by Sandra Brown
“I won’t have to. He’ll come to me. Because I have you.” He shot her a crocodile’s grin. “Sooner or later he’ll hear about your abduction.”
“He’ll assume I’m dead.”
“Probably. Until you let him know otherwise.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“The same way you’ve been communicating with him all along.”
She actually laughed. “I haven’t had contact with my brother since he was taken into custody. Zero,” she said, forming an O with her fingers. “That was one of the conditions of the pact he made with the government.”
He just stared at her, unblinking, unmoving.
“All right, believe what you want,” she said. “The fact doesn’t change. I don’t know where Josh has been sequestered for the past six months, and I don’t know how to reach him. Period. End of discussion.”
“Like hell it is. We’re discussing the little brother who you protected from slippery stairs and rusty nails. You’re telling me that he hasn’t come crying to you since Tuesday when he ran afoul of big bad Uncle Sam?”
“It’s the truth.”
“You didn’t know he’d escaped?”
“No! Not until you told me.”
He bent down closer. “Even if I believed that he hasn’t contacted you in the past four days, which I don’t, the FBI would have jumped on you like a duck on a June bug. Like Billy Panella did. Want Josh Bennett and can’t find him? Easy. Stay on his sister, his next of kin, the first and only person he would scurry to when in trouble.”
“The FBI didn’t notify me of his escape.”
He stared her down as though trying to intimidate the truth out of her, which made her nervous, because she wasn’t an adept liar. Not that she was lying, exactly.
True, no government agency had officially informed her of Josh’s disappearance. But the authorities might very well have been keeping an eye on her to see if he would show up on her doorstep.
Last night, as she left her house for the bar, she’d noticed headlights in her rearview mirror. They had remained the same distance from her as she drove through town. It might have been perfectly harmless. But she’d been just paranoid enough to deliberately outdistance the other car when she reached the back roads.
She wasn’t about to share that with Shaw Kinnard, however.
Instead, she kept her expression as impassive as she could, and he finally relented, straightening up, giving her space. She came to a full sitting position and for the first time in minutes, was able take a deep, even breath.
“You’re wrong about Josh and the stolen money,” she said. “Billy Panella absconded with it. Everybody knows that. He moved it somewhere out of the country.”
“Then flew off to enjoy a happy rendezvous with his millions?”
“Doesn’t that seem logical?”
“Perfectly. So answer me this,” he said. “If Panella is jacking off onto piles of money, why’s he so upset over Josh’s vanishing act?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he…he…” She came up empty.
“Hmm? What was that?” He gave her another moment to contribute something, and when she didn’t, he said, “Mickey told me Panella wanted to kill you in order to send Josh a message. He hasn’t forgiven or forgotten that your brother turned on him. I’m talking mafia-fashion revenge, Jordie. Panella’s mind-set is ‘Rat me out, I slaughter your family, preferably while you watch.’”
She didn’t need a lesson on Panella’s methodology. She was well educated on it.
Josh had been working at a small investment firm when Panella sought him out and made him an offer. It was an unlikely pairing: Panella with his tailored suits and the glibness of a snake oil salesman, and her shy, self-conscious, socially awkward brother. But Panella needed Josh’s genius mind, and it hadn’t taken much to woo him with flattery and promises of wealth. However, no sooner had Panella reeled him in than he established what Jordie considered an unhealthy working relationship. It angered and sickened her to see how Panella maintained control of her brother by preying on his weaknesses and insecurities, sometimes in ways that bordered on sadistic.
Also concerning were the rumors of Panella’s involvement in other enterprises in addition to the one he shared with Josh. She had begged Josh to see Billy Panella for what he was. At best, a manipulating bully. At worst, a shifty, possibly criminal, operator who couldn’t be trusted. As he was wont to do, Josh had taken a stubborn stance and turned a deaf ear to her pleas, citing jealousy as her reason for disliking his boss.
