His reverie is interrupted by the static pop of the intercom. “Turn left here, driver. Then follow my directions.”

“Yes, miss, my pleasure,” Otto says, adding a little more of an islander accent to his speech this time around. If nothing else, he wanted to live up to Brooke’s expectations.

After a series of turns, he is told to park the limo about a block from a deserted stretch of beach.

“This isn’t where we found the other body,” Jana whispers.

“No, it’s not,” Otto replies.

Another loud static pop. “Wait here, driver. We’ll be right back. You stay in the car. Do you understand?”

Like he’s a moron. “Yes, miss, I understand.”

But the moment the girls make it a safe distance away, Otto springs into action, gathering his mobile recording gear and swiftly tightening the distance between himself and the Clee girls. Jana joins him a few moments later with her own recording devices. There’s no time for chatter now; they nod at each other, then slip into the cover of darkness and follow the twins.

Hannah and Brooke are on the beach, gingerly stepping around a patch of sand a few yards away from a crumbling lifeguard station.

“This is it,” Hannah says.

“Is it?”

“You know it is. You put the bottle there.”

“I was making sure.”

“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to dig.”

“Neither do you!”

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Jana is able to capture their conversations with a long-distance microphone; Otto, meanwhile, records the visuals, focusing in with his digital camera. The Clee girls drop to their knees as if they’ve suddenly decided to build a sandcastle here on this dark, sinister strip of beach.

They push the sand away with their hands, slowly at first, as if sifting dirt for flecks of gold. But then they grow impatient and begin grabbing great handfuls and flinging them off to the side. The wind catches some of the sand and blows it back into their faces. They pout with annoyance.

But then one of the girls—Jana has to really listen to determine the difference in their voices—shrieks loudly.

“Oh, God,” she says.

Even with those two syllables, Jana knows it’s Brooke speaking.

“It’s her.”

Chapter 33

KATE AND THEO

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Theo asks.

“Dude,” Kate says, “I’ve driven a Humvee through two hundred heavily armed Taliban guerrillas in Quam. Pretty sure I can follow a huge black limo through the streets of a resort town.”

“Yeah, but he’s a cop. Pretty sure he’ll know if he’s being tailed.”

They’re in a Honda Whatever, some generic import that’s guaranteed not to raise eyebrows because so many tourists rent them here. They waited outside police headquarters on Old Airport Road until Nigel James finally stormed out, looking irritated. Then the cop climbed into an unmarked car and sped away. At that point, Kate took off in pursuit.

Quinn’s list of instructions to Theo and Kate were as simple as Jana and Otto’s: