“That’s my business.”

“And now you’re making it mine, which, I’m sure you can respect, puts me in an awkward position, as I don’t want to bring an outsider into this.”

“She’s not an outsider,” Anton said.

Paul’s eyebrows rose at the word she.

“She’s my insurance policy,” Anton said, and then turned his head to her. “Roll down your window and say hello.”

Ellie wore sunglasses, and her hair was different. Her clothes were different, too—she was different. There’s no way he’ll recognize me, she reassured herself as the window rolled down. There’s no way.

Paul smiled at her the same way he did when he came out of the house in Brentwood, acting all natural and asking if there was a problem before taking out the AR-15 and turning the backyard into downtown Beirut. He pushed himself off the car and came closer—too close, Ellie thought. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, and from behind her sunglasses Ellie watched as Paul studied her face.

“Hello, there,” he said brightly.

“Hello.” Ellie thought her voice sounded normal—astounding given the fact that her heart was jackhammering against her breastbone like it wanted to explode from her chest and get as far away from here as possible. She couldn’t stop wondering if he was looking at her the same way she was looking at him.

Again she told herself no. It was impossible. She looked radically different now, and there was no way he recognized her voice. Well, that wasn’t entirely true—she had screamed at him to lower his weapon before the shooting started.

“You got a name, hon?” Paul asked. “Habla usted inglés?”

Anton answered the question. “Her name is Faye.”

“Faye,” Paul said, as if he were rolling the word around in his mouth like wine, seeing if he liked the way it tasted. “Faye what?”

Anton said, “Faye works for Frank.”

Ellie couldn’t stop the surprise from reaching her face. Her skin tingled and her brain felt like it had actually cramped. Tell me he didn’t just say what I think he said. Paul, too, was experiencing his own WTF moment. His eyes widened, and his face stretched tight across the bone like that of someone experiencing his first prostate exam.

Anton said, “Now ask me why I brought her.”

It was both interesting and terrifying to watch the transformation happening on Paul’s face. Ellie had read her fair share about psychopaths, had even met one or two during her brief time on the streets, but it was always after the fact—after the creature or whatever it was that lived beneath their skin had been let out and done its damage. This was the first time she had seen one in the wild, so to speak, and the raw, brutal ugliness she saw in Paul’s face reminded her of a home surveillance video of a pit bull that had mauled a four-year-old boy to death—which was what Paul wanted to do to Anton right now, lurch forward and maul him with his hands and teeth.