Bone Music (Burning Girl #1)(124)

Cole steps inside the passenger compartment, which she sees is much more spacious than she thought.

The other two wait for her to go first. The bald one gives her a polite nod as she steps past him, as if she were any other guest. As if this were just another corporate flight on a busy CEO’s calendar.

Careful not to touch anything, she takes a seat on the leather-upholstered bench seat across from Cole. The engine starts up. The blades spin, slicing the glare cast by the house’s security lights. The other two men pile into the helicopter after her, taking seats on opposite sides of Cole.

The bald one slides the cargo door shut. Soft golden light fills the cabin from running lights along the roof and the floor. It’s insane, this juxtaposition. The distance she seems to have traveled between one world and another in no more than a few paces.

Then, suddenly, they’re rising into the air. Her heart lurches as Luke, Marty, and the rest of them disappear under tree cover. As they ascend over the valley, she wonders if the unreality of this, rising into the air this suddenly, watching the house of horrors below shrink down to the size of a child’s dollhouse, will somehow separate her from the nightmares in that basement.

No, she realizes, but the memory of Pemberton’s sobs will make the nightmares bearable.

For the first time since liftoff, she looks into Cole’s eyes.

He introduces the bald man sitting next to him as Ed Baker, his director of security. Ed wisely doesn’t attempt to shake her hand. When it’s clear he’s not going to introduce the shorter guy in spectacles to his left, Charley says, “And who are you?”

The man just stares at her.

“This is Mark Hetherington. He’s also with my security team, but he has a background as a registered nurse, and when it’s appropriate and you consent, he’ll take a sample of your blood.”

Now Cole’s staring at her, too.

“Will you allow me to do that, Charley? Will you allow me to take a sample of your blood?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

Cole smiles, taps the briefcase Mark now holds on his lap. Mark pops it open. She glimpses thick foam padding with indentations holding several different vials. They look empty, but she can’t be sure. Mark opens up a second compartment within, removes a thick file folder, and hands it to Cole. In turn, he hands it to her.

“Let start with this,” he says cheerfully. “I think you’ll be very interested in what’s inside.”





40

“I’m not really good at flipping pages right now,” she says.

Her voice sounds like someone else’s—something between a growl and a whisper. They seem to be heading east, toward the Arizona border, over mountainous terrain that will soon yield to the Anza-Borrego Desert.

The cabin is surprisingly quiet given the size of the rotors overhead: a floating, padded cell.

Cole reaches across the space between them, presses a button just over her shoulder. A pin-spot light clicks to life, shining a bright halo down on her lap, revealing the bloodstains on her jeans, the loose flaps where Pemberton sliced the legs. Cole’s nose comes within inches of hers as he withdraws. Kissing distance, almost. She’s not sure if he genuinely wants her to read the file, or if he wants to show her he’s not afraid, that he trusts her not to tear his arm off.

With all the effort she can manage, she opens the file without ripping it in half. Finds herself staring down at a page printed with large side-by-side photographs, one of a toddler-aged boy who strikes her as immediately familiar. The other’s Dylan. The resemblance between the two is undeniable; they share not only Dylan’s sculpted chin but also his relaxed, attentive gaze.

“I can summarize the contents if you like,” Cole says, “but the file’s yours to keep.”

She tries to nod but can’t manage it. It’s sinking in suddenly, what the page before her means, and maybe if her veins weren’t enflamed with impossible strength, she’d feel like an idiot for not having seen it sooner.

Of course Dylan didn’t pick the Saguaro Wellness Center at random. Didn’t even pick Scarlet, Arizona, at random, and now, it’s clear, most certainly didn’t pick her at random. Why didn’t she see it the other night when she was journaling about all the victims? The boy who was whisked off to a foreign country. Given a new life so different from hers. Or so she thought.

“Lilah Turlington,” she says. “He’s her son.”

“Yes. The Bannings killed his mother and her boyfriend just like they killed your mother. After their disappearance, he was taken out of the country, given a new identity.”

“The uncle. The one who works in gas pipelines.”

“Exactly. Dylan was protected from things you weren’t. But given my experience of him, I don’t imagine it was a very pleasant upbringing.”

She gently slides the picture page to one side; sees what looks like the records of Dylan’s military service Kayla couldn’t find. References to kills and assassinations with the word CLASSIFIED stamped across the top, which seems pathetic. The word should be red, but instead it’s black and white, which means these documents are photocopies made by someone who wasn’t supposed to have them. Too dense to read through now. But it’s something. Far more than she expected out of the guy sitting across from her.

“And what’s your experience of him?” she asks.