Logan caught Ororo’s fresh-as-rain scent, and his eyes flitted up in faint surprise. “Over already? Must be my lucky day.”
The comment didn’t draw the smile he expected. She looked worried as she stepped in close to him and drew her phone from her purse. “I received an alert that your communicator has been damaged, Logan.”
His blood ran cold. “Location?”
“Not with you?” She looked at him oddly, but dragged her fingers across the touch screen of her own, much more high-tech, phone. “It would appear that the tracer has been damaged as well. The last GPS signal, however, was sent from . . . I believe this is the restaurant where we ate dinner last night. Did you by chance leave your phone behind?”
“No. What was the last outgoing call?”
“Logan, I don’t understand—“
“The last call, ‘Ro!” he barked.
“Calm down.” She swiped her fingers over the screen of her phone. Her eyes went wide.
Logan took it from her hand, looking down at the display.
9-9-1-1.
“Fuck.”
“Logan?”
He shoved the phone at her and didn’t even glance back when she asked where he was going.
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