“Last week at the house, you thought I was going to kill you?”

Ellie looked at him, puzzled. “Last week? I’m not following.”

“Right. Of course. My fault—I should have explained. We had to put you in a medically induced coma, so you’ve been out of it for—”

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

She had called Frank and told him about her intel on Anton on Friday. She had been out for, Jesus, almost four days.

“You’re in good hands,” Sebastian said, and kicked over a nearby swivel chair on rollers. “The doctor who treated your gunshot wound is here. She’s been keeping an eye on you the entire time.”

“And where am I, exactly?”

“One of the private treatment rooms we use for transfusions.” He sat and leaned back in the seat, his hands clasped and resting on his stomach. “Don’t worry—you’re safe.”

“Did your people get him? Paul? He was there.”

Sebastian drew in a long breath through his nose.

Shook his head.

“But I do have some good news,” he said. “The auto plant you told us about—I had some people go there. They found Paul’s blood product—the blood pills and some carrier blood. It’s now in our possession.”

Our. Ellie liked the sound of that, Sebastian talking to her like she was now a part of his team. His inner circle.

“You handled yourself well at the house—amazingly well, as a matter of fact,” he said.

Sebastian was appraising her carefully. But Ellie didn’t feel afraid. Her heart beat at its normal resting rate, as though they were two friends catching up over trivial matters instead of discussing life and death.

“When that grenade hit the floor,” he said, “most people would have frozen up.”

“You mean most women.”

“You threw yourself on top of me.”

“I did.”

“You knew it was a flash-bang and not a regular grenade.”

“I guessed.”

“How did you know?”

“It wasn’t shaped like a grenade.”

“You have some sort of military training I don’t know about?”

“Cops use flash-bangs all the time on TV shows.”

“I was referring to your shooting skills.”

Ellie had rehearsed this part with Roland in case the subject ever came up. “My mother had a longtime boyfriend who was a cop,” she said. “He taught me a lot. About guns, how to shoot.”

“Huge difference between shooting at a stationary target and handling a gun in close-quarters combat.”

“When the shit hits the fan, what choice do you have?”

Sebastian, she could tell, wasn’t sold yet. Ellie said, “It’s not rocket science. You click off the safety, aim, and pull the trigger. I’m sorry about Frank, by the way.”

Sebastian nodded his thanks and turned his head, she guessed, so she couldn’t glimpse his pain. She never understood why men were so uncomfortable with feelings, why they saw them as a weakness. She had also sensed, perhaps incorrectly, that he was embarrassed, maybe even ashamed, of his performance in Long Beach.

“I take it you two were more than just business partners.”