“Speaking of which, when am I going to see Cody?”

Roland waved his hand and sighed theatrically. “I need you to keep your mind on the job and not on sex. Think you can do that for ten minutes?”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Good. Now, let’s talk about that explosion in WeHo. You hear about it?”

“I read about it online.”

“What did you read?”

“Police said the homeowners were out of the country—Asia or something—and that some local drug dealers knew that, because the owners posted all their travels on Facebook, and then broke into the house, used it as a temporary meth lab, and had an accident.”

“One of those shake-and-bake deals, supposedly.”

Roland swiped a napkin across his mouth, then said, “That explosion happened hours after you had dinner with Frank. The next day, you start working for him, and you’ve got teams of people on you. I thought that was odd, so I made some phone calls. First off, it wasn’t a meth explosion. Residual testing from the lab came back yesterday—no traces of meth anywhere.”

“Then what caused the explosion?”

“ATF is leaning toward a bomb made of fertilizer. The three people who were killed in the explosion—they practically had to scoop up their remains using spatulas, what I was told. Anyway, it took some time to ID the bodies. Here’s where it gets interesting. The three vics were men, all employed by Ron Wolff. You started work the next day after the explosion, and Ron’s doubled the amount of people on you—and Anton. They’re watching him very closely, too, and I believe it all has something to do with this fine gentleman.”

Roland reached into a suit jacket pocket, came back with a four-by-six photograph, and handed it to her. The picture showed a white male with a squared-off jaw dressed in a Marine uniform.

“That the same guy in the photo Frank showed you?” Roland said.

Ellie nodded. “Gingerbread Man. Can’t see the tattoos, though.”

“But you’re sure this is your shooter?”

“One hundred percent. You got a name?”

“Paul Young. He was a military man, once upon a time. Then he went back overseas, back to camel country, only this time as private security, which pays much better than the government. I guess you could call him Sebastian Kane’s stepson.”

“You guess?”

“Kane never officially adopted him. He did, however, live with Paul’s mother, Trixie—yes, that’s her legal, God-given name—for a long time. Paul was four when he and Mom moved into Kane’s home. Paul doesn’t live there. We don’t know where he lives, honestly, or where he currently is.”

Roland plucked another dumpling up with his chopsticks. “So, we know Paul is your shooter, and that he is most likely the one behind the death of the two carriers you saw in the house. So it stands to reason that Paul is involved in the blood world—more specifically, Frank and Sebastian’s business. Our operating theory is, Frank and Sebastian are actively looking for Paul because he has become a liability or a threat, for reasons that have something to do with Brentwood.”