Sting (14 page)

He pressed, but asked softly, “Who did you talk to?”

“Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because you know what will happen if you don't.”

“I know what will happen if I do!”

“We'll go to Josh—”

“You'll kill both of us.”

“And pass on the thirty million? I don't think so.”

“Josh hasn't got the—”

“Who called you?”

“—money.”

“Who did you talk to?”

“No one!”

“Tell me now, or by God, I'm taking Panella's deal.”

She sucked in a breath, wet her lips, and said huskily, “I didn't talk to anybody.”

“Jesus, Jordie, don't—”

“But I—”

“—be stupid.”

“But I did get a call.”

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.

I
t was after nightfall by the time the helicopter set down near the convenience store where Josh Bennett reportedly had bought groceries, some toiletries, and a lottery ticket. Joe and Hick had asked to interview the store clerk and the customer at the site. The two were waiting for them at the register when they entered the store.

Both seemed excited to be in on something as big as the recapture of the man who'd turned FBI informant and then had the audacity to bail. As the loud, barrel-chested man shook hands with them, he said, “Josh Bennett screwed y'all, too, didn't he? Just like he and Panella did all those other folks.”

When asked, he described Bennett's appearance that morning and gave them his impressions of the fugitive. “Truth be told, I was paying more attention to what was on the TV.”

When it came the cashier's turn, she actually expressed concern for the runaway. “I sensed there was something the matter with him.”

“Was he injured, ill, what?” Joe asked while Hick was busily typing their responses into his iPad.

“No, he seemed fine when he came in. He didn't start looking sickly till he was filling in his lottery numbers. That's when we started watching the news. I guess that's how he learned about what happened to his sister last night. Must've been a shock. You gotta feel a little sorry for him.”

Hick and Joe looked at each other, tacitly agreeing that they couldn't work up one iota of sympathy for Joshua Bennett. Joe went back to the cashier. “Did he mention anything about the kidnapping or murder?”

Both she and the man shook their heads. She said, “He just wrapped up his business like he was in a hurry to get going. He was jumpy. Sweating. He was wearing khakis, sorta like the military. I figured him fresh back from Syria or someplace. You know, post-traumatic stress.”

“Did he appear to be armed?” Joe asked.

The man answered. “No. But can't say what was in his backpack.”

The two had little more of value to report, although the man remembered seeing Josh set off on foot after he left the store. “He was walking along the shoulder, headed west. He had on the backpack and was carrying the bags of stuff he bought. It crossed my mind to go after him and offer him a lift, but then I got distracted buying my own lottery tickets, and by the time I went out and got in my pickup, he was nowhere to be seen.”

Joe asked to see the video from the store's security cameras. He, Hick, and a handful of local law officers watched it several times, but it revealed nothing of significance beyond what the witnesses had already told them.

However, Hick did comment on the change in Bennett's appearance. “I'm not sure I would have recognized him immediately.”

Joe reluctantly agreed.

Law enforcement departments from nearby municipalities and the parish SO, as well as state troopers and U.S. marshals, had been mobilized to begin a search, although no one was optimistic about picking up Bennett's trail until daylight.

So it was with some surprise that Joe received word that debris had been discovered in a clearing in the woods not far away. “Don't let anybody touch anything till we get there.”

The clearing was a distance from the highway and accessed by a footpath which everyone was careful to stay off of as they thrashed their way through the dark woods.

The deputy who'd made the discovery led the way to a live oak tree that Joe estimated to be at least a century old, if not twice that.

“Everybody who grew up around here knows this path and this tree,” the deputy told them. “Teenagers buy beer at the convenience store, usually with fake IDs, come here to drink, make out. In high school we called it the knock-up tree because…well, you know. That's how come I remembered it and thought to check. Sure enough.”

He shone his flashlight on the litter scattered over the network of large roots that snaked along the ground at the base of the tree. Joe didn't get his hopes up. The trash could have been left by Josh Bennett or just as easily by lustful teenagers with illegally purchased six-packs.

