Maybe not, she thought, shutting off the water. Before hiring her for this operation, the FBI had conducted an extensive background check on her and hadn’t found out a single thing about her brother, the aliases she’d used over the years—anything. It stood to reason that Sebastian’s people wouldn’t find out anything, either.

Still, Sebastian had the picture. Roland did, too.

I’m getting ahead of myself. She needed to focus on what was in front of her, and that was Sebastian. He would confront her at some point—she was sure of it—and she needed to have a story ready.

Ellie had thought long and hard about it last night while waiting for sleep. She thought about it again as she dressed and when she kissed Max goodbye, the way a good girlfriend did—passionate and excited, hungry for their next moment together.

* * *

When Ellie turned onto Sebastian’s street, the first thing she noticed was the home’s front window. It was a spiderweb of cracks; you couldn’t miss it.

To the untrained eye it would look like some asshole neighborhood kid had thrown a small rock at the window, but not hard enough to break through the glass. Get a little closer, though, and you could see the bullet hole frozen in the bulletproof glass.

She parked in the driveway and went into the backyard. Through the sliding glass door, she saw Sebastian sitting alone at the kitchen table. His hands were wrapped around a coffee mug, and he stared down at it blankly, looking haggard. Distraught. His dress shirt was wrinkled, like he had slept in it.

He looked up when she opened the door. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin underneath them bruised.

“Help yourself to some coffee,” Sebastian said. His voice was dry. Hoarse. He cleared his throat. “I think there are muffins over there from yesterday, some croissants.”

Ellie surveyed the surrounding rooms. Empty and quiet.

“Where is everyone?” Ellie asked.

“Tracking down an email from Paul.”

Maybe they were. Or maybe Sebastian wanted her alone so he could torture her for information on the photo.

Or just kill me. “He responsible for the window?”

“Him or Guidry.”

“Guidry?”

“Paul’s friend from the military,” he said. “The sniper.”

“The day I went with Anton to Fresno, Paul said he had a sniper keeping an eye on us. Lucky for you, your windows are made of bulletproof glass. I take it you didn’t catch either Paul or this Guidry guy last night.”

Sebastian shook his head as he sucked in air, color flaring in his cheeks.

Ellie pulled out the chair beside him. “What’s Guidry look like? You have a picture?”

Sebastian reached into his pocket, came back with a folded piece of paper, handed it to her.

It was a picture of J.C. sitting in front of a Christmas tree. The same picture she had tacked on the wall of her home and then carried in her shoe, taking it out at times when she knew she was alone, the picture always righting her when she felt nervous or scared or doubted herself.