Sting (29 page)

He guided her to the sofa and they sat down. She pressed against his side, fortifying him. “At the last second, Hick must've seen it coming and tried to avert. The shooter missed his head, but got him in the neck. Staff here waited on a vascular specialist to do the surgery. Hick's lost a lot of blood. Officers from every agency have shown up to donate. Even Morrow—the deputy I told you about?—drove up with some personnel from his department.”

“On TV they said they were looking for a suspect caught on security camera.”

“They're trying to get an ID on him but—”

“You think it was Billy Panella.”

“The girl in Tobias said Royce Sherman's killer spoke through a voice enhancer. Nobody had mentioned that to her. How could she have made up a detail like that? And Hick's shooter was wearing a hoodie similar to the one Hick gave Kinnard. Like that was his little inside joke with us.”

“How would he know where you had sequestered Jordie Bennett? Or about Kinnard and the hoodie?”

“I've been asking myself that. Only thing I can figure, he returned to the scene of the crime in Tobias. To snicker. Gloat. Maybe he marked us while we were there. Followed us back to the hotel. My decoy caravan didn't fool him. All he had to do was keep an eye on Hick's car.”

He thumped his knee with his fist. “He's nervy as hell, and he's outsmarted me again, goddammit. Six months ago, he sensed that Hick and I were coming for him, and split in the nick of time. Am I ever gonna catch this fucker?”

She rubbed his spine. “Joe, don't do this to yourself now. You don't even know for sure it was Panella.”

“There's no arguing it with Kinnard. He's certain.”

“Where is he?”

“That's another story.” He told her about Kinnard's disappearance from the crime scene. “He claims to have placed Jordie Bennett under arrest.”

Marsha arched her eyebrow.

“Right.” He told her what Hick had said about the steam escaping the hotel bedroom. Her only response was a thoughtful
hmmm
. He knew that sound.

“What?”

“All these people—men—in her life, pushing her around, pulling her this way and that. I feel sorry for her.”

“Don't. Not yet. Kinnard may be in lust, but he also thinks she knows more than she's telling.”

“What do you think?”

“Same. She's not coming clean about something.”

“Panella? Herself?”

“Possibly, although she says no. But she's mama bear when it comes to Josh. You heard what I said to him this morning.” Marsha had been in bed with him when Josh had called before dawn. “I intentionally tried to scare him into turning himself in. That was before Royce Sherman's body was discovered. According to Ms. Bennett, that freaked him out. Now Hick? If we get confirmation that it's Panella—”

That instant, his phone rang. He answered and Kinnard said, “It was Panella.”

“He had juvenile arthritis.” Shaw held the phone out nearer to Jordie. “Tell him.”

“He basically grew out of it,” she said into the phone, “but it flares up when he's fatigued or sick, even with something minor like a sore throat, any malady that weakens his immune system. When that happens, his joints become inflamed, especially his left knee. It causes him to limp.”

“I didn't know this,” Wiley said.

“Neither did I,” Shaw said. “Neither did anybody.”

“Except Ms. Bennett.”

“Yeah,” Shaw said. “Except her.”

Her face turned rosy with anger over his tone.

“She says Panella is self-conscious of the limp,” Shaw said. “He's good at hiding it.”

“Unless he's on his way to a murder.”

“I guess.” Shaw paused then asked Wiley how he was holding up.

“I'm okay. My wife's here.” He told Shaw about the guards he'd ordered for his family.

“Good call,” Shaw said. “Might be even better to get them out of town.”

“I'll look into it as soon as I know more about Hick's condition.”

“He still in surgery?”

“Far as I know.” His voice went shaky. He switched to another topic. “You going to tell me where you are?”

“My own safe house. Panella won't find us.”

Wiley sighed but let it drop, probably because he didn't have the energy to pursue it. “I don't suppose Ms. Bennett's heard from her brother.”

“No. And she hasn't been out of my sight. Nothing on your end?”

“No,” Wiley said. “I figured he'd call in a panic when he heard about Hick.”

Jordie must've figured that as well. Shaw could tell by her expression that she was unsettled by her brother's silence.

“How are you doing?” Wiley asked. “Side hurt?”

“It's felt better. I need to lie down. But let me know when you get an update on Hickam, no matter what time.”

“I will.”

“My money's riding on him making it.”

“Paramedics said you probably saved his life by curbing the bleeding.”

“Let's hope.”

“Yeah.” Wiley's voice had turned gravelly with emotion again. He cleared his throat. “He still won't like you, though.”

“Nobody does.”

