Sting

Chapter 17

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A rumble of thunder interrupted the sudden and taut silence between them. Shaw didn’t seem to notice. Her admission had cemented his attention on her.

She asked, “May I have some water, please?”

He straightened up and walked over to the car. Leaning into the driver’s seat, he reached beneath the dashboard for the trunk release. The lid popped open, the light inside came on, and Jordie was grateful for it and the dome light. With only the slate-gray remnants of daylight eking through the cracks in the walls, it had grown almost completely dark inside the building.

The back half of it was especially dark.

He returned to her with a bottle of water. She thanked him and drank deeply. When she’d had all she wanted, he took the bottle from her. “We’re running low.” He drank the rest, threw the empty bottle into the trunk, then came back to her.

“Male or female?”

“What?”

“The person who called you.”

“Male.”

“But it wasn’t Josh?”

“I don’t think so. It might have been, but I don’t think so. His voice was muffled.”

“Panella and his silly machine?”

“No. Nothing like that. Just—”

“—muffled.”

“Yes.”

“What did this muffled voice that might or might not have been Josh say?”

She ignored his patent skepticism. “He said, ‘If you want information about your brother, come now.’ He emphasized the now and told me where the bar was located. He didn’t give me a chance to ask or say anything before disconnecting.”

He thought all that over. “What did he say when you called back?”

“I did so directly because I needed better directions on where to find the bar. His had been rushed and imprecise. But when I called, he didn’t answer.”

“Although he’d just called you?”

She raised her shoulders. “He didn’t answer.”

“Regardless, you wasted no time setting out.”

“That’s right.” She considered telling him about the car which she was almost certain had followed her, but thought it best not to volunteer anything. “As you assumed, I called him again en route when I got turned around on one of the back roads. He didn’t answer then, either. That’s the truth . That’s all I know. I swear it.”

“That’s the truth?”

“Yes.”

“All you know?”

“Yes.”

“Then why hold out on me? Why didn’t you tell me this last night when I asked—repeatedly—why you went to that bar?”

That touched a nerve. “Well, just possibly my reticence had something to do with you snuffing your partner, kidnapping me, tying me up, and marching me into a dark woods for what I feared was my execution.”

Building up a full head of steam, she continued. “I was scared out of my mind! I’d just seen you kill a man, and you were suggesting that I”—she slapped her hand against her chest—“was part of a plot to set you up as a fall guy. I was afraid if I told you about the call, you would demand to know more, and I couldn’t tell you any more, because I don’t know any more !” By now she was shouting.

Unruffled, he watched her for a moment, giving her time to simmer down, then said, “Let’s see.”

“What?”

“Call back. See if he answers this time.” He extended her the phone.

An active phone. A lifeline. He was offering it to her. But she would never be able to complete a 911 call before he stopped her, and she didn’t dare redial the unknown caller who’d summoned her to the bar. If the person on the other end was Josh…

She left the phone lying untouched in Shaw’s palm.

“No?” he said. “Then I’ll call again.”

“Again?”

He turned the phone so she could read the screen. “See? Last night. Ten fifty-two. I was approximately a half hour’s drive away from the bar when I pulled off the road to switch license plates. I took the opportunity to check your phone. Out of curiosity I called Unknown.”

She looked at him expectantly. “What did you get?”

“Rings. No answer. No voice mail. Just like the three times I’ve called it since then.” He showed her the history of his attempts, the most recent being that afternoon while she slept. “Maybe we’ll get lucky this time.” He tapped the screen and held the phone so she could hear the rings. Her heart thumped with fearful anticipation, but the call went unanswered.

After seven or eight rings, he disconnected. She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved, but his scrutiny of her was unsettling.

“No one approached you in the bar except that idiot who slipped you the phone number.”

“He had nothing to do with anything,” she said. “It wasn’t him who called me.”

“How do you know?”

“Did he look trustworthy to you, or like someone who could carry out a dangerous mission for Josh?”

In spite of her scoffing, Shaw’s stare didn’t waver.

She added, “I think when he came over to me, he must’ve scared off the person who called. Which was the main reason I became so irritated with him.”

“He scared off the mysterious caller who was going to give you information about Josh.”

This time she acknowledged his sarcasm. “You think I’m lying.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Your tone implied it.”

“First you complain about my innuendos, now my tone. Makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able to satisfy you. Ooops.” He exaggerated a wince. “Another innuendo.”

She came straight off the crate to her feet. “I think you scared him off.”

“When I shot Mickey? Wrong. Because by then you had realized you’d been stood up and had hightailed it out of there.”

“I hightailed it because I realized how irrational it was to have gone in the first place. When I got that call, I didn’t know Josh had escaped. I thought that perhaps someone would deliver a message from him, or give me a way to reach him. Something like that.”

She could tell he wasn’t buying it. Sighing, she returned to her seat on the crate and rubbed her temple. “Honestly, I don’t know what was going through my mind. I reacted without thinking. The moment I walked into that place, I realized how stupid it was to have gone streaking off into the night.

“The longer I sat there, fending off that creep, the more likely it seemed that the call had been a hoax, someone playing a cruel joke on me. I was still thinking it was a prank until I turned around, saw you and Mickey coming toward me, and realized that Billy Panella was behind the whole thing.”

“He was behind the hit, not the phone call.”

“Oh, right. My arrival was a shock. I showed up, and you had to scrub plan A.” She gestured with helplessness. “We’re back to where we started. I don’t know who called or why he sent me to that bar.”

He didn’t react for the longest time. Eventually he shrugged and said, “Okay,” but his flippancy suggested that it wasn’t at all okay.

“You’ve got to believe me!”

“I said okay.” Methodically he removed the battery from her phone before putting both in his front pocket. Encircling her biceps with his hand, he pulled her up off the crate and drew her toward the door. “It’s starting to rain. You need to go outside while you can.”

“Please, listen, I—”

“I was listening.”

“But I don’t think you believe me. Do you?”

When they reached the door, he pushed it open, then stood there, his breathing hard, his fingers growing steadily tighter around her arm.

“I’m not lying, I swear.”

Suddenly he brought her around to face him. He’d never looked more intimidating or forbidding.

“I’m telling you everything I know. Please believe me. Believe—”

“Hush, Jordie.”

The command was softly spoken but imperious. He brought his mouth down on hers ungently and without restraint. The back of her head was encompassed by his hand and held in place with inescapable strength. His other hand settled on her neck.

While his thumb stroked the sensitive underside of her chin, his stern lips pressured hers to separate, and when they did, the sleek glide of his tongue against hers caused an overspill of heat throughout her. Angling his head the other way, he made an even deeper foray into her mouth.

But then he groaned with frustration and raised his head. “I had to do that. Just once.”

Abruptly he let go of her and pushed her through the open door, soundly pulling it closed behind her.

Before she fully registered what had happened, she was outside, standing in the falling mist, staring into the darkness, her entire body pulsing. With trembling fingers, she touched her damp lips, and even as she did, a whimper escaped them. A whimper of longing, mortification, torment. His breath had been hot on her face, his body hard, his voice gruff, his eyes alight in the darkness. All of him, masterful and possessive.

I had to do that. Just once.

Once.

The qualifier made it clear.

He was going to kill her.