Bone Music (Burning Girl #1)(109)

“Good point, but . . .”

“But what?”

“Might I suggest a backup plan?”

“I’m listening.”

“Have Bailey ready to dump all the documents he found from the Bryant Center hack. That way if Graydon does shut us down, Pemberton and his rich friend won’t be able to hide behind that warrant anymore. Or lack thereof.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

She’s getting ready to text Bailey when one of the trackers starts moving.

“Well, that was a quick shower,” she says.

“It’s the Cadillac.”

A few seconds later, she sees it leave the entry gate and turn inland.

Luke eases his foot off the brake and follows.

By the time they’ve followed Pemberton onto the toll road, she’s got the lenses in, and she’s used the passcode key to open the feed. The hall of mirrors effect when she looks directly at the receiving tablet turns her stomach.

“Which way’s he headed?” she asks.

“South—5 freeway.”

“Temecula?”

“Possible.”

And though she doesn’t say it, it’s also possible what they’re seeing now actually is the behavior of someone with a living captive who needs tending to.



By the time they’re skirting Camp Pendleton, she and Luke agree there’s a 75 percent chance they’re headed for the Temecula house, which is cause enough to call Marty.

When she asks him to head back to the surveillance point, Marty doesn’t complain, but the request still gives her a twinge of guilt. It’s his first break of the day, and she figures he was up there for hours already. But even though Marty vouches for all of them, she doesn’t know any of the guys currently on watch; she needs someone she can trust with eyes on the property.

Worse, after studying the map earlier that day, Luke’s assured her there’s no way in hell they can follow Pemberton up the twisty mountain road to his place without being detected. The road leads to only one place—Pemberton’s. They’ll need to fall back at the entrance to the narrow valley that contains his house, stay in phone contact with Marty, and hope the signal from the tracker doesn’t drop out.

If they’re given cause to approach the house on foot, the best plan will be to meet up with Marty at the surveillance point and strike out from there. It’s a downhill walk most of the way, and the brush is thin. The downside of this plan? If Pemberton leaves by car quickly, catching up with him from the surveillance point won’t be easy. Again, it will all depend on the strength of the tracker. Thank God they bought the priciest model.

They’re silent now. Suppressing nervous tics. Doing mental battle with worst-case scenarios. And, she’s sure, wondering what comes next if it seems Pemberton’s got a live captive.

To their right, the Pacific, glittering in the moonlight. To their left, the long, dark expanse of the Marine Corps base and its rear fortification of dark mountains. When they reach Oceanside, a small town right at the base’s southern border, Pemberton’s Cadillac takes a right onto Highway 76, and Luke says, “Seventy-five percent just went up to ninety.”

Low, rolling hills plated in night darkness. The occasional terrace of lights from a subdivision. Then, suddenly, Interstate 15, a blazing ribbon of red and white twisting through the night’s darkness, past the hill-nestled town of Fallbrook. By day it must be beautiful countryside. At night it’s like they’re driving in between frozen ocean waves.

They cross I-15, head into even darker and more rugged countryside.

“Valley entrance or surveillance point?” Luke asks.

“Valley entrance, until we’re sure he’s staying.”

The taillights of Pemberton’s Cadillac vanish onto the side road up ahead. Luke keeps driving, toward the Pala Indian Reservation and the blaze of lights from the casino resort up ahead. When he pulls over onto the gravel shoulder, she calls Marty, tells him how far up Pala Temecula Road Pemberton’s tracker is.

“Got him in sight,” Marty says. “He’s coming up the road. Opening the gate, dogs are going nuts.”

The fact that she can’t hear their barking through the phone tells her how far the surveillance post is from the house. Not good if they’re actually going to have to approach the place.

“Pulling into the garage,” Marty says.

“How big?”

“The garage? You could fit about four cars, I guess.”

“And it’s behind the gate?”

“Yep. Everything is except the old vineyard fields, and it doesn’t look like he’s using those.”

“All right. What’s he doing now?”

“No sign of him.”

“Is there enough light to see by? Maybe he walked to the main house and you—”

“Nope, nope. He’s backing out. Or someone else is. No, it’s him. But he’s in a brown Toyota Camry now.”

“Shit,” she whispers.

“What?” Luke asks.

“He switched cars.”

Luke curses under his breath, takes the Jeep out of park.

Charlotte asks, “Which way’s he headed?”

“North on Pala Temecula Road,” Marty says.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “Go. He’s headed in the other direction.”