Sting

Chapter 42

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J oe Wiley was curious. “When did you put the vest back on?”

“When you left the car to take your call from Hickam’s mother,” Jordie said.

“One of Kinnard’s rules of engagement?”

“He insisted.” While they were alone in the car, Shaw had made her take off her shirt and put the vest on underneath it. “I thought it was an unnecessary precaution, but if I hadn’t been wearing it, I would be dead.” She brushed away a tear.

Wiley, standing at the foot of her hospital bed, cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “Josh…uh…none of you had a choice.”

“I know.”

She had slipped Shaw’s palm pistol into her pants pocket when she’d gone inside the house to see for herself what was in there. During her face-off with Josh, realizing that his psychotic determination was to end her life, she’d distracted him with a begging gesture. When she lowered her hands from her chin, she’d managed to ease the pistol out of her pocket.

The shot she’d fired had been one of the barrage that had cut him down.

“The ME says any one of the shots could’ve been fatal, so unless you really want to know—”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. If it’s any comfort to you, he died instantly.”

She’d missed seeing the worst of it. She’d been flat on her back, thrust backward onto the ground by the impact of the bullet her brother had fired at her.

“I hear you have a heck of a bruise,” Wiley said.

“Larger than my fist. The X-ray revealed a hairline fracture.” She touched her breastbone. “Which is why they’ve kept me here for another night. They’re giving me pain meds, and I’m still under observation.”

She’d been transported to the ER by ambulance, although she barely remembered that. It was probably for the best that her recollection of those hours immediately following the crisis were fuzzy.

In addition to the fracture and bruise on her chest, the scratches on her arms had been treated with topical antibiotics. Two stitches had been required to close the cut on her scalp due to the blow. She also had a slight concussion from it.

Added to these physical injuries were the emotional ones. She suffered bouts of uncontrollable weeping followed by periods of depression that left her nearly catatonic. The medical staff concluded that she needed a few days to recover from the ordeal.

“What’s one more night? Better to err on the side of caution,” Wiley said for something to say.

She didn’t bother to add anything.

It was an obligatory conversation between two people who had survived a catastrophe. They had matters to discuss, but the issues were delicate, and each was as reluctant as the other to broach them right now.

After a lengthy, awkward silence, she said, “Gwen Saunders called. That was thoughtful of her, wasn’t it? And Deputy Morrow came by this morning.”

“In an official capacity?”

“Royce Sherman’s murder was his case. Josh’s confession closed it. But he didn’t make the visit seem official. He expressed his condolences.”

“My wife sends hers, too.”

“Please thank her for the calla lilies.” She motioned toward the windowsill where now several flower arrangements were lined up.

“They’re from both of us,” he said, “but Marsha picked them out.”

“She must be terribly relieved that you weren’t injured yesterday.”

“Pissed off, if you want the truth. She said a glorified accountant had no business chasing around the countryside with a loaded weapon.”

Jordie gave him a weak smile. “She sounds like a sensible woman.” A beat, then, “You told Agent Hickam how it ended?”

“He’s on the floor just above you here. Still in ICU, but, yes, I filled him in. He couldn’t believe…well, none of it.”

“My brother tried to kill him.”

“He doesn’t hold that against you, Ms. Bennett. Josh is the only one accountable for the crimes he committed.”

She picked at the edge of the cotton blanket covering her. “He played all the roles well. The spoiled man-child with acute anxiety. The downtrodden employee corrupted by his overbearing boss. But a cold-blooded murderer? I never would have guessed Josh capable of that.”

“Or of hating you bad enough to want you dead.”

“No,” she murmured. “I never would have guessed that, either.”

Wiley sensed her rising emotion and didn’t say anything until she’d used a tissue to blot her eyes. He then told her about a banker in Malaysia who’d called to inquire if Mr. Panella had remembered that second password that had caused him so much consternation.

“The call came in on one of the many cell phones we found in Josh’s house. I asked the banker if he’d ever spoken to Jordan Bennett personally. No, he said. He’d never had the pleasure of dealing directly with that gentleman. He’d assumed Jordan Bennett was male.”

“Does that let me off the hook, then? You no longer suspect me of collaborating with Josh and Panella?”

“Your participation in the Costa Rican scam will be reviewed, but I don’t believe you’ll face charges, especially if you agree to assist us.”

“Assist you?”

“This case has been a multilayered tangle and will continue to be. We still don’t know everything Josh and Panella did jointly and separately to try and screw not only their clients but each other. Things like those Malaysian accounts could come to light off and on for years.”

“Years?”

That was a dismal thought. Had she been so na?ve as to think that with the discovery of Panella’s body and Josh’s death, the case would be over, sealed, and forgotten? When she was released from the hospital, the media would be all over her. She intended to ask Adrian Dover to be her spokesperson and release a public statement that hopefully would satisfy them, but she doubted it would.

She also faced the grim duty of seeing that Josh’s ashes were interred. He should be placed with their parents, she supposed, although she had no idea whether or not that would have been his wish.

And, it seemed, she would be cooperating with and even contributing to the government’s ongoing investigation. It was little enough for her to do in recompense for her brother’s crimes. Civic duty demanded it. She also felt a moral obligation. “Possibly I can help restore some of the losses to Josh’s victims.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t restore what she most wished she could: Shaw’s parents.

Wiley nodded, but uncomfortably shifted his stance again. “As to your personal loss, Ms. Bennett, I’m sorry it ended the way it did.”

“I’m not.” Seeing his surprise, she smiled wistfully. “Before you start thinking what a wretched person I am, let me explain. I mourn my brother’s life far more than I do his death. What other outcome would have been better or more merciful?

“The indignity of a trial where he would be on constant display, gaped at? Years spent in prison where he would be subjected to God knows what kind of cruelty? No, Agent Wiley, that would have been torture of the worst sort. When I pulled that trigger, I wasn’t saving myself. I was saving Josh. I can’t mourn that his torment has ended.”

“The torment he caused you is over, too. You must feel freed.”

“I do. Actually what grieves me most,” she said, her voice cracking, “is that I don’t grieve him. That makes me truly sorrowful. For both of us.”

His look of compassion and understanding touched her deeply and brought tears to her eyes.

Discomfitted by them, he coughed. “Well, I’ll leave you to get some rest. You’ve got my number if you need anything.” He turned and headed for the door.

“Agent Wiley?”

He stopped and turned but had trouble meeting her gaze. When he finally did and saw the unspoken question there, he heaved a sigh and shook his head. “I don’t know, Jordie,” he said, using her given name for the first time. “He pulled a lot of stitches and was brought here to be stitched up again, then came to the office last night and filled out all the required paperwork. I stepped out to grab a coffee. When I came back, he was gone. Nobody’s seen him since.”

She pressed her head into the pillow and closed her eyes. “Nobody will.”