“You don’t,” said Nemo. “But right now, your choices are to trust me or to wait for the sniper fire to start again. The man who is not your friend had a partner watching the turnoff to your road—that’s what, maybe a mile and a half? And I figure we have three or four minutes before he realizes that radio silence means his buddy is down and he starts humping it up here to send some more rounds through your living room window. Takes him maybe fifteen minutes to get here if he’s smart enough not to risk driving. That gives us nineteen minutes at best and we’ve already used six of them. So do you want to ask me questions or do you want to give me answers? Do you know Jasper Fleming?”

“Throw your gun in here and I’ll tell you,” said Patton.

“Seriously?” said Nemo. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

“If you don’t have time, then you’ll throw your gun on the bed and you’ll walk in here where I can see you.”

“Where you can shoot me, you mean,” said Nemo.

“Clock’s ticking,” said Patton.

“Fine,” said Nemo. He clicked the safety on his own Beretta and tossed it through the door onto the bed.

“And keep your fucking hands where I can see them,” said Patton.

“Jesus, you are a piece of work,” said Nemo. “I guess no good deed goes unpunished.” He raised his hands and walked through the door, directly into the woman’s line of fire. She did not move. “Now can we talk?” he said.

“You want to know about Jasper Fleming?” said Patton. “Yeah, I know Jasper.”

“Does he have any property other than his home at 173 Lone Pine Road?”

“Not that I know of.”

“What about that you don’t know of? How would you find out?”

“I’d ask him,” said Patton.

“Let’s assume that’s not a possibility.”

“Did you do something to Jasper?” said Patton. “Did those . . . those guys out there hurt Jasper?”

“Try to focus here,” said Nemo. “We don’t have time for emotion. How could we find out if Jasper Fleming owned a place other than his house?”

Just as Nemo said this a flash of light flickered across the blinds covering the window to his left. Nemo pulled the blind slightly to the side and looked out to see a man dressed in black with a rifle slung over his arm maybe fifty yards away and walking toward the house. The idiot was wearing mirrored sunglasses which reflected the morning light against Patton’s window.

“Looks like our time’s run out,” said Nemo. “The backup man is walking up your driveway.”

“You think I’m going to fall for that trick?” said Patton.