Sting

Chapter 30

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J ordie pressed the contraband cell phone against her ear and sat down on the edge of the bed. Guiltily, she glanced toward the connecting door to the living area of the suite and spoke in a hushed voice. “Josh? How—”

“Are you watching TV? Have you heard?”

“What? Heard what? How did you know I’d get this phone?”

“I didn’t. Just hoped. You’re at Extravaganza now?”

“No. The FBI has me sequestered in a hotel. But they allowed some mail to be brought—”

“Turn on the TV.”

“Josh, where are you? Are you all right?”

“Turn on the TV! If you’re in a hotel, you have a TV. Turn it on.”

“Why?”

He puffed a sound of impatience tinged with panic. “Turn. On. The. TV.”

She reached for the remote on the nightstand. “All right. It’s on.”

He told her the channel to tune in. As she navigated the aggravating menus inherent to hotel televisions, she said, “I’ve been so worried, Josh. You shouldn’t have run away. Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all right. Especially not after this.”

“After what?”

“He’s gonna kill me!”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?” he asked, his voice going shrill.

She recognized the symptoms. He was in full-blown panic mode.

“Josh, listen, please. You are in terrible trouble.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock.”

She rolled her lips inward to contain a retort. “I’ll help you. You know I will. But you must calm down and—”

“Calm down? Calm down? He’s out there! I know it. And he’ll kill me.”

His doomsday predictions continued in Jordie’s right ear as she strained with the other to hear the television’s audio and piece together the story that had her brother completely unhinged.

“Are you watching?” he asked.

“Yes.” A photo of a young man appeared on the TV screen, astonishing Jordie with its familiarity. In the picture, he didn’t have a goatee, but she recognized the insolent grin immediately. Until now, she hadn’t even known his name.

“He was at the bar Friday night. He talked to me.”

“Oh I know all about it,” Josh said. “He was on TV the other night, blabbing to a reporter about your little interlude.”

“Fortunately I missed that.”

“He talked about sharing a drink—”

“We didn’t share—”

“Bragged about his ‘brush with death.’ If news reports are correct, he was back at that same bar last night retelling the story.”

“So what? He’s milking his fifteen minutes. There’s no cause to panic over—”

“I wouldn’t be panicked if he hadn’t turned up dead!”

Her heart tripped. “What?”

“Murdered, Jordie. Murdered. I thought you were watching TV.”

“I am. I—”

“He was found shot in the head. It happened after he left the bar where he had an audience while boasting about meeting you. Now do you understand why I’m panicked?”

On the screen now was video showing a pickup truck. Its windshield was blood-spattered. It was in a woodsy setting surrounded by crime scene tape, squad cars, and uniformed men.

“That’s awful,” she murmured. “But he probably got into an argument with someone last night. I’m sure his murder had nothing to do with me.”

“Are you stupid?” Josh shouted.

“How could it involve me?”

“Before I called you, they were interviewing this hairy, tattooed bartender. He said Royce Sherman was acting like a big shot, bragging about the role he’d played in the ‘Panella-Bennett case.’ That’s how they phrased it.”

“That’s what it is, Josh.”

“Don’t tell me this guy’s murder has nothing to do with you. With us.” He made a choking sound. “I’m never going to get away from him, am I?”

“Panella?”

“Of course Panella! Who do you think?”

“Please calm down. Tell me where you are. I’ll come—”

“No!”

“Josh, you cannot outrun the authorities.”

“I already have. I’m not worried about them. It’s Panella. You know what I think?” Without waiting for her to answer, he rushed on. “I don’t think he ever left the country. I think he’s been lurking around, waiting for me to—”

“—to do something crazy like leave the government’s protection?”

“I knew it! I knew you’d side with them.”

“Dammit, Josh, I’m on your side.”

“And you’re probably mad because I told Wiley about Costa Rica. I had to, Jordie. I didn’t say anything bad about you. Only that you went with Panella.”

She refrained from pointing out how damaging even that much might be. It also occurred to her that even though this was the first time they’d spoken in six months, Josh hadn’t asked after her welfare. Knowing full well the ordeal she’d suffered this week because of him, he hadn’t apologized or expressed concern over her situation. She wouldn’t have expected him to. Nevertheless, it hurt.

As evenly as possible, she said, “If you want my help you have to tell me where you are.”

“No way. Panella’s close. I can feel him. He’s probably watching you. If I told you where I am, you’d lead him right to me. He’ll never give up. I know him. He won’t stop looking for me till I’m dead.”

“That’s paranoia talking, Josh. Billy Panella is thousands of miles away.”

