Victor looked back the way he had come—through the living room, where he and Russell had spent fifty grand decorating to impress their guests. A lot of good it did now. Soon the cop on the living-room floor would regain consciousness, and Victor would have to make another decision.

The emptiness of the condo was a puzzle. He remembered Ben, sitting behind his own house in Dry Creek Valley two nights earlier, saying how much he hated people who solved puzzles. The real creativity was in making the mystery, not solving it. Fucking Ben. Why had they helped him? All he cared about was showing how smart he was.

Suddenly, Victor saw something. At the far end of the kitchen countertop lay Russell’s phone. He stared at it. Why was the phone there? Russell never went anywhere without his phone. At least now he knew Russell would not be calling.

Only one part of the condo remained to check—the balcony. Victor walked to the balcony door and looked at his phone. The webcam feed for the balcony was missing. It had happened once before during a rainstorm, when the wind dislodged the camera’s wiring.

Victor shoved his phone in his pocket and reached for the door handle. He felt tired. The nights without sleep, the things they had done—all of it settled on him.

He pointed his gun ahead of him and opened the door. A cold wind blew across the waist-high glass wall. The curving superstructure of the Bay Bridge was visible in the distance and, across the bay, the low hills of Oakland.

Russell stood in the corner of the balcony, bracing himself against the wall. The wind whipped his hair and billowed his shirt. He faced Victor but didn’t speak. His eyes were open wide, frozen.

The moment Victor stepped toward Russell, he felt the tip of a gun barrel pressed against the back of his head. “Right about now,” a voice behind him said, “I’ll bet you’re thinking, ‘Who–the–fuck–is–this?’”

Victor looked straight ahead at Russell watching him. “First things first,” the voice instructed. “Let’s put that gun on the floor so no one gets hurt.”

Victor bent slowly. He placed Rivas’s Sig on the balcony floor and stood up. The man behind him kicked the Sig out of sight. The whole time, the gun barrel remained pressed against his head. “Now, to answer your question,” the voice said, “I’m the asshole with the Charger, the one where you put the two dogs. Remember that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Victor croaked. His mouth was dry.

“Dogs on speed,” Frames said. “Funny stuff. We all had a good laugh about that one, didn’t we?”