A battle zone in Beverly Hills

'That's not good," Bonner was saying, his gun inches from Falco's head. They both stood at the end of the dining room table, staring at the monitor above the kitchen door. "Not good at all."

"Drama queen." Genie shot her husband a look. She had walked in moments ago, Ernesto on her heels, the Beretta at her back.

Bonner rolled his eyes. "That means a lot coming from you, baby."

"I thought your gate's supposed to lock automatically," Ernesto grumbled.

"Yeah, well, you're supposed to shut it first." Falco gave Ernesto the world's smallest smile, then looked back at the monitor.

The other three followed Falco's gaze. Two large men wearing suits and holding guns were approaching one of the side doors. The first man reached out and checked the brass handle. He shook his head and kept walking.

"The cameras are motion-sensitive," Falco explained. "We can follow those two all the way around the house."

"Great," Bonner commented. "I always wanted to watch hit men case a joint. Right before they broke in and killed me!"

"What's your problem?" Genie snapped. "At least you've got a gun." She shoved her hip angrily into Ernesto, who jabbed the gun deeper into her back.

"Without that flash drive, I'm dead anyway," Bonner snapped back. "In case you haven't noticed, I missed my flight to Cabo."

Genie's face showed an emotion Bonner had never seen before. A cross between amusement and that pout he hated. "I don't have it anymore."

"What?" Falco blurted, then immediately regretted it.

Ernesto returned the world's smallest smile, and said, "That's right, Antonio. And I think I'll keep it for a while."

"Think again," Evelyn Falco said, cocking a sawed-off shotgun.

"Honey!" Falco croaked.