“No. He’s here. He killed that guy last night.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No it’s not.”

She envisioned him shaking his head in the manner of an obstinate child, red-faced and unyielding, impossible to reason with.

“That dumb redneck interfered with Panella’s plan to have you killed. Worse, he was shooting off his mouth about it last night. The bartender said he took credit for you being alive. To Panella that would be a personal affront. He wouldn’t let that slide.”

On the television, a news reporter was trying to get a sound bite from Deputy Morrow, whom she recognized from her rescue the day before. He was pushing his way through a throng, saying nothing except, “No comment at this time.”

The undaunted reporter turned to the camera and said, “Although authorities are reluctant to disclose details of the homicide, unnamed sources have told our newsroom that Royce Sherman was killed execution style with a single gunshot.”

Beginning to worm through Jordie was a suspicion that Josh’s ranting wasn’t so farfetched after all. What he was saying came uncomfortably close to Shaw’s warning. You can’t protect your brother from Panella.

Nevertheless, she hastily dismissed the possibility that Panella was nearby and doing his own killing rather than hiring professionals. That was too frightening a thought to entertain.

Besides, whenever her brother was having a meltdown of this caliber, one of them had to remain calm and rational. She said, “For the sake of argument, let’s say that Panella never left the United States. Why would he care about a smart-aleck bragging about his encounter with me? He would have much more important things to worry about.”

“That’s right. He does. Me! He’s got me to worry about. That’s what I’m trying to tell you! He’s going to kill me.”

“If you’re that afraid of him, Josh, turn yourself in.”

“They’ll put me in prison and throw away the key.”

“Well, which are you more afraid of?” she asked angrily. “Prison or Billy Panella?” She could just see him worrying the corner of his lip between his teeth. At least he was no longer screeching. She reigned in her own temper and switched to a cajoling tone.

“You’ve placed yourself in a no-win situation, Josh. You played both ends against the middle and lost, leaving you only two choices. Turn yourself in, or continue living in fear of Panella until either he or a hired assassin ferrets you out. Clearly, your best option is to surrender yourself to the authorities.”

“And be punished for things that aren’t my fault.”

“They are your fault.”

“You want me dead, don’t you? You hope I die. You want me out of your life forever. You always have.”

She bowed her head and rubbed her hairline where a headache was coming on. “Don’t say things like that. You know they’re not true.”

“When Panella gets to me, when they find me with a bullet in my head, you’ll have finally gotten what you want, which is rid of me!”

With that, the phone went dead.

After Shaw dropped his bombshell in Morrow’s office, things happened quickly.

Morrow turned over the questioning of Linda Meeker to the two detectives who’d been interviewing her before. Her father’s bellowing could be heard throughout the building, publicly denouncing her for a long list of sins that would land her in Hell.

If Shaw had had the strength to lay into the judgmental son of a bitch, he would have. But he barely had the stamina to walk to the car with Wiley and Hickam. He stripped off the hot-as-Hades hoodie and the sunglasses and practically fell into the backseat.

He got out of sight just in time. Before they were even clear of the parking lot, two news vans in an obvious race pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office.

“Crap,” Hickam said.

“It was only a matter of time,” Wiley said. “Two murders originating in one backwoods bar within a few days? Had to make news even if it’s dismissed as a bizarre coincidence.”

“Morrow said he would personally flay and filet anyone who leaked the girl’s name to the media,” Shaw said. “But it’ll get out.”

“Morrow’s gonna have people guarding her house,” Wiley said.

Shaw was only marginally reassured. He trusted Morrow, but he thought about the sloppy surveillance that had been done on Jordie.

Hickam said, “It’ll really turn into a circus if Panella’s name gets attached to the crime.”

“Morrow’s going to keep that speculation out of the media,” Wiley said.

“Except it’s not speculation.”

Wiley conceded Shaw’s point. “It’s scary to think he’s in the area. But I’d be lying if I pretended I’m not a little glad. I’d love to nail the bastard once and for all without having to go to the edge of nowhere in order to find him.” He looked at Hickam. “You notify the marshal’s service?”

“Gave the guy a hard-on.”

Wiley smiled and watched as the reporters and cameramen rushed the entry of the sheriff’s office. “I hate leaving Morrow alone to stamp out that wildfire.”

“He’ll handle it. He’s solid,” Shaw said as he dug his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets. He’d never been so tired.

As though reading his mind, Wiley said, “You’re going back to the hospital.”

Shaw lowered his hand. “Hell I am. We gotta move Jordie Bennett to a safe house.”

