“I think the newspaper article will be enough to set him off. He reaches a point where he’s so angry that he can no longer control himself. He appears to be cool and calm when he’s actually boiling inside. He becomes more, not less, calculating, and eventually, more violent. He told me that once, when in that state, he killed a man with a steak knife in the middle of a restaurant, then sat back down and finished his steak. That was in Russia, when he was still under Petrov’s protection and he could do whatever he wanted.”

“He’s not in Russia anymore,” Stone pointed out, “and there’s no Petrov here to protect him.”

Billy came into the kitchen and sat down.

“Can I get you a drink, Billy?”

“Thanks, but no. I’m going to fly back to L.A. tonight. Peter needs the airplane tomorrow morning. My bags are already in the car. I just wanted to thank you both for your hospitality. You’ve made me very comfortable here.”

“You must come back and bring your wife whenever you can, Billy,” Gala said. “You’ll always be welcome.”

“That’s very kind of you, Gala, we’ll take you up on it one of these days.” He turned toward Stone. “You going to be okay here on your own?”

“I’ll be fine,” Stone replied. “You’ve been just great, Billy, and I appreciate everything you’ve done.” The two men shook hands, and Billy left.

“I don’t understand,” Gala said. “What is Billy doing?”

Stone turned to her. “Here’s how it goes. Billy needed a break from work,” he said. “You invited him to visit Santa Fe and stay at your house. He was a quiet houseguest, read a lot and took walks. Sometimes he went into Santa Fe to take a look at the town. He was polite and charming, and you were happy to have him. Tonight, he left the house, went to the airport, and flew back to Los Angeles. Those are the things you need to remember—just those things. Do you understand?”

“Of course, whatever you say.”

“Now, let’s have some dinner and go to bed.”

—

Billy drove out the front gate, then pulled over to the side of the road, got out his phone and called Landmark Aviation. “This is Billy Barnett. I’m in a Citation Mustang, which is in your hangar.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnett, what can we do for you?”

“How late are you open?”

“Until nine PM.”

“Please pull my airplane out of the hangar, top it off—Jet A, negative Prist—and leave it on the ramp for my late departure. Charge the fuel to my credit card on file.”

“Of course. What time will you be departing?”

“As soon as I can get there.”

“We’ll have it ready for you, Mr. Barnett.” She hung up.