Victor silently opened the door and walked onto the bedroom’s thick carpeting. The vertical blinds on the floor-to-ceiling glass windows were turned to reveal a view of blue sky and the top of Renaissance Tower a block away. He remembered the first time he had looked out this window. Cressida, their boozy Realtor, giving them the pre-bid tour. “Here’s what you’ll see, boys, when you wake up each morning,” she said, with a sly wink at the sleeping arrangements. The view from the window was like looking out of a plane. Some days Victor stood in front of the glass for half an hour, watching the clouds change, following one car after another on Mission Street.

On the bedside table, Russell’s coffee mug sat with his own teacup, left there an hour earlier—a lifetime ago. Was their plan unraveling? If the cops showed up, he and Russell had agreed to escape if they could. Packed bags and fake passports waited in the living room. Flight from SFO to Bangkok. Be on the beach in Ko Lanta in two days.

He could run now. Back down the elevator to the car. But where the fuck was Russell? He felt the urge to call out for him, but some caution warned against it.

Looking down at his phone, he saw the webcam feed for the living room. The cop Holland was lying still beside the sofa. The rest of the room was empty.

Victor walked into the living room. The sofa had been pushed a few feet from its usual spot, the chair beside it overturned. Signs of a struggle. He examined the cop. Holland was breathing but unconscious. A red welt was visible on his forehead; a path of dried blood ran under his nose and across one cheek. Victor pictured Russell’s head kick, a sudden backward spin that Holland saw too late.

Imagine Dragons were on to “Demons.” Victor tried to listen for other sounds. He thought of turning down the music but decided to let it play.

Any moment Russell would call and say he was in the Mercedes, engine idling on Spear, telling Victor it was time to go.

On his phone Victor viewed the dining room, guest bedroom, and office. All empty.

Victor raised his gun and walked to the kitchen. He leaned over the counter to see into the room’s blind spot, the galley space in front of the stove and refrigerator. Nothing.

He checked the time. Twelve minutes since he’d left Rivas’s body in the utility closet. How long before someone found the cop or he regained consciousness? How long before someone noticed the blood on the elevator floor?