and spoke around it. “She’ll probably text you back any minute in all caps, yelling at Justus for whatever he did to break them up.”
Titus glanced at me with one brow arched. “You’re assuming he broke them up?”
“Your brother trashed his room, shredded his girlfriend’s underwear, and infected a stranger. Even if he didn’t mean to be, chances are that he was the problem.”
“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?”
