Anton moaned, then began to gag, spitting up blood. Ellie couldn’t look anymore, didn’t know where to look.

“I know this is quite a shock,” Sebastian said to her. “A beautiful woman like yourself isn’t used to seeing such grotesque things, I’m sure. But, quite frankly, you have no one to blame but yourself. You wouldn’t be here—we wouldn’t be here—if you had simply answered Frank’s questions.”

Ellie’s heart was hammering, blood pounding in her temples.

“We could have looked into the matter, conducted business like civilized people, then taken the appropriate actions,” Sebastian said. “Instead, you turned stubborn yourself—which probably explains why Anton likes you so much. You’re like two peas in a pod.”

Figure out a way to get through this.

“My hope—and I sincerely mean this, Faye—my hope is you’ll be more forthcoming than Anton. If not—if I think you’re holding back something—well, I don’t think I have to explain to you what will happen.”

“Fresno,” Ellie stammered.

“What about Fresno?”

“Where he met Paul.”

Tell him about the blood pill.

Christ, she had totally forgotten about it. She hadn’t told Frank about it, hadn’t given it to him. She needed to tell Sebastian about it now, get control of the situation before it—

Something hard banged against the floor, to her right. Ellie whipped her head toward the sound, saw the distinctive shape of a flash-bang grenade, the kind used by LAPD SWAT, skidding across the floor, toward her.

CHAPTER 28

SEBASTIAN HAD SEEN grenades in TV shows and movies but never in person. The moment he saw it hit the floor, he had two simultaneous thoughts: first, the grenade was oddly shaped—a long cylinder, like a can of Mace—and entirely black instead of a military green; second, he had to duck and seek cover somewhere, and do it fast or the shrapnel would kill him.

Faye Simpson tackled him, like a lineman, grabbing his shirt and pushing him forward. He fell against the hardwood, Faye still on top of him, and the back of his head smacked against the floor so hard, he was sure he had cracked his skull. His lungs froze and his stomach lurched, and Faye clamped her palm against his eyes and kept it pressed there as the room filled with an earsplitting boom he felt deep in his bones.

Someone screamed something in Russian. Faye scrabbled off Sebastian and his eyes flew open and he saw his men clutching at their faces and he saw them blinking and stumbling like they were blind. He saw flashes of men entering the far side of the room and his gaze landed on a guy with a blond ponytail, dressed in jeans and a white-collared shirt, standing near the front door, a compact submachine gun with a banana-shaped magazine gripped in leather-gloved hands.

Sebastian’s right hand flew into his suit jacket, reaching for his nine, when Ponytail fired. Ron’s man Jack collapsed, and Ponytail fired a killing round into Jack’s head and quickly turned his weapon to Frank, who was still standing behind Anton’s chair. To Frank, who seemed disoriented from the flash-bang but had his hand on the nine clipped to his waist.