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“I believe we have a guest, Sherlock. Günter, come into the light, no need to be shy.”

A tall barrel-chested man walked into the doorway, a SIG-Sauer held in his left hand. As soon as Savich saw he wasn’t hiding his face, he knew Günter intended to kill them. He was dressed in black, even his hands were gloved in black leather, a black cap pulled down to his ears. He looked fit and strong, but his face was deeply seamed, his mouth small and deeply grooved. He looked old, like he’d lived through too many long nights planning too much death. Did he look crazy? His eyes did, Savich thought, cold and empty.

“Günter Grass,” he said, savoring the sounds. “You found out that name very quickly. I haven’t used it for years.”

Savich asked as he walked slowly toward the man, “You came here even though Fleurette is in Bethesda?”

“Keep your distance, Savich, don’t try to rush me. I know you can fight.” Günter backed up so that he kept ten feet between them. “Both of you, drop the SIGs now and kick them over here.”

Savich and Sherlock both eased their guns from their belt holsters, laid them on the kitchen floor, and kicked them over to where Günter stood.

Günter pointed his SIG directly at Sherlock. “Both of you, come into the living room. Savich, keep her between us.” When they were in the living room, Günter motioned them to sit on the sofa. He walked to the living room archway, his SIG still pointed at Sherlock’s chest. “Enough now. Where’s Elaine LaFleurette?”

“At Bethesda,” Sherlock said. “In the surgical ICU. Don’t you remember? You shot her.”

Günter fired. The shot was deafening in the quiet living room. Sherlock sucked in her breath as the bullet grazed the outside of her arm and buried itself in the wall behind her. She jerked at the shock of it, but didn’t cry out. She clapped her hand to her arm. Savich was on his feet, in motion.

“Stop or I’ll kill her!”

Savich was breathing hard, adrenaline and rage pumping through him. He wanted to kill Günter, but he had his gun on Sherlock. He reined himself in and sat back down, heart thudding hard against his chest, afraid now. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m all right, Dillon. I’m all right.”

Günter was smiling. “You don’t screw with me, you hear? I am as much a professional as you are. When I ask you a question, you don’t smart-mouth me, you got that?”

“Yes, I’ve got that.” Sherlock knew the numbness would fade soon and her arm would be on fire. But the wound wasn’t bad, he’d just wanted to scare her. His quiet threat of more violence scared her more than the bullet that had already torn through her flesh.

Savich said, “Put the gun down now, Günter. There are a dozen more FBI agents surrounding the house. It stops here, now. There’s no way out for you.”

Günter stared at him. “You set me up at Bethesda? And here in your own house?”

“Yes, that’s right. I underestimated you once. I wasn’t about to do it a second time. Put down the gun and we can end this without any more killing.”

Savich saw the instant Günter believed him, the instant he knew it was over for him. Something in his eyes went dead and flat. He was suddenly afraid that Günter would shoot both of them before he could be stopped. He had to keep him talking. “Tell us why you murdered Justice Califano, Günter. Why you murdered Danny O’Malley and Eliza Vickers. Why you still want to kill Elaine LaFleurette. This is your chance to tell us and the world. Tell us who was working with you, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Günter continued to hold his gun locked on Sherlock’s chest. “You want the truth? All right, I’ll tell you a bit of truth.”

He paused, his eyes calm now, resigned, and Sherlock would swear she saw relief there as well. He continued in a slow voice. “I am actually impressed with you, Agent Savich, as one professional to another. But the end must come for all of us, me, Califano, you—the difference is that while you have chosen it for me, you did not choose this ending for yourself. But I have. I knew some time ago my life was coming to an end. The only