Shaw disconnected and replaced the phone in his shirt pocket. “Jordie.”

For the entirety of his conversation with Joe Wiley, he hadn't taken his eyes off her. Now he walked toward her with a deliberateness that set off a tremor of apprehension. She had to will herself not to angle away from him as he came to a stop directly in front of her where she sat on the arm of the chair.

“From this moment forward, you tell me the truth.
All
of it.”

“Or what? You threatened to kill me, and you didn't. What will you threaten me with this time?”

“Jail.”

She hadn't even considered that. It took her aback and left her momentarily speechless.

“Where you'll have no chance of helping your precious shithead of a brother because you'll be fighting your own legal battles.”

She swallowed drily. “I haven't been charged with a crime.”

“Not yet. That could change. It'll take a while for state and federal prosecutors to sift through everything and determine if you're indictable. Meanwhile, you stay behind bars.”

“You couldn't do that.”

“You want to test me? Or simply tell me the truth here and now?”

“I have told the truth.”

“Not all of it. You failed to mention your vacation with Panella. Three days. Lavish accommodations. Limos. Surely you remember. How could you have forgotten?”

“I haven't.”

“Then why didn't you mention it when I asked you about your personal relationship with him?”

“Because there's no such thing!”

“Was there ever?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“No!”

“Then explain why you went to Central America with him for three days. To move money?”

“No.”

“Why did you go, Jordie?”

“It isn't relevant.”

“The federal government thinks it is.
I
think it is.”

“Why?”

“Because, dammit, I've got to know.” He moved closer to her, radiating an angry heat. “Did you ever fuck Billy Panella?”

J
ordie's shoulders slumped as she looked into his face. “No, Shaw. No.”

He took half a step back, then turned away from her and walked over to another chair, where he sat down, leaned back against the thick cushion, and momentarily covered his eyes with his hand.

Concerned, she asked, “Are you about to pass out?”

“No.”

“You should be lying down and resting.”

“Later.” He lowered his hand. “First I want to hear about that damn trip. If you weren't sleeping with Panella, why'd you go?”

“Josh insisted.”

He gave a short laugh. “Josh insisted?”

“You have to understand—”

“Well, I don't.”

“I'm trying to tell you,” she snapped back.

He said nothing else. However, his steely gaze was unnerving. She left the arm of the chair and moved to a window that overlooked the courtyard. She opened the closed shutters just enough to see between the louvers and looked down on the woeful cherub in the fountain.

“Do you know about Josh's scars?” she asked.

“Scars? No.”

“Wiley and Hickam know. I thought maybe during your investigation—”

“The target of my investigation was Panella for crimes other than his scam with Josh. Different division. I wasn't in on theirs.”

She turned to him. “It's true, then, that you'd never seen me before last Friday?”

“No. I never had.”

“When Josh turned informant, I made the news, too.”

“I must've been busy. Or watching pay-per-view. I didn't know about you until I got here and Mickey told me that Josh Bennett's sister was our target.”

“In the bar, you decided there on the spot to take me, to use me to catch them?”

“Yes.” She was about to turn back to the window when he added, “But if I hadn't had that excuse, I'd have come up with something else. I started wanting you then, and it hasn't stopped.” The way he was looking at her left no room to doubt him.

Her heart swelled with a mix of emotions, but she couldn't indulge them. There was too much left to explain. With reluctance, she turned to the window again, looked down at the cherub, and began.

“From the nape of Josh's neck all the way down to his ankles, his back is horribly scarred. Ugly, awful scars.”

“What happened?”

“He fell into the fireplace and his pajamas caught fire. He was seven years old. I was nine. It was Christmas morning.”

Shaw murmured something unintelligible, but it conveyed a lament.

She said, “You really should repair that cherub in the fountain. She looks so sad.”

“Never mind the cherub. Get on with your story. What happened?”

She took a breath, continued. “The morning started out a happy holiday. Josh and I had woken up early and raced downstairs, excited, as kids are on Christmas. We drank hot chocolate while we opened our presents. Mother cautioned Josh not to drink it too fast or he would burn his tongue. After a catastrophe, you remember ironies like that.

“Anyway, after all the presents had been opened, Daddy went outside to check on his hunting dogs. Mother went into the kitchen to make waffles. Josh and I stayed in the living room to play with our new toys.

“One of mine was a Barbie. Josh was being a little brother, pestering me by flipping up her dress, messing with her hair, making fun of her boobs. I yelled at him to stop. Mom heard the quarreling and, like Moms do, called from the kitchen for us to quit fighting, that it was Christmas, that we didn't want to spoil the day by bickering. But Josh kept it up. He grabbed my doll. We got into a tussle over it.”