“We don’t need your help,” Hickam said.

“Didn’t say you did.”

“We can handle it without you.”

“You can, but you’re not.”

Hickam shrugged. “Fine. Your funeral.”

“You wish.”

“Hey, cut it out,” Wiley said. “You two are worse than my kids.”

For the past fifteen minutes Hickam had been looking like he could chew nails. He chose now to vent, speaking to Wiley as though Shaw weren’t there. “That dog-and-pony show he put on back there wasn’t a legal interrogation. Nothing Linda Meeker told him can ever be used in a court of law.”

“Wasn’t illegal,” Shaw said. “Wasn’t even an interrogation. I didn’t ask her a single question. Not one . I didn’t lead the conversation, she did. All I did was listen.” He looked at Hickam in the rearview mirror and raised his eyebrows, inviting him to contradict him.

Hickam said, “Too bad that disarming tactic didn’t work on Jordie Bennett. Neither did flexcuffs and a blindfold. Thirty-six hours with her, and you got zip.”

Shaw rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. “She didn’t have anything to tell.”

“Unless you count her tropical vacation with Billy Panella.”

Shaw opened his eyes and raised his head only high enough to meet Hickam’s smug gaze in the mirror, and it made him terribly uneasy. “Wiley?” The other agent turned his head and looked at him. “What’s Quick-Draw talking about?” He listened for five straight minutes, liking none of what Wiley told him.

Wiley finished by saying, “She can’t deny being with him down there, but claims not to know anything about the money her brother deposited or Panella’s plans to return for it.”

“So you see,” Hickam said, “by relocating her, we’re not sure what we’re preventing. Another attempt on her life? Or a romantic rendezvous with Billy Panella?”

In Shaw’s mind, he was shouting, Fuck me!

But he didn’t respond to Hickam’s goading. He didn’t say a word, only returned his head to the back of the seat and closed his eyes.

Joe Wiley called Gwen Saunders from the hotel lobby to tell her that they were on their way up, so Jordie was seated on the living area sofa when Gwen unbolted the door and they filed in. Wiley was in the lead, then Hickam.

Behind him came Shaw, whom she hadn’t expected to see.

When their eyes met, the connection was electric, anger and hostility arcing hotly between them. But for all the ferocity of his gaze, Shaw looked ghoulish, his eyes alight with fever, shoulders slumped, tread unsteady.

Joe Wiley pointed him into a chair, saying, “Sit down before you fall down.” Then to Jordie and Gwen, “We’ve got some disturbing news.”

“We heard about it,” Gwen said. “Jordie was in her bedroom resting and saw the story about Royce Sherman’s murder on TV.”

“It’s dreadful,” Jordie said, “but I don’t believe it had anything to do with me.”

“We hoped it was a coincidence, too, but we rushed down to Tobias to check it out.” Wiley tipped his head toward Shaw. “He talked to the young woman who was with Sherman when he was shot.” He covered the main points of that conversation. “Then she told him something that knocked our socks off. The killer talked through an electrolarynx.”

Jordie sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. “So, it was Panella?”

The three men had been watching her closely to gauge her reaction, and she could tell they were shocked by the resignation behind her statement.

Hickam was the first to speak. “You aren’t surprised?”

“Not all that much, no. I’ll be right back.”

She left her seat on the sofa, went into her bedroom, and retrieved the cell phone from between the mattresses where she’d hidden it until she decided what to do about it. This new information had made the decision for her.

She went back into the living room and held out the phone where the agents could see it. She explained how she’d come by it. “Josh knows I proofread all printed matter before sending it on to the client. It was safe for him to assume that the box of invitations would eventually wind up in my hands.”

“What if somebody else had answered when he called that phone?” Hickam asked.

“He’d have hung up, I suppose. Or if he never had need of it, it would have gone unused, forever a mystery as to how it got into that box. When he heard about Royce Sherman, he panicked and called me. He believes Panella killed Sherman and is afraid that he’ll be next.”

Hickam took the phone from her and turned it on.

While they waited for it to boot up, she related her conversation with Josh. Her account was interspersed with questions from either Hickam or Wiley, who asked when she was going to get around to telling them about the phone and the call.

“I admit I hadn’t decided whether to tell you at all. Josh was having a paranoid episode. I was tempted to keep that line of communication with him open.”

“Is he suicidal?” Hickam asked.

