Bone Music (Burning Girl #1)(60)

“The dean . . .” Charlotte says.

“Yeah. Bailey’s the one who found the dean. And the stolen money. Even though law enforcement was taking all the credit. Bailey shipped them everything they needed to find the guy; then he fled the country. Meanwhile, the feds took the credit for the arrest, and now they want to put my brother in handcuffs because he hacked, like, a dozen different companies to do it. But I think it was the satellite company that probably put him over the top.”

“Your brother hacked a satellite?”

Luke nods and takes a slug of beer.

“Did he tell the FBI it was him when he sent them the evidence?” Charlotte asks.

“No. But he slipped up, apparently, because something was traceable back to him. Rohm wouldn’t tell me what it was. Could’ve been powers of deduction. Like they looked at the list of students who got ripped off, and there was only one or two who were real good at computers. And then there was one who was real good at computers, and that was Bailey. I wasn’t in much of a position to ask questions. The only thing Agent Rohm would tell me is that my only shot at the FBI would be if I ratted out my brother.”

“And what did you say?”

Luke meets her gaze. “I told him to go fuck himself with an umbrella.”

“Literally?”

“Word for word. If I’d had an umbrella I would have given it to him, but it was sunny out that day.”

Charlotte smiles. “And what did he say to that?”

“He said I’d never get a job in government or any law enforcement agency outside of some rinky-dink small-town police department for as long as I lived. Those were his exact words, by the way. Rinky-dink.”

“And so you went and got a job at the first rinky-dink small-town police department you could find.”

“Yep,” he says, and his smile seems genuine. “I showed him, right?”

For some reason, this story means so much more than his apology. It’s proof, she realizes, that he’s a changed man; that he was willing to give up his lifelong dream rather than betray his family—his only family. That’s not the Luke Prescott she knew in high school. But it’s the Luke Prescott standing before her now, a man dealing head-on with the sacrifices loyalty entails.

“What?” he asks suddenly.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Your face . . . I don’t know. Your expression, I’m just . . .”

“Just what?”

“I can’t read it.”

“I’m impressed.”

He stares at her for a while, and then his entire frame seems to relax, and she wonders if this is the first time he’s talked about this with anyone. If her words are the first nice thing anyone’s said about the sacrifice he made for his brother. Only then does it dawn on her how truly alone he is. A few days earlier she would have described herself as alone. Not lonely. But alone. And by choice. But when she needed help, she had no trouble drawing people around her who cared about her. Kayla, and then Marty, and now Marty’s posse of 12-steppers.

And now Luke? she asks herself.

No, that’s crazy. Luke is just a down-on-his-luck guy looking to make some kind of amends that will smooth his homecoming. But that thing he said, though.

If there’s anything I can do to make up for it, let me know.

Would it be so bad having a cop on her side right now? Especially a smart, highly educated one, who reads textbooks on profiling and crime scene investigation?

Or a hacker who can find people living off the grid on the other side of the world? Could the same hacker tell her everything she wanted to know about someone who had lied to her about who he was?

“Where’d you go?” Luke asks.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s like I lost you there for a second.”

“You did. Kinda.”

“Can I ask a question now?” he says.

“Shoot.”

“You don’t live around here anymore, do you?”

She doesn’t answer.

“And you’re back, but Marty says you don’t have much time. And you changed your name . . . so . . . what’s going on?”

“It’s been a busy couple of days.”

Luke nods, but he’s clearly disappointed in her answer.

“My turn,” she says.

“Yeah, OK. I guess we can pretend that was quid pro quo.”

“You said if there was anything you can do to help, to let you know. How serious were you?”

“Serious, but—”

“When was the last time you heard from your brother?” she asks.

Luke takes a careful sip of beer, staring at her while he does so.

“Why?” he asks once he swallows.

“Because I need his help.”

The struggle inside him is almost painful to see: the war between his desire to make good on his word to her and his desire to guard his family’s secret.

“I need to find someone. And if your brother can hack a satellite, he can find anyone, right?”

Luke’s mouth opens to protest.

Just then the alarm panel next to the front door releases a shrill series of beeps. It doesn’t sound like any alarm or warning she’s ever heard; it’s almost musical. A two-tone pattern that repeats again and again, more mischievous than threatening.