Which was never going to happen. After he killed Paul, he’d take in Paul’s carriers and give them a good life, treat them properly.

“After the farm,” Sebastian said, “we’ll go to Long Beach and—”

“Why go all the way to Long Beach? Frank didn’t say.”

“We got a house there where you’ll be safe until things cool down.”

“I’ve got my own place. I can—”

“We purchased this place in the event something happened and we needed to lay low. It’s got state-of-the-art security and, in case cops or anyone else decides to come snooping around, a well-hidden panic room. You’ll be safe there. No, don’t argue with me on this. One step at a time, okay? That’s how I work—how you need to work if you want to go into business together.”

Paul considered him. Sebastian saw traces of the kid buried in the man, the boy who, when his mother had asked him to finish his vegetables or to put away the cookies, would stare back at her as if to say, Make me—I dare you. Paul was staring at him that way right now.

His face suddenly relaxed. “You’re right,” Paul said. Sighing, he got to his feet, his muscles flexing as he walked over to his clothes.

Sebastian stood several feet away, near the table, his hands in his pockets. His right hand gripped the gun, just in case Paul tried something. Paul seemed relaxed—too relaxed, Sebastian thought. It bothered him. Put him on edge.

Paul slid into his sneakers. “I’ve got to be honest, Sebastian. You’re not showing the level of excitement I expected.”

“Lot of shit went down today. I’m still trying to process everything.”

Paul worked his T-shirt over his head. “What if I say no to Long Beach and taking you to the farm?”

“Then no deal.”

Paul sighed. “What I thought.” He shook his head and stared off in the distance. “I know what you do there, you know. At Long Beach.” His eyes cut back to Sebastian. “I know everything about you, Frank, and your operation.”

An inner voice urged Sebastian to pull the gun, put him down now. It was the right thing to do, no question—and he could make up a story. He could spin it for the police. Spin it in a way it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. Do it now, before he—

“I was going to make you an emperor,” Paul said sadly, extending his arm above his head and performing the kind of hand signal Sebastian associated with SWAT and military special operations commands. Paul was giving a command to someone, but to whom? And to do what?

Sebastian caught a wink of light coming from the house on the hill. One of the windows facing him was now cracked open, the mesh screen gone, the sun reflecting off the glass lens of what he was sure was a sniper scope. He turned as the report of a rifle echoed through the air, the round slamming into his chest and knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling backward, over the edge of the pool.