Sebastian moved out of the bathroom, thinking.

“There’s a flight leaving in an hour,” Ron said. “Would you like me to waste more time out here, or would you like me to come home and focus on our top priority: Paul?”

“He’s gone dark again.”

“No, he’s gone quiet. It’s not the same thing. He’s marshaling all his resources and planning some big move—I guarantee it. And he’ll do it soon. Has to, after what happened in Long Beach. When he does, he’s going to come after you—after us—with full force.”

“You may be right.”

“All due respect, I don’t want a repeat of what happened at Long Beach and Cudahy. I can’t be effective if I’m out here.”

Sebastian agreed. “Come home,” he said. “But keep your people on Faye and the boyfriend. Paul might make a move on them.”

He finished dressing and headed downstairs. Faye sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee, ready for the day. She was no longer wearing her sling. The gunshot wound on her shoulder was healing quite well, Maya had told him—a thin pinkish scar that had quickly turned white and would fade in less than a week.

Faye got to her feet. “Coffee?” she asked.

“I’ll get some at the office.” Sebastian had been spending a lot of time at his real estate company, pretending to be busy. His employees were glad to see him, anxious for some face time. A lot of people asked about Frank, where he was vacationing, if he was enjoying himself. Asked when Frank was coming back.

Sebastian followed Faye outside. Across the street, at the corner of Stapleton, he saw a navy blue sedan with tinted windows slide to a stop. The tint was so dark, the windows looked black.

Sebastian thought of the handgun tucked comfortably in the shoulder holster, underneath his suit jacket. He told himself he was being paranoid. Foolish. A hit wasn’t going to go down here at his home, in broad daylight.

The car turned onto his street. Sebastian spotted a pair of hockey puck–sized antennas on the roof. No hubcaps. A government car, definitely.

And it was heading toward him.

The Ford sedan pulled up against the curb at the bottom of the driveway. The engine died. The driver’s-side door opened, and out stepped a tall black guy dressed to the nines. The suit jacket had been tailored to accommodate the nine clipped to his waist, and he wore mirrored sunglasses.

He’s not here for me, Sebastian thought. The guy was opening the passenger’s door. Sebastian saw a flash of dark, shoulder-length hair. The woman walking around the front of the car, dressed in jeans and stylish sunglasses, looked like Ava.

Holy shit.

It was Ava.

What was she doing here?

His thoughts were scrambled. He had a flashback to the night he had pulled up in front of her house, promising himself that he would reach out to her. That promise wasn’t fulfilled because life got in the way, and now here she was. . . . Why?