It was almost a relief to her when the house of cards that Josh and Panella had built finally collapsed. But it did so on Josh’s head. His participation in their crimes was unquestionable, so when the FBI gave him a chance to turn informant, she had pressured him to take the deal.
Panella had several reasons to resent her, but knowing that Josh wouldn’t have capitulated without her encouragement made her his sworn enemy, and based on the rumors circulating around him, Panella didn’t treat his enemies kindly.
For weeks after Josh was taken away and Panella presumably had left the country, she’d been wary and cautious of her surroundings, afraid that Panella would decide to get vengeance on her and, by extension, on Josh. Josh had even alluded to that possibility when he was trying to worm his way out of striking a deal with the FBI.
“He’ll kill you, too,” he’d wailed. “He’s told me he would.”
But as time passed and nothing happened, she’d relaxed her vigilance. Not until she saw Mickey Bolden and Shaw Kinnard approaching her last night did she realize that Josh hadn’t been merely theatric. His warning had been sincere.
Trying to hide her apprehension from her kidnapper, she said, “Panella has had six months to get revenge. Why now?”
Shaw replied in a quiet voice, “You know why, Jordie. Panella made his move when Josh made his. Maybe he knows your brother better than you do. Maybe he figured all along that Josh was playing the feds. He’s been sitting back waiting, and when Josh did exactly what Panella anticipated, he put into action the plan he’d had all along.”
“To kill me?”
“Figuring that killing you would be the harshest punishment to inflict on Josh for his betrayal. Also, if you’re dead, you can’t tell the feebs everything you know.”
“What I know?” she exclaimed. “I don’t know anything.”
“Panella must think you do.”
“Well, he’s wrong.”
“According to Mickey, after Panella went missing, you were grilled pretty good.”
She nodded, remembering those arduous sessions. “The FBI questioned me extensively over the course of several weeks. I couldn’t tell them anything, because I didn’t know anything.”
“Did they believe you?”
“Of course.”
He made a skeptical sound. “Why ‘of course’? Was it your honest face? Or did you bedazzle them by pulling a Sharon Stone in the interrogation room?”
Outraged, she surged to her feet.
“Sit down.” He placed his hand in the center of her chest and pushed her back onto the hood.
She encircled his wrist and pried his hand off her. “I told the FBI the truth and they believed me.”
“Maybe. But Panella must be of the mind that you told them something, even accidentally, that jeopardizes his clean getaway.”
“I didn’t.”
“You make him nervous, Jordie. Why else would he have contracted hit men to have you permanently silenced? Panella had retained Mickey to get rid of pests plenty of times, and for milder offenses than talking to the feds about him.”
“Well, you saw to it that Mickey is no longer a threat to me, didn’t you?”
“Panella’s got others. And he’s not above doing the deed himself. In fact, he’d enjoy it. Eye for an eye?” He chuffed. “Panella’s starter kit.”
Contrary to her own thoughts of moments earlier, she said, “Those are rumors. Exaggerations. Spun by people who w
anted to claim a closer acquaintance with him when he became a celebrated fugitive.”
“Rumors, huh? So what does that make Mickey and me? Figments of the imagination?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I sought Mickey Bolden out because even hit men talk, and the word going ’round our circle was that Panella paid well. If you think his only crime was stealing the life savings of hardworking folk, you’re deluding yourself.”
Josh had made vague allusions to Panella’s “powers of persuasion,” but he’d never given her specifics, and she hadn’t asked for them because she hadn’t wanted her suspicions of Panella’s sinister side confirmed. She didn’t want to acknowledge them now to Shaw Kinnard, who was painting a frightening picture to suit his own purposes.
She said, “All I know about Panella’s business is what everyone does. He stole thirty million dollars and disappeared with it.”
“He hasn’t quite disappeared,” he said. “Mickey was on the phone with him as recently as last night.”
“He could have been talking to him from anywhere in the world. Switzerland. Kathmandu. South America.”
