Ellie knew they weren’t heading to the real estate office today.

Sebastian confirmed that when he got into the car. “Wellness Center,” he said. “Head straight there.”

Meaning they weren’t going to play the whole change-cars-all-over-LA game today. Sometimes Sebastian ordered her to do that to prevent Paul or his people, whoever they were, from following him. The Wellness Center was the only place she went with Sebastian. He had conversations with someone there—Maya Dawson, she assumed, who she also assumed was the doctor who had treated her gunshot wound and administered Pandora. Sebastian always made her stay in the car.

She kept wondering about his carriers. Where were they? Who was taking care of them? Clearly Sebastian wasn’t the one doing it. She had overheard him saying that all blood operations had been shut down. Okay, but someone had to be taking care of his carriers.

And when was he going to bring her closer to him, trust her with his secrets? With Frank dead, she had hoped she could fill his absence. She had hoped Sebastian would have brought her into the fold by now.

Be patient, she reminded herself. Keep looking for openings to show him you’re someone he can trust.

It was a Sunday, so traffic was reasonable. Sebastian stared out the windshield. When he wasn’t rubbing his finger vigorously over his pursed lips, he was tapping his phone against his leg.

The phone, she knew, was a burner. She also knew he kept changing his burners on a daily basis. Ellie watched everything like a hawk, committing everything to memory, and shared it with Max when they got together, which wasn’t all that often now that she was pretty much glued to Sebastian.

“The car is safe,” he said. “He can’t get us while we’re in here.”

He had told her about how he had taken the Jaguar back to a company that outfitted cars with various security measures for celebrities and politicians—had the bulletproof glass replaced and added hidden armor that could withstand a bomb blast, tires that wouldn’t deflate for several miles if punctured by a bullet.

“Everything okay?” Ellie asked.

Sebastian gritted his teeth as he sucked in air, straightening in his seat.

Ellie held up a hand and cut him off from speaking. “I’m not trying to pry,” she said, her voice confident because she felt confident, from sunrise to sunset, thanks to Pandora. “I’m asking because I saw what happened in the driveway, with the woman who visited you, and it looked like it shook you. What can I do to help?”

He seemed to be mulling over the question. Or maybe he didn’t want to talk; she couldn’t tell. He was tough to read—much tougher, Ellie thought, than Frank. Sebastian was more emotionally available, as a therapist would say, and more willing to talk. But sometimes he would retreat behind a wall, his words clipped and cold, like now.

Sebastian’s features relaxed. She got the sense that he was ready to let her in a bit—all she needed was an inch in order to get to work on him—when her phone rang. She didn’t answer it. She knew Max was calling, and Sebastian did, too; her phone, automatically synced with the Jaguar’s system via Bluetooth, displayed Max’s name on the dashboard console’s screen.