Page 169 of Blue Moon

In Glacier National Park, Emmy and Slater had gotten lucky with the satellite, but that luck had run out. There wouldn’t be a satellite overhead in Utah for another hour and a half, which meant they had to do things the old-fashioned way. But it was nine against one. Ryder liked those odds, even though there was a chance Hebert knew they were coming. Slater had stayed behind in Berkeley to monitor Carole-Ann Murray, and late last night, after he’d built a rocking chair, a dining set, two bookcases, a sideboard, and a Lego spaceship, Carole-Ann had excused herself to go to the bathroom. When Slater listened at the door, he’d heard her leaving a voicemail for Hebert, warning him that people were asking questions. No call appeared on the cell phone company’s record—Echo was monitoring that—so they figured she was using WhatsApp or similar.

Priest’s voice came over the radio. “Fence ahead.”

“Cameras?”

After what they’d found at the apartment, they were expecting at least one or two. Perhaps not at the fence line, but certainly around the property itself.

“Not in this sector.”

“Over or through?” Emmy asked.

“Over.”

The fence was six feet of chain link, designed to keep wildlife out, but not necessarily intruders. Guess Hebert thought the terrain was enough for that. This place was in the ass end of nowhere. What wealthy person would choose to live like this? Out in the sticks with no human habitation for miles?

“Game camera on the north trail,” Knox said.

And there were more cameras on the outside of the home itself, which was a sprawling place modelled on an oversized log cabin. Overgrown pastures to the rear suggested someone had once kept stock or horses, as did the barn to the south. The barn was connected to the main building by a short covered walkway, perfect for a person who didn’t want to get exposed to the elements while checking on the animals. A four-stall garage was connected to the giant cabin on the other side. Back in the day, this would have been the perfect hideaway for those cold winter months if moving somewhere warmer was out of the question.

But maintenance had slipped. Whoever installed the security system hadn’t been a pro, and there were gaps in the coverage that allowed the team to sneak right up to the building complex.

“The barn,” Emmy said, and Ryder had to concur. Even if a person could have climbed up to the high, narrow windows, they wouldn’t have been able to fit through them. Solid walls, a heavy wooden plank slotted into place to secure the livestock doors… It was a perfect prison.

There was no movement. No sound. No signs of life whatsoever, and that little ember of hope that had ignited when they found the address flickered.

“One of the garage doors is open,” Tulsa said. “No vehicles inside.”

Fuck.

Had Hebert left? Had he received Carole-Ann’s warning and fled? The flame of hope fizzled out. Now the big question was whether or not he’d taken Luna with him. And if he’d left her, then what state?—

Ryder’s path took him to the front door, which looked pretty solid. He had shaped charges that would blow the hinges, but on impulse, he reached out and twisted the handle. The door creaked open an inch.

“Front door is unlocked.”

“Back door wasn’t, but it is now,” Spider announced.

Emmy made the decision. “Go.”

What she meant was “go in and check for booby traps” because if Ryder knew a team was hot on his heels, he sure as shit would have left a few surprises for them. But there was nothing. No trip-wires, no carefully balanced objects, no pits of boiling tar. But where were the fucking snakes? They knew Hebert had those. Maybe he’d set them free before he left?

“What the actual…?” That was Emmy’s voice. She’d gone in through the back. “Who are you?”

“Michelle Johnson. Who the hell are you?” a voice responded, loud enough for Ryder to hear. It was a woman, but clearly not Luna.

“Is that Anton Hebert?”

“This here is some fruitloop thinks he’s Mark Antony.”

So he was here? Ryder ran. He ran to the barn, and yeah… What the actual fuck? It was done out like an Egyptian palace, all stone columns and hieroglyphics. A sturdy Black woman was standing beside a couch, hands on her hips. The coffee table beside her held a steaming mug and a paperback, splayed open halfway through. Behind her, through a set of double doors, a man lay spread-eagle on a king-sized bed, his skin pale. That was Hebert?

“You’re gonna have to explain what’s going on here,” Emmy said.

“Where’s Luna?” Ryder blurted.

“Are you the cops?”

“I’m her boyfriend.”

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