She felt the familiar thickening in her throat and for a moment was unable to continue. She rather hoped that Shaw would grant her a reprieve and tell her that she didn't have to talk about it. But he didn't.

“It happened very fast,” she said. “One moment Josh was jeering at me, holding my Barbie behind his back, taunting me, and in the next, his pajamas were on fire. I actually screamed before he did. Mother came running in. She hollered for Daddy, but she also had the presence of mind to push Josh to the floor and throw a rug over him. Daddy ran in, fell on top of Josh, and pounded his back until the flames were out. By then, Josh was screaming, too.”

She noticed that drops of water were trickling down the cherub's cheeks. It appeared she was crying. “It's started to rain.”

Shaw didn't acknowledge her weather report. He said, “All these years, you've been atoning for an accident.”

“It wasn't an accident. I pushed him.”

“You were kids, Jordie. In a tussle over a toy.”

She came around. “If I hadn't been fighting with him—”

“He holds that sword over your neck, doesn't he? He never lets you forget it.”

Because he was so right, her burst of anger was quickly spent. “No. He never does. What you sensed that I omitted from our phone conversation today? He said that I wanted him dead, out of my life, that when Panella put a bullet in his head, I'd finally be getting what I want, rid of him.”

He rubbed his eyes again and when he lowered his hand, he said, “Your parents?”

“To their dying days, they didn't let me forget it, either. Not maliciously. Just—”

“—just subtle but constant reminders that you were responsible for your little brother's tragedy.”

“Something like that,” she admitted quietly.

“While they were piling guilt on you, they made allowances for Josh. Every rotten thing he did was overlooked, tolerated, forgiven. He—”

“Shaw.” The earnest plea in her voice stopped him. “Everything you're saying, I've said to myself ten thousand times. Therapists have repeated it to me ten thousand times. In here,” she said, pointing to her head, “I know it wasn't my fault that our family was never the same. Daddy sought consolation in the beds of other women. Not my fault. Mother subsisted on tranquilizers and vodka. Not my fault.

“How they parented Josh after that wasn't up to me, either. Their indulgence turned him into a petulant tyrant. He loves nothing or no one. He thinks only of himself, and believes that he's entitled to a free pass because of the pain he suffered. I
know
all that.

“But I wasn't the one who spent months in agony. He was in the hospital for over a year. He had to endure skin grafts, life-threatening infections, and that was just the physical effects. His psyche was damaged more severely than his body. He didn't respond to child psychologists, clergymen, counselors of any kind. My parents allowed him to be abusive to the people who were earnestly trying to help him, and they undid what little progress had been made by spoiling him.

“Josh behaved like a monster, because that's how he saw himself. When he was well enough to return to school, he was subjected to curiosity and cruelty. You know how mean kids can be.”

“Big sis to the rescue.”

“Almost daily.”

“He came to count on you to fight his battles.”

“Yes, and there was no letup. The more I or anyone did for him, the more he demanded. He didn't take personal responsibility for anything. No matter what the transgression or failure was, it wasn't his fault. His life became one huge ‘if only.' If only he weren't scarred, he could play sports, make more friends, girls would like him.”

Feeling the weight of that unceasing burden to keep Josh happy and on an even keel, she propped herself on the windowsill. “I started out wanting to protect my little brother from further harm and ridicule. Then, I don't know, making up for that Christmas morning became a pattern.”

“Until no matter what you do, even to this day, it's never enough. ”

 A reply was unnecessary. Shaw said, “But you've enabled him to abuse you like that.”

“I'm well aware.”

“Then why don't you tell him to fuck off?” Immediately he dismissed his question with a wave of his hand. “Never mind. I understand why you don't. Not even when he insisted you go away for the weekend with his boss.”

“Back to that,” she sighed.

“Comes around like a bad penny.”

His sharp gaze stripped away her defenses until she actually felt exposed and raw. She covered her face with her hands and drew such deep breaths to bolster herself that Shaw spoke her name with concern. When at last she lowered her hands, she still couldn't bring herself to look at him directly.

“I lied to Joe Wiley and Agent Hickam. I've lied to you,” she said softly. “I went to Costa Rica to help Panella and Josh swindle several hundred thousand dollars. I don't know the total, but the amount isn't as significant as the fact that I participated in the…the con, I guess you'd call it.”

Exhaling deeply, he sat forward, planted his elbows on his knees, and pressed his thumbs against his temples.