“Could have.” Two vertical furrows appeared between his brows. “But if Panella was in South America with thirty million at his disposal, he would be lounging on a beach, getting blown by dusky girls in thong bikinis, and the furthest thing from his mind would be the sister of his moneyman who turned snitch.
“If Panella had access to the money, he would have severed all ties with the good ol’ U.S. of A. and everybody in it. Instead, the man’s obsessed. He didn’t want you leaving that bar alive, and I predict he’ll go apeshit when I inform that you ain’t dead. Now why would he care so much?
“He’s also paranoid as hell,” he continued. “Mickey said he uses one of those voice synthesizer things to garble his speech. If he was in Switzerland or Kathmandu, why’s he bothering to disguise his voice? See where I’m going with this, Jordie? If he was languishing somewhere, using hundred-dollar bills to light his cigars, he wouldn’t give a flying fuck that Josh had gone aground. Instead, Josh’s flight last Tuesday made him angry and antsy and mean.”
She tried not to reveal how uneasy she became over the thought of Panella being angry, antsy, and mean. It didn’t bode well for her or Josh. “How did he even find out that Josh had escaped? There’s been nothing on the news about it.”
“You can bet the FBI are good and pissed off that their star witness welshed on the deal, but they’re not gonna go on TV and broadcast that they let a bean counter slip through their fingers.”
“Then how did Panella hear about it?”
“I asked Mickey that. He claimed not to know, and maybe he didn’t. I’m guessing that Panella has moles in law enforcement. He had to have had help getting away. Fake IDs. Private aircraft. He could spread around a lot of graft with thirty mil.”
“You said he didn’t have it.”
“Not the jackpot, but he would have kept a million or two handy to cover expenses.”
“Like your retainer.”
“Yeah, like that. Two hundred grand, minimum.” He placed his hands over his knees and bent at the waist to bring them to eye level. “But you don’t have to worry about me icing you if you’ll tell me where your brother is.”
“We’re back to that?”
“Where is he, Jordie?”
“How much clearer can I make it? I. Don’t. Know.”
“Do yourself a favor. Don’t hold out on me.”
“I’m not.”
“Four days and Josh hasn’t made contact with you in some way, shape, or form?”
“No.”
“Message in a bottle, smoke signal, disappearing ink?”
She didn’t honor that with a response.
Moving in closer, he whispered, “Why were you in that bar?”
Her heart lurched. He hadn’t let go of that, damn him. Not trusting herself to speak calmly, she didn’t say anything.
He flashed a wicked grin. “You went there expecting to find Josh, didn’t you?”
She turned her head aside. He followed with his, and when she turned away again, he trapped her face between his hands. “Did Mickey and I spoil a touching family reunion?”
She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see the ruthless determination in his. Also to prevent him from reading any giveaways in hers.
“Where is your brother, Jordie?”
She rolled her lips inward, refusing to answer.
“Be smart and tell me. Panella will pay me to kill you. Josh will pay me not to.”
“You’ll kill me regardless.”
“I won’t. Cross my heart.”
His mocking tone angered her. She gripped his wrists, digging her nails into the skin on the undersides.
“Stop that! I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I want to hurt you.”
“It hurts like hell.”
“Then let me go!”
“I will as soon as you tell me where to find your brother.”
“I can’t,” she said, straining the words through clenched teeth. “I don’t know.”
“Last chance. I won’t ask again. Tell me, or you leave me no choice but to follow through with Panella. ’Cause I put a lot of time and effort into getting this job. It’s boosted me to the top of the pay grade. No way in hell am I walking away empty-handed.”
She opened her eyes to gauge his resolve, and what she saw chilled her. She figured she had just as well call his bluff. “Then I guess you’ll just have to kill me.”
They stared into each other’s eyes—each as unyielding as the other—until the cell phone inside his shirt pocket rang.