With care, he squatted and studied the various product wrappers and empty plastic bags. Among them, he picked out a cash register receipt. It was from the store, and the time stamp coincided with when Bennett had been there. One of the purchases was a Lotto ticket.

The deputy said, “Something else I noticed on the path. There's one set of shoe prints coming in this way, another set going back out toward the highway.”

“He changed clothes while he was back here?” Hick asked.

“That'd be my guess,” the deputy replied. “Smart guy like him, prob'ly knew he'd been caught on security cameras inside the store. He'd want to switch clothes quick.”

Joe agreed. He also noticed among the litter the empty package of a razor. He pointed it out to Hick.

Hick said, “He got rid of his ugly scruff.”

Joe stood up and looked back toward the path. “Say he did come back here and changed at least his shoes, shaved, stuffed his purchases into his backpack, and walked back to the highway. What then?”

“Hitched a ride,” suggested one of the officers grouped around the clearing.

“Ankle express,” said another.

The deputy who'd found the debris said to Joe, “If he was on foot, search dogs might pick up a scent. We could get a canine unit out here in the a.m. ”

“How about ASAP?” Joe asked. “The dogs don't know it's dark.”

The deputy hesitated. “It's a private contractor. Y'all paying?”

“We'll pay.”

The officer touched the brim of his hat. “I'll make the call.”

Leaving the others to bag evidence, Joe and Hick began tromping back toward the highway. Joe's cell phone rang. He answered. “Joe Wiley.”

“That sketch of me you showed on TV is for shit.”

Joe came to a dead standstill. “Josh?”

When Hick heard the name, he swung around. Joe angled the phone away from his ear, so Hick could listen in.

“How'd you get my cell number?” Joe asked.

“I remember it from six months ago. I'm smart that way.”

“Calling me to turn yourself in is the smartest thing you've ever done.”

“I'll never turn myself in.”

“Then are you calling only to critique our sketch artist?”

“Is Jordie dead?”

The blunt question and the perceptible emotion behind it surprised Joe. “I don't know, Josh. I hope not.”

He made a choking sound. “I think she's dead and you're just not announcing it yet.”

“Tell me where you are. I'll come to you and we'll talk about it.”

“As if.”

“You left a trail from the convenience store. Agent Hickam and I aren't too far behind you. We'll keep at it until we find you.”

“Stop wasting your time tracking me and
find my sister
!” On the last word, his voice cracked.

“We're doing our best.”

“You think he's already killed her, don't you? That guy Kinnard. Shaw Kinnard. They showed his picture on TV.”

“He's bad news. Mean bastard. But he and Mickey Bolden were only hired guns, bought and paid for by Billy Panella. You know that as well as I do.”

“You're only trying to scare me. Billy doesn't care about me anymore.”

“Josh, you worked for the man. Did he ever let a slight go unpunished? And you ratting him out was a lot more offensive than a slight.” Taking advantage of the gulping swallows coming through the phone, Joe laid it on thick.

“Geography won't be a hindrance. Panella's got a surplus of money. Thirty million will buy a lot of contract killers. He can send one right after the other. They'll come in waves. He's already sending two at a time. He won't die happy till you die miserable.”

Josh began to sob in earnest. “He always threatened to kill Jordie first. He swore he would if I ever double-crossed him.”

“Looks like he's made good on that threat, doesn't it? Guess who's up next? You. Unless you let the government protect you.”

“Protect me? Ha! You'll put me in prison.”

“Maybe you can strike another deal with the DOJ. But you lose any bargaining position you have if you continue to run. And without us shielding you, you're fair game for Panella. So tell me where you are. Agent Hickam and I will come get you. You'll be safe.”

“I am safe. I want Jordie to be safe.” He gave a liquid sniff, then mumbled, “Maybe we could work together.”

Joe looked sharply at Hick, who raised his eyebrows with interest. “What do you have in mind, Josh?”

“First, you've got to tell me the truth. Is Jordie dead?”

“God's truth, I don't know.”

“But you think he's killed her, don't you? Don't you?”

Joe figured that Josh Bennett was angling to cut another deal, and the sly little shit had proved to be a stubborn negotiator. Would it be better to hedge or to level with him?

