Page 68 of Property of Bones

“Oh, he definitely has,” Riley nods, looking entirely too smug. “Probably in that scary serial-killer memory palace he keeps behind those pretty eyes.”

“And then,” I say, leaning in like I’m revealing a secret, “hetold herwe were getting married. Like soon. Just casually. While eating an egg roll.”

“Married?” Abby squeaks.

“‘Not as far off as one might think,’” I quote, dropping my voice into Jack’s deep broody growl.

There’s a beat of stunned silence. Then…

Riley: “Girl.”

Abby: “You’re screwed.”

Me:Groans into a throw pillow.

Chapter Twenty

Bones

The air in the war room is thick with tension. Sharp, silent, dangerous.

Foster’s already got the monitors up when Spike walks in, phone to his ear and murder in his eyes.

We all shut up.

“Copy that,” Spike says into the phone, voice like steel. He hangs up, slides it into his cut, and turns toward us.

“That was Buckey,” he says, looking around the table. “His man made contact. Max has been spotted.”

Murmurs ripple across the room. I lean forward, hands twitching.

“Where?”

“Mexicali,” Spike says. “He’s working directly with Los Fantasmas. Word is, he’s been seen besideEl Muertehimself.”

That hits like a bullet.

“Have we confirmed that Muerte and Luis are the same person?” I ask, just to be sure.

“Yep,” Foster nods. “He didn’t even try to hide that bit of info. Took me all of ten minutes to find out.”

“Buckey’s guy,” Spike says. “He’s deep under, posing as an electrician working cartel properties, couldn’t get too close without blowing his cover, but he saw Max. Says he looks rough. Bigger. Different.”

“Traitor kind of different?” Crusher asks.

“Or trapped kind of different?” Skip mutters.

“No time to sort that out,” Spike cuts in. “Because Buckey just got another message. They’ve left Mexico.”

He nods at Foster, who switches screens to a satellite image pulled from traffic cams.

“This was taken six hours ago on the interstate near Coachella,” Foster says, clicking through the grainy footage. “Two SUVs. Cartel plates. Tinted windows. Followed the route straight toward Palm Springs before the signal dropped.”

“Which means what exactly?” Tank asks, arms crossed tight.

Foster doesn’t answer.

Spike does.

---