With rapt interest she watched Tzich. He reminded her of a cat’s tail, flicking with energy, momentarily suspended in sly grace and then violently jerked into a new direction. A manic look haunted his eyes, and it somehow compelled Carly—perhaps because, deep down, she knew he was her guide to satisfaction, wherever and whatever it was going to be. Her muscles pulsed with anticipation in her arms and fingers.

She frowned. “What? How am I supposed to know? I just started!”

She had a feeling that that excuse wouldn’t work. Therefore, rather than stand there gawking at him until he did something, she inched past him then started down the sidewalk. Once at the divide of latitude and longitude, she stopped and took a deep breath. It turned into a sigh, and she pressed her hands against her hips.

Then it came. She tensed suddenly, and her knees really pricked. It was clear she caught a scent of something. Poised, demanded, she looked to Tzich quickly, her eyes wider, her pupils were tight and constricted, like an animal in the heat of the hunt.

“I think there’s something this way,” she said, barely pointing in front of her before she started toward it. Her walk went from a smooth pace, to a hasted gait, then a full-on jog.