“Even in the throes of a panic attack he’s never threatened to take his own life, and he didn’t today. But I believe he’s on the brink of a complete breakdown. I thought that if I kept the phone, maybe I could eventually talk him down, persuade him to surrender. But in light of what that young lady told Shaw…”

At the slip of his name, she automatically looked in his direction. Since entering the suite, he hadn’t uttered a word. No questions for her. No comments on anything she’d said. He had remained perfectly still in his chair, silent and listening, riveted on her, as watchful as a hawk.

Her involuntary glance at him now produced a purl of awareness, low and deep and sexual. It made her furious that he still had the power to evoke a reaction like that. It made her angry at herself for being susceptible.

Going back to the others, she said, “In view of what the girl said about the killer’s voice, Josh’s hysteria is justified.” She paused, then added, “Of course we could all be mistaken.”

Dangerous place, denial.

As though Shaw had spoken the words again, she looked across at him. He hadn’t moved. His predatory gaze was still steady on her.

She said, “Royce Sherman could’ve gotten under anyone’s skin. Any number of people could have followed him from the bar to that side road.”

“It was all I could do to keep from decking him when Hick and I interviewed him,” Wiley said. “So I would tend to agree with you, Ms. Bennett. Except I just wonder how many of Royce’s potential grudge bearers would use an electrolarynx?”

The answer being obvious, as were its implications, Jordie sat down on the sofa and folded her arms across her middle in a subconscious gesture of self-protection.

“I don’t think Uncle Clive killed him,” Hickam said.

“Me either.” Wiley sighed and looked down at Jordie. “This public hotel has become too public for comfort. As a precaution, we’re going to move you to a safe house.”

“You checked me in under an assumed name, and only we in this room know that I’m here.”

“I’m not willing to bet your life on that,” Wiley said.

She didn’t argue with him, but she didn’t believe that relocating her would guarantee her safety. Panella had far-reaching tentacles and thirty million dollars’ worth of resources. If he wanted to find her, he could.

All this time, Hickam had periodically been calling the unknown number on the cell phone. He called it again now. They could all hear it ringing, but there was no answer.

“I’ve called back several times,” Jordie told him. “He hasn’t answered.”

“No hint of where he is?” Wiley asked.

“I begged him to tell me. He refused. He’s afraid that Panella is watching me, that if I go to him, Panella won’t be far behind.”

Wiley scratched his head. “Josh must be in the general vicinity, or he wouldn’t have seen that news story about Sherman. What I don’t get? Once he retrieved the car from the public storage place, he could’ve gone anywhere on the continent. Instead he returned here where recapture is much more likely. Also the first place Panella would look for him. So why’d he come back? It’s not like he has a passel of friends and relatives who’d give him a place to lay low. In fact, there’s only one person on earth who’d do that.”

On the last sentence, the agent’s tone changed and he assumed an interrogator’s stance in front of Jordie. She shifted her gaze to Hickam, who was holding the cell phone in his palm. Suddenly it looked incriminating. Going back to Wiley, she said, “I’m certainly not harboring him. How could I be?”

“By not telling us where he’s hiding.”

“I don’t know! I’ve told you everything that was said during my conversation with him. I impressed on him that his best option was to turn himself in and take his punishment.”

“He wouldn’t hear of it,” Wiley said.

“Not…not exactly.”

“Then what exactly, Ms. Bennett? What did he say?”

You hope I die. “Nothing. He hung up. But at the very least I believe I got him to thinking about surrendering.”

She looked at each of them in turn, gauging how much or how little of what she’d said they believed. The only return stare that unsettled her was Shaw’s. She looked away from its unblinking incisiveness.

After a moment, Wiley said, “Well, every law enforcement officer in the state and beyond is looking for him. He’d be better off surrendering before he’s caught, or injured in the process of being captured.”

“Or before Panella finds him,” Hickam said.

“Hope to God that doesn’t happen. But we can’t make a strong case for surrender until he contacts one of us again.” Wiley gestured to the phone Hickam had laid claim to. “Now that he’s connected with Ms. Bennett, he’ll more likely call her than me, so get one of the techies to sit on that phone like a hen on an egg.”

The meeting broke up after that. Hickam sat down at the desk and began making calls. Gwen excused herself to do the same. Wiley walked over to Shaw and ordered him out of the chair.

“I’m driving you to the hospital.”

“Fuck that.”

“Enough with the tough-guy shit. You’re only human.”

“Oh, I’m human all right.”

“Okay, so give yourself time to recover.”

“I’ll recover.”

“Not unless you rest.”

“I’m staying.”

“Look,” Wiley said angrily, “I don’t want you dying on me of pure bullheadedness.”

“I’m not going to die.” Looking past Wiley, he addressed Jordie directly. “Panella is. I’m gonna kill him.”