Chapter 12
Joe entered his house through the kitchen door, slid the folder he’d brought from the office onto the table, then tiredly removed his wrinkled jacket and hung it on the designated hook adjacent to the door. He placed his shoulder holster on top of the hutch out of the kids’ reach.
“Anybody home?” He opened the fridge and decided on orange juice.
Marsha caught him drinking straight from the carton. “The kids know better than to do that.”
“They know better than to get caught.” He drained the carton and set it on the counter beside a large pumpkin. “What’s that?”
“It’s called a pumpkin.”
Joe shot her a look.
“For the carnival. I have to draw a face on it.” She held up the black marker she’d brought with her into the kitchen.
“Where are the kids?”
“Upstairs. Molly is in the tub. Henry is dressed and ready. He’s in his room playing a video game.”
“They okay?”
“They had a knock-down, drag-out this morning over whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher.”
“Who won?”
“I did.”
Joe smiled as he pulled a chair from beneath the dining table and dropped into it. “How was Top Gun?”
“Goose dies every time.”
“The wine?”
“Maybe I should have splurged on an eight-dollar bottle.”
“Anything’s drinkable with popcorn.”
“I skipped the double butter. I’m getting fat.”
He reached for her and pulled her onto his lap. Running his hand over her hip, he said, “Your curves are womanly.”
“Even my mom jeans are getting tight.”
“I love ’em tight. Let’s have sex.”
“The kids could walk in on us, and I have to draw that pumpkin face.”
“It’ll take sixty seconds.”
“The pumpkin or the sex?”
He laughed. “Tired as I am, I may need more than sixty seconds.”
Kidding aside, she touched his face with concern. “You look exhausted. What’s going on?”
“Josh Bennett got tired of the taxpayers’ hospitality and pulled a disappearing act.” Taking advantage of her speechlessness, he said, “Don’t announce that over the speakers at the carnival. We haven’t gone public with it y
et. I was hoping to catch him before we had to.”
“How in the world did he get away?”
“He didn’t come down for breakfast. Marshals went to check. Room was empty, bed still made.”
“I thought he had one of those ankle monitors.”
“Clever little shit got it off. They found it in the bathroom. That was Tuesday. Then last night…” He filled her in on everything that had occurred since Hick’s initial call.
“He and I agreed to take a short break, then we’ve got to jump back in. Now that Josh Bennett’s sister is missing, and the whole mess resurrected, I may have to change my mind about announcing his escape. In any case, I won’t be going to the carnival. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She stroked his head. She knew better than anyone how badly the Billy Panella case had eaten at him.
Over a three-year period, Panella had craftily enticed the clients of his investment firm to put their money into phony stocks, municipal bonds, pharmaceuticals to cure cancer, energy exploration that was ecofriendly, resorts and exclusive retirement communities, even shrimp and catfish farms—none of which existed.
With Josh Bennett’s wizardry with numbers and money-juggling skills, Panella had committed fraud to the tune of thirty million dollars and change. He had made everything work for a while, paying occasional dividends with the promise of big payoffs to come.
They never did. Dividends got smaller, while growing larger were the number of client complaints filed with the FTC, SEC, et cetera, until a fat file landed in Joe’s division and he initiated a full-fledged but covert investigation of the Panella Investments Group.
After months of study, he and Hick determined that Josh Bennett was the weak link in the partnership. They approached him, told him that his and Panella’s scam was screwed, and offered to reduce the charges he faced in exchange for evidence and testimony against Panella.
Josh Bennett held out for full immunity, and, after a lot of legal ping-ponging, the federal prosecutor agreed to his terms. That didn’t make Joe happy, but Panella was the much bigger fish. It was alleged that he had fingers in a lot of dirty pies, but with the information Bennett provided, Joe’s division was the first to build a rock-solid case against him. À la Al Capone’s conviction for tax evasion, they could put an end to Panella’s unsavory criminal career and various illegal hobbies.