Quietly, she said, “You were right, you see, to place me under arrest.”

He dropped his hands between his knees and looked over at her. “What'd you do?”

“What I'm good at. I hosted parties. Two dinners, one brunch. Served by white-coated waiters in the private courtyard of the villa I shared with Panella. I ordered the food, liquor, the floral arrangements, boxes of Cuban cigars for the gentlemen guests, Hermès scarves for the ladies.

“During the events themselves, small affairs actually, I played gracious hostess while Panella handed out colorful brochures featuring a place that didn't exist. At least not where he said it did. He pitched it as a retirement paradise for the well-heeled and discriminating. He encouraged the couples to buy partnerships in it while the getting was good. Of course, as partial owners they'd get first choice of the homesites overlooking either the sugar beach or the Emerald Golf Course.”

“Did you know at the time that it was fictitious? Or were you duped along with the potential investors?”

“That's hard to say.”

“No it isn't. Yes. No. Both easy to say.”

“I didn't ask whether or not it was real because I didn't want to know. But that makes me no less culpable. I
believed
it was all a fraud, yet I stood by and watched nice people sign their money over to Panella.”

“How much was your take?”

“Zero. Nothing. I'm not a thief.”

He shook his head in perplexity. “Then what was your inducement?”

“Josh was the first to broach the idea. I was a professional party giver. I knew how to put people at ease, show them a good time, get them to relax. I would give Panella a classy veneer. I'd look good on his arm. Josh actually used those phrases, although I'm sure Panella coached him on what to say. I refused even to hear him out. I told him not only no, but hell no.

“But Josh didn't let it go. He said that his job, ergo his life, hinged on my doing him this one tiny favor. Was it too much to ask? Could I be so selfish as to refuse? And he used the old standby: Didn't I owe it to him?”

Shaw expressed his disgust with a terse vulgarity. She gave him a weak smile. “I'm giving you the abridged version. Josh kept after me for months. I continued to refuse. Then one evening as I was leaving Extravaganza, Panella ambushed me. He said it would be much healthier for Josh's career if I helped with this project.

“I actually laughed and told him that it would suit me fine if he fired Josh, that I'd rather my brother never work another day for him. Then I told him to go to hell, got in my car, drove home.”

She paused and stared blankly for a moment before focusing on Shaw. “That was the night I learned that Panella doesn't take no for an answer. He texted me in the wee hours. After seeing the text, I texted back agreeing to make the trip and act as his hostess.”

“What'd he say in the text?” Shaw asked darkly.

“Nothing. Not a single word.”

“He must have threatened you with something.”

“A cell phone video. He had rigged this effigy of Josh and dressed it in a pair of pajamas. He doused it with gasoline, held a cigarette lighter to it, it burst into flames.”

Shaw closed his eyes briefly. “Jesus Christ.”

“Josh is terrified of fire, you see. Of being burned. I…well…” She scooped her hair off her nape and rubbed it as she tiredly arched her back to stretch. “Effective inducement, wouldn't you say?”

“The sadistic son of a bitch.”

“Yes. But it worked. I went to Coast Rica and did my part. On the flight home, Panella reached across the armrest and patted my hand, complimented me on the terrific job I'd done, and said he had some other ideas where I could be useful.

“I thought I was going to suffocate before that flight landed, because I realized that neither Josh nor I would ever be out from under his thumb. Josh was already his puppet, and after seeing that ghastly video, I would always be afraid to call Panella's bluff. If he could terrify me into giving a few parties, what else would he demand of me?”

“To sleep with him.”

She leaned forward from the waist.

“He did, didn't he? When you were on that trip?”

“Shaw, I swear to you that's where I drew the line. I told him that if he touched me, he'd have to kill me. And wouldn't that be a mess? If I wound up dead in the villa where we'd hosted parties together, he'd be opening himself up to a criminal investigation.”

She gave a small shrug. “I suppose he recognized the logic in that. In any case, he left me alone. It wasn't about sex, anyway. He'd never exhibited the least bit of interest. It was control he desired, not me. But he never forgot that I said no to him. I believe that's one reason why he hired Bolden to kill me.”

Shaw sat for so long a time just looking at her, that she feared he still didn't believe her. Finally he asked, “That was the only time you did anything for him?”

“Yes. Within a month of that trip Joe Wiley approached Josh, and I began my campaign for him to testify against Panella. But if there hadn't been a legal case in the making, if there had been no Joe Wiley or Agent Hickam, I would have done something to get him out of our lives. I returned from those three days in Costa Rica with the resolve to do that.”