In the movies, chaos was a well-orchestrated affair, perfectly lit and flawlessly executed. In real life, chaos was mean and ugly and merciless. It stripped people of their manners and humanity. When Sebastian charged into the great room, or whatever the owners called it, the stock of the AR-15 wedged firmly against his shoulder, his gaze down the iron sight, he saw the goons, many of them armed, blinded by the flash grenade. Some trampled over one another, like nocturnal insects suddenly exposed to light, as they fought to see and fought their way to the exit on the far right of the room. The blast had blown out the windows, and the wind coursing through the shattered glass scattered the clouds of gray-white smoke.

Sebastian rested his cheek against the bump stock’s grainy polymer and opened fire.

Save Grace, kill Paul—and Faye. Sebastian liked her—she was a good kid and all, smart and tough—but she knew too much about him, and he couldn’t have that hanging over his head, not with the new life waiting for him with Ava and their daughter. Save Grace, kill Paul and then Faye, in that order.

* * *

Back at the Range Rover, when Sebastian had handed her the AR-15, Ellie knew, without a doubt in her mind, that he was going to go inside the mansion, guns blazing, and mow down every single person possible in his quest to save not only his daughter but also himself. It didn’t make sense to leave witnesses.

And that includes me, she thought. I’m a witness. She had found Paul for him, and while Sebastian needed her to cover the front door and prevent Paul from leaving or, even better, take him out, the moment Paul was out of the picture, she suspected she was, too. Why fork over two million when, with a single bullet, he could kill her and leave with his daughter, all of his problems solved?

Ellie had taken cover behind the trunk of a valley oak so large and old, she suspected it had been there since the world’s inception. She lay in the prone position favored by snipers, but she didn’t have a bipod to hold her rifle steady, so she had to make do leaning the left side of the rifle’s handguard against the tree trunk. The plastic mask felt slick against her wet face, her head damp underneath the hood.

The blast from the grenade had blown out most of the windows. When she heard muted gunfire coming from inside the mansion, she felt the lining of her stomach constrict, as though someone were holding a flame to it.

She was sure Sebastian was killing them—killing everyone he could. If she went in there, she knew she’d find piles of dead and wounded, all casualties in his quest to save his daughter, Grace.

His daughter, Ellie thought. It explained why Sebastian had been so driven, so determined to search the properties.

Her spot offered her the best cover but not the best line of sight. She was lying roughly two hundred yards away, east of the entrance, at a forty-five-degree angle, and on a slight incline. Ellie stared through the target scope, blinking sweat from her eye, at the front door, which was, amazingly, still shut. Once it opened—and it would at any second—people would funnel through it, scrambling in all directions. If Paul was among them—and if she was inclined to take him out (and she wanted to, for Danny)—it would be nearly impossible to get off a clean shot. She wasn’t a trained sniper, had no idea how to hit a moving target, let alone do it cleanly, without collateral damage.