Bone Music (Burning Girl #1)(95)

“We’re watching, Ed. That’s all we’re doing. Watching. The minute we decide to force a conversation with either of these two parties, we take ownership of this. I take ownership of this. And I’m not ready for that yet. I need a verified episode of her defending herself on Zypraxon against a formidable opponent, preferably a man or several, and I need her to survive.”

“You’ve got the biker video.”

“I need it from a source I can trust. That’s what verified means. And not edited, for Christ’s sake.”

“We’ve got her demo from the other day.”

“Against a truck, a tree, and a fence post. I need her to survive a fight, Ed. A bad one. That’s the whole point of this drug.”

“OK. You want us to create one for her?”

“Ed—”

“For God’s sake, Cole, it’s crazy letting her wander around like this.”

“She is the only human this drug has ever worked on. The only one. But if she’s going to be worth anything to us, she has to be able to use it, fight on it, and survive.”

After Ed clears his throat, he says, “I apologize. For my insubordination.”

Insubordination is right. Another inch over the line, and Cole would have reminded him that the days of his father and Ed running secret drug trials in developing nations—on volunteers who didn’t have the slightest idea what they were being given—were long over, and they weren’t coming back. At least the people Project Bluebird killed had volunteered willingly, knowing the risks.

Cole’s little speech has been good practice for the pitch he’ll have to make to the entire Consortium to get Project Bluebird up and running again.

The other option—have Graydon provide all the funding—is unthinkable.

How would he ever explain that to his board or his mother, if she got wind of it? That’s the beauty of The Consortium, despite the perils of the egos involved. By pooling their resources, each company can make financial contributions that fly just under the radar of its legal and accounting departments. And, of course, the secrecy protects all the companies involved from any opinion the Justice Department might one day have about how they collectively decide to share in the benefits of their efforts, should any ever materialize.

“Any leads on Bailey Prescott?” he asks.

“No, and the digital team’s frustrated. But if the guy’s wanted by the FBI, I guess it makes sense.”

“We hack the FBI all the time.”

“Yes, and we did it again, and it’s only revealed how little they actually know about him. Are we sure that’s who she was talking to at the library?”

“It’s as good a guess as any.”

“She could have just been researching us,” Ed says.

“She meets Luke Prescott; suddenly she’s on her way to the nearest computer lab, where she hangs out for fifteen minutes. I don’t think so.”

“All right, well, I might have something,” Ed says.

“You personally?”

“Yeah, some contacts from my former life.”

“LAPD?” Cole asks.

“Uh-huh. Apparently, it’s not in the news, but Parker Center was hacked last night.”

“As in LAPD headquarters?”

“As in Robbery Homicide, specifically.”

“The department was targeted? Anything specific?”

“My source described it as broad-brush. Probably deliberately so whoever it was could hide what he was really after. But whoever did it was good. Very good. Cybersecurity didn’t notice the breach until this morning, and by then the creeper was long gone. But they think he was in their network for hours. Just kinda hanging out, looking at whatever he felt like.”

“And you think it was Bailey Prescott?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Do they think it was Bailey Prescott?”

“No, my guys don’t even know that name, and I didn’t give it to them. It’s their working theory that got me thinking.”

“I’m all ears.”

“They think it was journalists after info on the Mask Maker case. But, you know, what if it wasn’t journalists? What if it was her?”

“Holy shit,” Cole whispers.

What had Dylan told her again? Go find some bad men. Show them what you can do. Well, if this was true, she was on the trail of a real grade-A psycho. And given her background, her taste in bad men made a lot of sense.

“Holy shit,” Cole whispers again. “You kinda buried the lede on this one.”

“Could be nothing. Or it could be the beginning of quite a show.”

“I’ll say.”

“You’re sure as hell not going to bring her in now, are you?” Ed asks.

“Anything else?” he asks, trying to conceal how floored he is by this news.

“Yeah, your b—excuse me. Cody. He’s giving us quite a show on his TruGlass.”

“What does that mean?”

“I believe it’s called edging.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“How long do we have to watch?”

“Take breaks. He can’t jerk off forever.”

“You sure? Maybe he invented a drug for that, too.”