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“My phone buzzed as I merged onto the 101. Simon's name flashed on the screen.

"Talk to me."

"Krause just called. Multiple vehicles, lights on inside. He's got eyes on at least two men, possibly more."

My grip tightened on the wheel. "Russians?"

"Can't confirm yet, but the cars are high-end rentals. Black SUVs. Professional setup. I’m betting your hunch is going to be right." Simon paused. "Code, Krause says these guys move like operators. This definitely isn't Russell."

"I'm twenty minutes out."

"Krause is holding position across the street. He'll wait for you."

I disconnected and pushed the rental car faster through evening traffic. Katherine's face flashed through my mind. I'd made a promise to keep her safe.

This ends tonight.

Laurel Canyon Boulevard snaked up into the hills. Small houses and multi-million-dollar mansions clung to the hills behind brick walls and high hedges.

I found Krause's pickup one hundred meters down from Andy Fritz's place. I parked another fifty meters away, killed the engine, and walked over to him. The former SEAL leaned against the driver's door, arms crossed. Maybe fifty, gray threading through his buzz cut, built like he still put in gym time.

"Drakos." He offered his hand.

"Krause. What have we got?"

"Two men inside. Big bastards. They've been inside the place for forty minutes." He jerked his chin toward the house. "Black Escalade out front, engine's still warm."

"Any sign of Russell Dunlap?"

"Negative. Place was empty when they arrived. Professional entry on the back door."

I studied the house. Mid-century ranch, probably worth four million despite needing work. Lights blazed in every window. These guys were confident.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"These guys are looking for the same thing we are. Simon said you thought they were Russian. Why?"

“Russia has been looking for as much help as it can get on the technology front, and one of the ways it’s gotten a foot in the door is backing some shaky American tech ventures when they’ve gotten in over their heads. I took a look at one of them, NewVation, and Russell just happened to have worked there. That, and the financials tell me it was a decent hunch.”

“I’d say you hit the jackpot.” Krause pulled a tactical knife from his belt and checked the edge. "Been a while since I had a good fight."

We bypassed the gate, went up the hill along the side of the property, and climbed over the vine-covered wall into the back yard.

The back door stood open. Fresh scratches around the lock.

We slipped inside. The kitchen smelled like old coffee and takeout. Voices carried from the front of the house. Russian. They were frustrated, coming up empty.

Krause raised his eyebrows. I held up two fingers, pointed to the living room, and made a circling motion. He nodded.

I moved down the hallway while Krause circled through the dining room. My Glock felt solid in my hand.

Through the living room doorway, I saw them—two men, both massive. The first had a shaved head and arms like tree trunks. The second was leaner but moved with controlled grace.

The bald one spoke into his phone in Russian. "Nothing yet. No computers, no files, nothing."

Pause.