Page 25 of Savage Prince

“Should we try the main office?” I ask. “Or is that a lost cause?”

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Ford says. “At best, it would confirm that we’re alive and still concerned about what’s going on at Lost Moon. At worst, they might have a way of tracking the number to this IP address that I don’t know about. And if things were okay on campus, at least one of them would have answered. The chances that all four of them forgot to charge their phones at the same time are pretty damned slim.”

I pace back and forth behind his chair, chewing on my bottom lip. “And there isn’t anyone else you could call? Someone who might not be under house arrest, maybe?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, one of your wolf friends. You said you were pretending to be part of the New Lupine Brotherhood to gather intel. Did you meet anyone while you were there who didn’t seem to be completely on board with the crazy, either? A lot of people just want to please, you know. They’ll go along with the group to keep from making waves or attracting the wrong kind of attention. But some of those people might have had a change of heart once they saw Beck try to kill you and realized he was helping facilitate a hostile takeover of the school.”

“I’m not sure that anyone except you saw what happened with Beck,” Ford says. “You were the only one with a bird’s eyes view.”

“Still,” I press. “Don’t you think the takeover might have scared some people? And that one of them might welcome a call from someone trying to help put things right?”

Ford shifts to face me as I perch on the desk beside his computer. “Maybe. I can think of a few but only one gave me his cell number. Trevor. He’s just a kid, though, only nineteen and very impressed with Beck’s power and money. But he also seemed like a good guy.”

“Try him,” I encourage. “What’s the worst that can happen? He hangs up and goes to tell Beck that you called?”

“Or gives the number to Hammer and his people to trace,” Ford says, “and we’re sitting ducks here. The bus doesn’t leave until five, remember.”

I curse beneath my breath, the impatient side of myself warring with the cautious one. “Okay, so we wait. We kill some time, then come back and try Trevor closer to five. That way, even if they do trace the number, we’ll be gone before they can possibly reach Montreal.”

“Sounds good.” Ford logs out of the account and stands. “So…how should we kill time?”

“Let’s not kill it,” I say, taking his hand. “Let’s enjoy it. I know our friends are probably in trouble and the phone calls didn’t work out the way we’d hoped, but this is still a day we won’t get back again. We shouldn’t waste it.”

“Okay.” He squeezes my hand but still looks sad, which gives me an idea.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing my duffel from the ground beside his chair and pulling him toward the door.

“Where are we going?” he asks, grabbing the other bag.

“Back to the park where we got our coffee,” I say, smiling at him over my shoulder. “I saw something there that you need in your life. And no, I won’t tell you what it is. It’s a surprise.”

He frowns. “All right. But just remember, we don’t have any money. Unless you want to count the change from the coffee.”

“It’s fine, we won’t need money,” I assure him. “The best things in life are free, Ford. And I’m about to prove it to you.”

He grunts and grumbles and frowns some more, but I ignore him, smiling as I pat his shoulder on the way down the elevator. “That’s right. Get all your crankiness out now, Mr. Growly, and prepare yourself to have an unexpectedly lovely day.”

He makes a soft pained sound, but when I ask him what’s wrong, he just shrugs and says, “Stomach cramp. Too much peanut butter, I guess, but it’s fine now.”

I know he’s lying, but I have no idea why.

It makes me wish all over again that he would tell me more about myself and our past together, just to help me keep from hurting him, if nothing else.

But he won’t.

So, I’ll just have to focus on making good memories with him and hope they’ll be enough.

THIRTEEN

ford

She remembers morethan she thinks.

Her calling me Growly—my nickname forher—can’t be just a coincidence.

Her memories of who she was before are in there somewhere.

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