by Sandra Brown
“No one would even have known he’d called me if I hadn’t told. Everything I said was the truth.”
“Maybe, but what did you leave unsaid?”
She remained silent.
“Um-huh. It’s that missing stuff that I want to hear, Jordie. Until further notice, consider yourself under arrest.” And then he Mirandized her, whispering her constitutional rights into her ear as though they were sweet nothings.
Even though by now they were blocks away from the hotel, he didn’t relax his vigilance. While playacting that they were an affectionate couple out for an evening of fun, he remained alert and watchful. He jammed his bloodstained hand into his jeans pocket to avoid it being noticed. When a police helicopter flew in low and hovered, he pulled her into a carryout daiquiri place where they stood in line like other customers until the chopper moved on.
Once he stopped abruptly in the middle of the narrow sidewalk and let a pack of rowdy, inebriated young men eddy around them and then engaged one of the stragglers in conversation as though they were buddies.
After separating from the group and moving on, she asked, “Do we have a destination? Where are you taking me?”
Shaw didn’t answer; she didn’t bother to ask again.
She was well acquainted with the city and the Quarter, so she knew that in addition to quickly crossing streets in the middle of the block and ducking into and out of crowded shops, they were going in circles and doubling back frequently.
Finally she asked, “Are you afraid we’re being followed?”
“Wishful, actually. I’d love nothing better than for Panella to be on our tail.”
“Why?”
“I could take him out and not have to justify my means.”
He wasn’t kidding about that, either.
They walked for another half hour. Either he grew too weak to continue, or he became convinced that no one was following them. He slowed their pace, and, after taking a final look behind them, rounded a corner.
Different from the noisy, commercial streets, this one was dark and quiet. An elderly couple were walking an ancient-looking dog on a leash. Otherwise the street was deserted.
They had almost reached the next corner when Shaw stopped at an iron gate that led into a narrow alley between two brick buildings, both of which were shuttered and dark. Tiny ferns sprouted from cracks in the crumbling mortar.
He worked the combination to open the padlock on the gate, then pushed it open. The hinges squealed. Jordie wondered if perhaps that noise passed for a security system.
Once they were through the gate, Shaw reached between the pickets and replaced the padlock, then took her hand and led her down the alley, which wasn’t much wider than his shoulders. The stepping-stones were loose and uneven, slippery with moss.
The alley opened into a walled courtyard dominated by a live oak tree that formed a canopy over the area. What at one time must have been a lovely garden was now derelict. The vines clinging to the enclosing walls were either overgrown or dead. The cherub in the center of the concrete fountain was missing an arm, and she seemed to be looking forlornly into the stagnant water in the basin at her feet.
Shaw climbed a metal staircase affixed to the building’s exterior wall, pulling Jordie behind him. At the top, he worked loose a brick from the adjacent wall, took out a key and unlocked the door, then guided her into the enveloping darkness inside. He closed the door before switching on the light.
He tossed the key onto the top of a bookshelf then crossed to a window-mounted AC unit and turned it on. “I haven’t been here in a few days, so it’ll take a while to cool down.”
Jordie looked around in wonder. The living area in which they stood shared an open space with a compact kitchen, an eating bar separating the two. A door on her left led into what was obviously a bedroom. The apartment was inexpensively but comfortably furnished, the pieces arranged to maximize the limited floor space.
After taking a long look around, she came back to him. “You live here?”
“No. An apartment in Atlanta is my permanent residence. If you can call it that. I’m rarely there.”
“Then…?” She raised her hands to her sides and looked at him inquiringly.
“This belonged to my folks. They bought it cheap years ago. We stayed here whenever we came down to visit my grandparents. Mom liked the French Quarter.”
“Does anyone live downstairs?”
“Not anymore. A bachelor leased it from my parents for a while, but when he moved away, they—” He shut down as though a switch had been flipped. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does. If it didn’t matter you wouldn’t have kept the place all this time.”
Shaw turned away before she detected just how accurate she was. “I’ll be back.” At the bedroom door, he paused. “Don’t even think about skipping out.”
He went through the bedroom into the bathroom. Using liquid soap and the hottest water he could stand, he scrubbed Hickam’s blood off his hands, trying not to dwell on the amount of it he’d seen pumping out of him.
When the water in the sink ran clear, he dried his hands, peeled back the bandage to check his incision, then returned to the living room. Jordie had removed the t-shirt, beads, and bulletproof vest and piled them in a chair. Otherwise, she was standing precisely where she’d been, looking around in bewilderment.
“What?” he said.
“You’re full of surprises. That’s all.”
