Either way, he’d like his director of security, formerly his mostly loyal and steadfast employee, to relax. Just a little.

Even if everything they do in this room is entirely illegal. And possibly unethical.

It’s only unethical, Cole tells himself, if Davies doesn’t turn out to be a butcher of women. And besides, when Ed answered to my father, he was no stranger to the unethical.

“The link to your home server is secure.” Ed’s so close to him suddenly, Cole jumps. The man looks like a version of Mr. Clean that could take out ten guys in a bar fight, but he always smells like Ivory soap and Listerine.

“Why are you whispering?” Cole asks.

“It’s called professionalism.”

“Oh, OK. Is this you apologizing for your insubordination?”

“If you’re doubting my work, then I—”

“I don’t doubt the link is secure, Ed. I wanted to be here. This is my operation.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” Ed whispers.

“I still didn’t ask.” The bite in Cole’s tone causes Ed’s cheeks to turn red.

“Fine. Can I ask you something, then?”

Cole just glares at him.

“How’d you find this guy?” Ed asks.

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

“For you, maybe.”

So Cole had identified Richard Davies, organic farmer, as a potential serial killer without using a “digital services team”—their polite code for the black-hat hackers handpicked by Ed. So goddamn what. That means less work for Ed. He should be pleased. Grateful. Less mouthy. Instead he’s— “Bluebird’s coming online,” one of the techs says. He’s a pale-skinned, baby-faced nerd boy with a buzz cut and librarian glasses.

“TruGlass?” Cole asks.

“No. Audio,” the tech answers.

“Can you bring her up?”

“On headset,” Ed says, walking to his desk chair.

“No,” Cole answers.

Several of the techs glance his way for the first time.

“I’d like everyone to hear her so we can all appreciate the magnitude of what we’re doing here. Of what she’s about to do. For us.”

Ed’s eye roll suggests he considers Cole’s words no more genuine than a politician’s stump speech.

Worse, the baby-faced tech looks to Ed for permission to comply. Then he notices the glare he’s getting from Cole and spins back to his station without further delay. A second later, he gives Cole a thumbs-up.

“Charley?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You’re on with me and the control room, so measure your words carefully.”

“Hello, everyone,” she says.

5

Charlotte Rowe’s even tone sends send a ripple of new energy through the room, something between wonder and nervousness. The techs all look up from their computer screens at the same time—this must be the first time they’ve heard the voice of the woman they’ve been told to call Bluebird.

“How are you feeling?” Cole asks.

“It’s too big, Cole. I can’t wear it.”

“The earpiece?”

“Yes.”

“OK. Is your ground team with you?”

“We are.” The woman who speaks next sounds as though she’s standing just an inch or two away from Charlotte inside their transport truck. “With respect, we think she’s being too cautious here.”

Cole notes that Ed didn’t warn him his voice was being broadcast to Charlotte’s entire ground crew. There have been so very many things he’s had to note about Ed lately, so many of them sour.

“It’s in keeping with the specs I approved?” Cole asks.

“Absolutely,” the ground tech answers, “it’s matched to her exact flesh tone.”

“It’s lumpy,” Charlotte says.

“Isn’t it the size of a pea?” Cole asks.

“It doesn’t feel like a pea,” Charlotte answers. “It feels like a marble inside my ear.”

“Well, I can’t see it and I’m looking in her ear right now,” the ground tech says.

“We still think he skins his victims, right?” Charlotte asks.

There’s a new tension in her voice. But it’s her words that shock everyone in the room.

Ed stops swiveling nervously in his rolling chair.

The female tech who spoke up earlier drops her hands to her lap.

Even Cole feels his breath catch.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Charlotte asks.

“That’s our assumption, yes,” Cole answers.

“OK,” Charlotte continues, as if she’s indulging all of them, “then it’s reasonable to assume that at some point, either before or after he takes me, he’s going to examine my flesh. Or some part of it, at least. Does that sound right?”

“I’d say that’s . . . probable,” Cole answers.

“OK. Then what do you think he’s going to do if he suddenly comes across several hundred thousand dollars’ worth of technology sitting inside my right ear?”

Try several million, Burning Girl.