Page 73 of Silver Fox Daddies

“So, what?” I continue inspecting the screen, as does Bishop.

He presses a button, bringing up a map. A green dot pulsates over her initials:MS.

“Give me that.” I snatch the phone and bring it up to my face, inspecting. “Looks like she’s on Virginia Street, Reno.”

“University of Nevada?” says Cash. “It’s five in the morning. What’s she doing there at this time?”

Shady.

Cash heads to the door anyway. “Let’s go. I have her live location. I’ll keep an eye on it as we drive to the city so we can keep track.”

We head outdoors, the first leak of daylight streaking across the sky in a nice, pale yellow color. We rev the engines on the Harleys, careful not to wake up any others, and speed away into a cloud of smoke, turning onto the main road to head for the city.

We arrive just in time for sunrise, turning into the university.

It’s a large building, bigger than anticipated. Students spill into the entrance. I scan the crowds for Melissa, but can’t find her.

“She’s inside,” Cash says, shouting back to Bishop and me.

We find somewhere to park, and head into the main building, earning ourselves a few interested glances from female students, probably reminding them of their favorite fictional characters.

Cash slows his walk, checking his phone. “She’s all the way in veterinary medicine. A five-minute walk.”

The cramps worsen as we grow nearer. We haven’t seen her in fourteen days—a lot can change. I don’t know if I’m prepared for this. College students are a liability. I didn’t pin Melissa as one, but that’s the thing about people—they always have the power to change.

I don’t think I’ll be able to restrain myself if I see her linking arms with somebody else.

But I’m also curious to find out why she’s been ignoring our calls for two weeks.

“You know,” I say, catching up with the others, “we could have just checked her live location before.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight.” Cash keeps a straight face.

“Surely if we know she’s at college, we know she’s safe,” I say. “And most importantly, still alive. I can understand the urgency if her location told us she was in an abandoned warehouse somewhere, but college?”

“You didn’t have to come,” counters Bishop.

I’m rendered silent after that, because as much as I’m unwilling to admit it, I know he has a point. I could’ve stayed at the clubhouse and acted as a distraction while the other two went to investigate. Instead, I find myself weaving through corridorsfull of adolescents trying to get the attention of the opposite sex using cheap pickup lines.

“It’s here.” Cash comes to a stop.

We’re away from the traffic now, lost in a network of corridors.

“Now what?” Bishop asks.

“Now”—Cash pockets his phone—“we wait.”

I’m busy tapping my boot against the tiled floor when the door nearest to us flies open to release a class full of students. Melissa is one of the last to exit, and when she does, she jumps back, a gasp leaving her mouth. Some of the surrounding classmates look at her funny, one even staying back to ask if she’s okay.

She says she is, but I can tell she wasn’t expecting to see us.

“Do we not even get a smile?” Bishop mirrors her pissed-off expression.

“No,” she deadpans, clutching the folders closer. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“We were worried about you,” Bishop says.

“Worried?” she does a double-take, apparently in disbelief that those words actually came out of his mouth.

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