“You like tech?”
“I like what tech can do.” I lean against the counter. Years with the Humans, and I’m still freaked out that houses contain entire huge-ass rooms dedicated to the preparation of food. “So, when you guys shift into wolves, do you still think the same way? Does your brain shift with you, too?”
Alex mulls it. “Yes and no. There are some instincts that take over in that form, more than they otherwise would. The impulse to hunt, for instance, is very powerful. To chase a scent, track down an enemy. That’s why you maybe shouldn’t venture out alone to . . .”
“Skinny-dip at midnight?”
He looks away. He’s kind of adorable, in an I want to tie his shoelaces and blow on his skinned knee kind of way. “Do you . . . It’s probably bullshit, but I just wanted to make sure . . . Vampyres don’t, right?”
I tilt my head. “Don’t what?”
“Shift into animals. Not that I believe the bat rumor, but just in case you’re going to fly away and . . .”
I bet Alex gets along great with Ana. “Nope, I do not turn into a bat. Would be lovely, though.”
“Okay, good.” He seems incredibly relieved. I decide to take advantage of that, broadcasting a mix of casualness and very mild interest in my surroundings, then say offhandedly:
“Can you shift into a wolf whenever you want? Or is the full moon thing just a rumor?”
“It depends, I guess.”
“On what?”
“How powerful a Were is. Being able to shift at will, it’s a sign of dominance. Being able to avoid shifting during the full moon, too.”
I don’t know what possesses me to ask, “What about Lowe? Is he powerful?”
Alex lets out a startled laugh. “He is the most powerful Were I’ve ever seen. And that my grandfather has ever seen—and he’s seen many Alphas.”
“Oh.” I pick up a ladle. Or a spatula. I forgot which one is which. “Is he powerful because he can shift whenever he wants?”
Alex frowns. “No. That’s just part of who he is, but—everyone knew that he had the making of an Alpha.” His eyes are starting to shine. A Moreland stan, clearly. “He was the fastest runner, and the best tracker, and even his scent was right. That’s why Roscoe sent him away.”
“Not a dumb move, since in the end Lowe killed Roscoe.”
Alex blinks at me. “He didn’t kill him. He challenged him, and Roscoe died through that process.”
There must be cultural nuances that I’m not grasping here, not to mention that Roscoe was, by all accounts, a bloodthirsty sadist. Doesn’t seem like a huge loss, so I don’t press it. “Is my roomie Lowe usually gone during the day?” It’s about six p.m., but I can’t hear anyone moving about the place. Maybe Moreland is avoiding home because I stank it up? I took a bath when I woke up, and soaked for a long time. Not quite an olive branch, but . . . an olive. “What about Ana?”
“Ana is with Juno.” Alex shrugs. “Lowe is off to deal with the sabotage that happened this morning, and . . .”
I cock my head, and it’s a mistake—too much broadcasted interest. Alex takes a step back, clearing his throat. “Actually, they’re out on a run,” he says, and he must be the worst liar I’ve ever seen. I’m tempted to pat his back, let him know that he’s doing great and won’t go to hell for making stuff up.
Instead, I push harder. “Have you ever seen Humans in this house?”
“Humans?” His brow furrows. “Like who?”
Serena’s face flashes through my head. She’s rolling her eyes because I’m wearing a galaxy T-shirt I got for free when I bought a lava lamp. Who wears this, Misery? No—who buys a lava lamp?
“Any Human.” I shrug artfully. “Just curious.”
I don’t think he buys it. “I’ve never seen a Human in Were territory.” He gives me a suspicious look. I’ve played my hand too heavily. “And this is the Alpha’s home. A place for Weres to feel safe.”
“Except, now I live here.” I play with my silver wedding band—a habit I’ve picked up in less than twenty-four hours. I’ve never been much for jewelry, but maybe I’ll keep it when I find Serena and this is over. Or buy one of those mood rings that think Vampyres are always sad because our body temperature is low. “Why?”
“Um, what do you mean?”
“I’m just surprised Lowe would want me around.”
“You’re married.”
“Not for real, though. Lowe and I didn’t meet on a Caribbean vacation and fall in love while getting our scuba diving certificates.”
“It’s not a matter of love.”
I lift my eyebrow.
“Having you live with him—it’s about protection. Making a commitment. Sending a message. They know you’re not his true wife or his mate or anything.”
Ah, yes, the famed mate. Who probably used to live in his house. I nod, not quite understanding. Then again, I don’t understand Humans or Vampyres, either. I’m sure the Weres have their reasons to do what they do.
Just like I have mine.
“So, I shouldn’t head out on my own, but inside the house I can be wherever I want?”
Alex’s shoulders relax at the change of topic. “Sure. Maybe stay out of Lowe’s and Ana’s rooms. And his office.”
“Of course.” I smile just a little. Fangless. “And where’s the office?”
He points at the hallway behind me. “Left, then right.”
“Perfect. I just hope I don’t get lost.” I shrug airily, and plant my first lie: “My orientation skills are pretty bad.”
* * *
The first time I searched online for L. E. Moreland, I found two things: a semi-defunct GeoCities website promoting a wholly defunct real estate agent, and the infinite vastness of nothing.
So I searched again, the way penetration testers do: with some disregard for doors. I jumped a fence or two, slithered between gates’ pickets, took advantage of windows left half open by their owners.
That’s when I discovered that the late Leopold Eric Moreland, who died peacefully in his bed in 1999, had previously settled out of court on a lawsuit for negligence in his fiduciary duties, and was obsessed with Yorkies.
And nothing else.
So I took off my white hat. And when I started searching next, there was less stealthing around ajar doors, and more knocking over entire walls. In hindsight, I got a little reckless. But I was getting frustrated, because—no offense to my animal-lover-but-sloppy- worker friend Leopold—no decent records of L. E. Moreland could be found.
With one exception.
Deep in a Human server with ties to the governor’s office, hidden in a memo locked behind a bewildering number of passwords, I discovered a communication regarding a summit that had occurred a couple of weeks earlier. Around the time Serena hadn’t shown up for laundry night.
Lowe Moreland and M. Garcia are expected to be present, it said. Security will be increased.
I like data, and numbers, and thinking things through with logic and pivot tables. I’ve never been instinctive, but in that moment, I knew—I just knew—that I was on the right track. That Lowe Moreland had to be involved in Serena’s disappearance.
So I started searching for him twenty-four seven. I took time off work. Called in favors. Stared at security camera footage. Went deep into the dark web, which is even less fun than it sounds. After weeks, I discovered one thing about Lowe Moreland: whoever took care of erasing his digital footprint was nearly as good as I am.
And I’m pretty fucking good.
Once I found out from Father that Lowe was a Were, the secrecy finally made sense. Their firewalls have always been exceptional, their networks hack-proof. I’d love to meet the person who keeps it up so I can either fangirl or deck them. But wandering around Lowe’s beautiful home, which is even larger than I thought, I know that it’s not going to be a problem anymore. Because while there might be several things I can’t do remotely, if I’m physically in front of a computer? It’s happening, baby. And once I’m in, I’m going to scour every single document and piece of communication the Weres have, and I’m going to find Serena, and then . . .