He knew Hick was following his thoughts and silently consulted him. Hick tipped his head as though to say
Your call
.

Joe decided to give it to Josh straight. “Given this man's reputation, the odds are not in Jordie's favor.”

Shaw Kinnard was going to kill her and collect his two million dollars. That was what would happen unless she could escape him, or prevent him.

Navigating the labyrinth of channels behind the building was out of the question. She had no idea how deep the water was, and determining its depth would be hazardous enough. Just by wading into it, there were any number of ways by which she could perish: alligators, poisonous snakes, and becoming ensnared underwater in the tangled roots of vegetation that grew above as well as below the opaque surface.

She also had no idea how far-reaching the swampy waterway was or to where it led in any direction. If she were to survive in it, she could meander for days and get exactly nowhere before the elements claimed her life.

Looking behind her, she considered the gravel lane by which they'd arrived. But how far away was the main road? She'd thought she had posed her question about the distance to it quite cleverly, but Shaw had seen through her disingenuousness and had avoided telling her. If she attempted to make it there on foot, he could easily run her down in the car.

She didn't have wings.

So escaping by water, land, or air was out. Which meant she had to prevent him from killing her.

Her only possible means of doing that was inside the building.

She reviewed her limited options once more, but no new ideas came to her. She was only delaying the inevitable. With trepidation, she reached for the broken latch and pulled open the door. The building was in total blackout, the air inside as dank as a cave.

“Come in.” His voice was disembodied. She couldn't see him.

“I can't see where I'm going.”

After a lengthy silence when all she could hear were her own heartbeats against her eardrums, he opened the car door and the dome light came on. It did more to emphasize the surrounding darkness than to relieve it.

He was standing on the opposite side of the car, only his head and shoulders visible above the roof of it. “Did you get wet?”

Until he asked, Jordie hadn't even noticed that her hair and clothing had indeed absorbed the mist while she'd been outside contemplating the only hope she had of surviving.

The mere thought of what she must do sickened her. But more sickening was the thought of dying like Mickey Bolden.

The bandana with which she'd tied her ponytail felt soggy and heavy against the back of her neck as she nodded in reply to his question. “Yes, a little.”

“Maybe there's something in the trunk you can use to dry off.”

Her heart thumped hard. He'd just given her an excuse to go back to the spot where she'd taken her sponge bath. But she didn't want to appear too eager to get there. “What have you got?”

“Take a look.” He bent down out of sight only long enough to reach beneath the dashboard and pop open the trunk again.

She hesitated, then started toward the car. “I might have to use the last of your bandanas.”

“Short as that supply is, I'd hate to give up more.”

“I'll buy you another dozen.”

It suddenly stuck her what an inane conversation this was to be having at this moment. But what did one say to someone at a time such as this? What would be appropriate? Nothing she could think of.

However, it seemed vital that she continue talking to him. The sound of her own voice somehow bolstered her resolve. It was proof that he hadn't shot her outright when she reentered the building and that she was still alive. For as long as she was drawing breath, hope remained. In dwindling quantities, perhaps. But for now there was still a glimmer of it.

She got as far as the rear bumper on the passenger side. He was still standing in the open wedge of the driver's door, his left forearm propped on the roof, looking deceptively casual. His eyes were the giveaway to exactly how alert he was. They reflected the faint light like razor-sharp blades, scarily motionless as they watched her.

Attempting to appear unafraid, she moved around to the open trunk and took a swift inventory. What she saw were the remaining canned goods, a half-dozen unopened bottles of water, their empties, the blue tarp. She didn't spot her phone. Nor the tire iron. Was it beneath the tarp? If not, where was it? What had he done with it? “Find them?” he asked.

“Yes.” She reached into the trunk for the package of bandanas. She pulled one from it then dropped the package back into the trunk.

Trying to look unhurried, she turned and started walking toward the back of the building. “If you'll keep the light on for a few minutes longer, I'll just go back here and use—”

“Jordie.”

“What?”

“What's your rush?”