He headed for the kitchen. “The place comes in handy. I camped out here when I was investigating Panella. I came by here last Thursday before hooking up with Mickey Bolden. Stocked some food and water in case I needed a place to stay out of sight for a while, dependant on what went down in Tobias. Little did I know.” He took two bottles of water from the refrigerator and carried one to her.
They both drank, then she asked, “Instead of taking me to that filthy garage, why didn’t you bring me here?”
“Too comfy. Too many people nearby. Too many avenues of escape. I needed an isolated and uncomfortable spot.”
“In which to frighten and torture me.”
“I didn’t torture you. But hold the thought. It may come down to that later.”
He took the burner phone from his shirt pocket and called Wiley, who took several rings to answer, and when he did he sounded physically beat down and emotionally hammered.
“It’s me,” Shaw said.
“She with you?”
“I’m looking at her.”
Jordie motioned for him to put the phone on speaker so she could hear. Fearing the worst, Shaw said, “Hickam?”
“Alive. Critical condition.”
Looking stricken, Jordie sat down on the padded arm of the easy chair where she’d placed the articles she’d taken off. She’d said she didn’t want anyone else to die because of her. That was before Royce Sherman. Now Hickam was another casualty. “Are you at the hospital?” Shaw asked Wiley.
“Just got here. Detectives released me so I could come. Hick’s in surgery now. They’ve had to raid the blood bank. May take a miracle to pull him through.”
Shaw ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Thanks.” Wiley cleared his throat and took a moment, then he said, “Why’d you run off?”
“Jordie’s safety.”
“That’s a laugh. You and safety don’t mix.”
“I’ve also placed her under arrest and read her her rights.”
“Really? Why now?”
Looking directly into her eyes, Shaw said, “I’ve come to believe like you do that she hasn’t been entirely truthful with us. She knows more than she’s telling. She’s sure as hell got Panella worried or he wouldn’t be sending her warnings. He hit Royce Sherman for shooting off his mouth. Now the attempt on Hickam—”
“—wasn’t Panella.”
Shaw twitched as though he’d been jabbed with that propeller again. “What?”
“A security camera caught th
e suspect walking fast down the sidewalk in the direction of Hick’s car. This was just a minute or two ahead of the motorcycle cops who held back traffic. Some gangbanger.”
“He’s been arrested?”
“No.”
“IDed?”
“No. No clear view of his face. He was wearing a hoodie.”
“A hoodie?”
“Dark color like yours. Detectives surmise Hick thought it was you and lowered the window for him.”
Shaw’s mind went into a tailspin, but it always came back to how many coincidences it would require for a gangbanger in a hoodie like his to come along during that narrow window of time.
He remembered seeing Hickam’s dangling left hand, his expensive wristwatch drenched in blood still strapped to his wrist. “Was anything taken? Wallet? Weapon?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not buying it.” He knew Wiley wasn’t up to a debate right now, but precious time could be wasted on NOPD’s erroneous conclusion. “It was Panella,” he said.
“Told them that. Repeatedly. The detectives are leery.”
“Did you see the security camera video?”
“One of the investigators played it back for me on his iPad.” Wiley hesitated. “In the dark, jacked on adrenaline, having just given you that hoodie to put on, it’s conceivable that Hick could’ve mistaken the guy on the sidewalk for you.”
“But?”
“Wrong body type. Not nearly as tall as you.”
“It was Panella.”
“But he was favoring his left side. Walking fast but with a limp.”
Jordie made a small but startled sound.
Shaw homed in on her. He said to Wiley, “I’ll call you back.”
Joe sat on the waiting room sofa, elbows on his knees, head bowed, staring at the ugly carpet between his shoes, praying. Sort of. Because he knew that’s what Hick would be doing if their situations were reversed and he was the one whose life was hanging by a thread.
“Joe?”
He looked up and saw Marsha, and was furious enough to want to yell at her, but too glad to see her to do anything except stand up and open his arms. She walked into them, and for long moments they just held each other. He soaked her up, thinking how vital she was to him. Everything about her. Her sassy humor. Her soft, familiar body. Right now, her strength.
When they finally pulled apart, he wiped his eyes, but assumed a put-out tone. “You’re supposed to be locked in and under guard.”
Although Kinnard had hung up abruptly and without explanation, his insistence that Panella was their culprit worried Joe enough to order police protection for his family. If it was Panella, he’d made the fight personal, and he fought dirty. Joe was taking no chances with the security of his wife and children.
Marsha said, “I had to see you. There’s a policewoman inside the house. The kids are asleep and don’t know I’m gone. One of the officers drove me. He gave me fifteen minutes.” She kissed his face several times. “How’s Hick?”
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?”