“If I knew anything—anything,” Link said, some strength coming into his voice, “I would’ve told Frank. I told him everything I know, which isn’t much.”

Sebastian nodded, chewing, and eyed the burn marks covering Link’s chest, arms, and legs. Frank was a big fan of some electric torture developed over in Chile, had gotten solid results with it in the past. Sebastian never stuck around to see how it worked. He couldn’t stomach the way a man lost control of his bodily functions, was reduced to a childlike state, begging for the pain to stop. Link, Sebastian saw, was staring at him that way right now.

No one’s looking for you, Sebastian wanted to say. It was true. Link had no steady girlfriend and he didn’t keep in touch with his parents, who lived in upstate Washington. Link had several friends in LA, but not a single one of them knew he’d been MIA for months; Sebastian knew this because he had access to Link’s phone and email accounts.

The City of Angels attracted a lot of guys who had barely any ties to their families—guys who wanted a fresh start from their former lives. They made good employees, especially from an administrative standpoint. In the event that they had to disappear, not too many people came around asking questions. People floated in and out of LA all the time.

Sebastian took out another sandwich and unwrapped it. “You and Paul were tight, right?”

“We weren’t, like, you know, bros or anything.”

“But you hung out a lot together outside of work.” Sebastian placed the turkey club on Link’s lap. “Hit the gym and bars, took in some ball games.”

“But I didn’t know the guy.”

“What did you guys talk about?”

“Just, you know, stuff. General stuff like workouts, broads, and baseball. Fun clubs and bars. Shit like that. I told all this stuff to Frank.”

Frank had put people in and around all the bars and clubs Link had told Frank about, hoping to catch a glimpse of Paul. So far, nothing.

Link said, “Like I said, I didn’t know the guy. Our conversations weren’t deep or anything—he never shared, like, his future plans. Dreams or goals. It was, you know, all surface. You’re his father—”

“I’m not his father.”

The heat in Sebastian’s tone made Link flinch.

Link pieced off a bit of the sandwich. When he placed it in his mouth, he looked like he was going to break down and cry in relief and gratitude. “All I’m saying is that if anyone knows the real Paul, it’s, you know, probably you.”

Not true, Sebastian thought, chewing. What he hadn’t fully realized until the weeks following his attempted assassination was just how little he knew about Paul and his personal life—which, truth be told, came as something of a surprise. Paul had lived under his roof until he was nineteen, when he joined the Marines, and during those years Paul had had an active social life. So when Paul disappeared after the shooting, Sebastian assumed Paul’s friends and all the contacts on his phone would lead him to wherever Paul was holed up—or, at the very least, provide crumbs of information that would eventually lead to his location.