Emerson leaned forward in her seat, looking stunned. “So what do we do? If the same person is connected to all these crimes, if this has really been going on for that long… whoever it is isn’t going to stop now!”
“Miss Tenley?” Sahara stuck her head into the room, making them all jump. “I need you to come see something.”
“Can it wait?” Tenley snapped. “I’m kind of busy right now.”
Sahara frowned, a thin web of wrinkles creasing her skin. “It’s important.”
“Fine, make it quick.” Dragging herself out of her chair, Tenley followed Sahara out to the driveway, with Sydney and Emerson close behind.
“I was just cleaning your windshield, like Mr. Reed ask,” Sahara told her. “And I move rearview mirror, like I always do. It’s best way not to get streaks, you know—”
“I don’t need a cleaning play-by-play, Sahara,” Tenley cut in.
“Fine.” Sahara stopped in front of Tenley’s car with an annoyed sniff. She pointed silently at the windshield. “That fell loose.”
Inside the car, a wire was dangling from the rearview mirror. From the end of it hung a small black box.
“What’s that?” Sydney murmured.
Tenley climbed into her car. Up close, she saw a green light glowing on the bottom of the box. There was small label above it. “Look up Tracker XY 3000,” she called out.
Emerson pulled her phone out. A few seconds later, she drew in a sharp breath. “It’s a GPS tracker. Super high-tech. Transmits the car’s location every three seconds.”
“Mr. Reed track your car?” Sahara asked.
“No,” Tenley whispered. She looked from Sydney to Emerson. She could tell they were thinking the same thing she was. The puppet master had.
This was how Tricia and Delancey always knew her location. This was why it felt like she was always being followed, being watched. It was because she was.
She looked up, doing her best to arrange her features into a mask of calm. “Thank you, Sahara,” she said briskly. “I can take it from here.” Only when Sahara had retreated into the house did she let her face crumple. “We’re being surveilled,” she choked out.
“Of course we are.” Sydney slumped against the side of Tenley’s car. “It makes sense. No one could be in that many places in one day!” Panic crept into her voice. “There are probably trackers in our cars, too. And who knows what else this puppet master could have gotten to—”
“Our phones,” Emerson said suddenly. Her face took on a green tinge. “Think about what you would know if you had access to our phones.”
Fear thickened in Tenley like black smog. “Not just GPS, but our phone calls, our texts, our Web browsing…”
“Everything,” Sydney said dully. She held her phone up, staring at it in dismay. “Our phones would give the darer—the puppet master—everything.”
“Then we stop letting them.” Tenley tore the GPS tracker off its wire. Fury pulsed through her as she climbed out of the car. She snatched Sydney’s phone out of her hands, then went for Emerson’s. “Try to find us now,” she said through gritted teeth. Her limbs felt like steel as she added her own phone to the pile and dropped the whole thing in the driveway.
“What are you doing?” Sydney cried. “That phone cost me fifteen shifts at the club!”
Tenley climbed into her car and started the ignition. “It’s going to cost you a lot more than that if it’s been bugged. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m done being prey. It’s time we show this puppet master that we have some moves of our own.” She squeezed her hands tightly around the wheel. “Any objections?”
“None,” Emerson growled.
Tenley looked over at Sydney.
“Floor it,” she said with a sigh.
Tenley slammed her foot on the gas. She heard the sickening crunch of metal as her car sped over the pile. She jerked to a stop at the edge of the driveway. Behind her, Sydney and Emerson were staring wide-eyed down at the remains. She went over to join them. What had once been three phones and a tracker was now nothing more than a mangled, flattened heap. “Well,” she said slowly, “no one’s following us now.”
“If only we had some way to tell the puppet master,” Sydney said. “Let whoever it is know that we’re on to them.”
Tenley bit down on her lip. An idea was taking root in her mind. “Maybe we do.” She broke into a run, racing toward her house. “Keep up!” she called over her shoulder.
A minute later, they were all in her bedroom, gathered around her laptop. “Our puppet master might know how to block phone numbers, but there’s another way to make contact.” Tenley opened Facebook on her computer. There, sitting innocently at the top of her messages, was the threat labeled A Warning. The user might have made a fake name, but there was still a reply option. “It’s time we turn the tables,” Tenley said.
Emerson and Sydney leaned in close as she typed out a message.
It’s over. There’s no more tracker, no more phones. If you want us, you’re going to have to come get us. The pier, tonight at midnight. It’s show and tell, remember? And it’s finally time you show.