“I’m going to take his goddamn head off.” Flecks of spittle glistened on Xander’s upper lip.

“You’ll get your chance.”

South on the Hollywood Freeway, moving easier. Xander’s hands were fixed to the wheel, the whites of his knuckles showing through his tattoos.

Ruben had texted that there was no car in the driveway and the house looked empty.

“What now?” Xander asked.

They had parked on a neighboring street; it was less conspicuous to approach on foot, and the Mustang might alert the actor, should he return. Johan reflected—not for the first time—that his life’s pursuits fell into categories of either extremely low or extremely high profile. This would have to be the former.

“Two choices,” he said. “We can check the place out, or wait for movement.”

“I’m not in a waiting mood,” Xander said.

“Me, neither.” Johan opened his door. “Let’s go.”

Ruben was in his vehicle, a Toyota Tundra with twenty-four-inch rims, parked outside Kitty’s apartment building. Johan and Xander walked up beside it, rapped on the passenger-side window.

“Still nothing?” Johan asked.

“All quiet,” Ruben said. “Doesn’t mean no one’s home, though. Car could be in the garage, although I only ever remember seeing it parked in the driveway.”

“Same,” Xander said.

“What’s this about?” Ruben asked.

“Kitty’s still alive,” Johan said. “And we think she’s hiding here, with a neighbor. Or at least was hiding here.”

“What the fuck?” Ruben shook his head. “But I thought—”

“I’ll explain later,” Johan cut in. “We’re going to check the place out. We’ll go in through the back. You stay here. If anybody bolts out the front door, stop them.”

“Got it.”

Johan and Xander crossed the road and started down Luke Kingsley’s driveway. They walked confidently, as if they had every right to be there. Johan knew a thing or two about hiding in plain sight.

“We do this cleanly,” he said to Xander. “We don’t spill blood or leave prints. If anybody’s home, we tie them up and take them to Jink’s.”

Xander grunted something about cutting Luke’s balls off.

Neither man, nor Ruben, noticed the silver Buick parked two spaces behind Ruben’s truck, its driver watching closely.

They continued along the side of Luke’s house, toward the backyard, following a concrete path crowded by weeds. There were no windows open, but Johan noted the sheet of plywood that had replaced the glass in the garage’s side door.

Nobody in the backyard. Xander checked the door. Locked. They peered through the kitchen window, careful not to leave prints on the glass. The house appeared empty.

“Watch the back,” Johan said to Xander. “I’m going in through the garage. I don’t think anybody’s here, but let’s make sure. Then we can figure out next steps.”