She hesitated for only a second, then bobbed her head as much as his restraining hand would allow.

He removed his hand from her mouth and blinked hard to keep from passing out from the pain as he struggled to sit. He drew his right knee up and with his free left hand reached beneath the stringy hem of his jeans and into his boot, and pulled out the Bobcat.

When Jordie saw the palm pistol, she gasped.

He said, “What kind of hit man would carry only one gun?”

“Is that one loaded?”

“Always.”

The headlights that he’d seen approaching cut an arc across the front of the building, then remained stationary, but on. For the longest time, nothing happened. Which signaled to Shaw that it was a cop. A curiosity seeker would be less cautious. A cop on a manhunt would be calling in his position before coming to explore further.

Beside him, Jordie remained tense as she, too, kept her eyes on the closed door.

Shaw strained to catch the sounds of a car door opening, approaching footsteps, but the noise of the rain striking the roof drowned out everything else, until a voice with a noticeable Louisiana accent called out, “I’m Deputy Clint Morrow, Terrebonne Parish Sheriff’s Office. Identify yourself, please.”

Beside Shaw, Jordie was trembling, but she didn’t speak.

“I know you’re in there,” the deputy said. “A fisherman saw the light going on and off.”

Shaw looked at Jordie with reproach, but she didn’t make eye contact, just kept staring at the door.

It was slowly pulled open, the creak of the hinges distinct despite the rainfall. A man, crouched with pistol drawn, appeared in the opening, silhouetted against his car’s headlights, a tall form beneath a cowboy hat. He took one step into the building, but Shaw ordered, “Far enough.”

He halted. “Shaw Kinnard?”

“The pleasure’s all mine. You have a family, Deputy Morrow?”

“What?”

“You heard me. If you want to see your loved ones again, back away. Otherwise I’ll shoot you.”

“And then I’d see your flash and shoot you.”

“No you won’t. Because you might hit Jordie Bennett who’s handcuffed to me.”

The deputy hesitated then ducked out of sight. “Ms. Bennett,” he called from outside, “are you all right?”

She looked at Shaw, who nodded his permission for her to speak.

“Yes. But…but I am handcuffed to him, and he has a gun, and—”

“Enough!” Shaw said.

“We need an ambulance!” she shouted.

“Who’s hurt?” the deputy shouted back.

“Don’t say another word.” For emphasis Shaw yanked on her handcuffed hand. He envisioned the deputy speaking softly but urgently into the mike clipped to his shoulder, alerting a dispatch operator to the hostage situation, requesting backup and EMTs.

“He’s good,” Shaw said with grudging respect. “Took him less than the three days I allotted. Of course he had your help with the spotlight.”

Jordie looked at him with evident anxiety. “What are you going to do?”

He thought about it for a moment, keeping pain, nausea, and unconsciousness at bay by a sheer act of will. “Getting captured is one thing. It happens to the best. But being played for a fool is something else.”

Moving swiftly, he hooked his left hand around the back of her neck and pulled her face to his, aligning their foreheads and pressing hard. “I turned down two million dollars, plus what I fantasized would be a really great fuck, in the hope that you’d take me to your brother and his thirty mil. You can tell me now. Would you ever, ever, have done that?”

“I couldn’t.” She angled her head back so she could meet his eyes directly. “I don’t know where Josh is. Or the money. Or Panella. I don’t know anything. I never did.”

They held that way for a moment, then he stifled a laugh of self-deprecation and withdrew his hand from her neck. “Morrow! You ready to parley?”

Chapter 20

Agents Wiley and Hickam had a bumpy helicopter ride back to New Orleans. Marsha wouldn’t have liked knowing they were dodging lightning and wind shears. Joe himself was relieved when they set down at the heliport.

They drove directly to the office, where Joe surrendered his phone to a techie who swapped it out with another, to which Joe’s calls were rerouted. Specialist agents would attempt to pinpoint Josh Bennett’s location using the call he’d made to Joe’s cell, but Joe didn’t hold out much hope for success. Joe had called the unknown number several times since Josh clicked off, but it hadn’t been answered.

“He probably stripped that phone of its battery and SIM card as soon as he hung up,” Joe said to Hick as they paused at their side-by-side cars in the parking garage.

“Where did he get a phone? When?”

“Where? Anywhere. When? Hell I know,” Joe grumbled. “He may have had it secreted somewhere all along. He could have a dozen of them. An inexhaustible supply of disposable SIM cards.”

“He sounded scared, though.”

“Well he should be. If he talks himself into believing that Panella is willing to let bygones be bygones, he’s an idiot.”

“I don’t think he’s an idiot.”

“Neither do I. For all his bluster, he’s scared. Why else would he volunteer that information about Jordie?”

“Do you think it’s true?”

Joe rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t know. But—” He broke off when his phone chirped. He reached for it quickly, thinking that maybe the fugitive was calling back. But after seeing the caller ID, he said to Hick, “Morrow,” and braced himself for bad news. Had Jordie Bennett been found? Or only what was left of her?

“Hey, Morrow.” Joe listened for several seconds then frantically motioned Hick toward the driver’s side of his car, saying into the phone, “We’re on our way.”

Even if he and Hick would have been comfortable taking the chopper back out, Joe wouldn’t have asked a pilot to risk flying in this weather. So they had to drive, and it was like doing so underwater. Windshield wipers were useless against the cascade.

An hour and a half outside New Orleans, Hick was leaning forward over the steering wheel and gripping it with both hands. Joe said, “Is there a black equivalent to ‘white-knuckling’?”

Without taking his eyes off the road, Hick gave a wry smile. “Don’t know of one, but it applies.”

“Should be coming up on the turnoff soon.”

To Deputy Morrow’s knowledge there wasn’t a physical address for the barnlike structure in which Shaw Kinnard was holding Jordie Bennett hostage. But he’d provided Joe with the nearest highway intersection, which Hick had located by using the car’s GPS. From there, Morrow had given him oral directions by phone.

Now, as they rounded a bend in the rural road, Hick said, “This must be the place.”

Through the rain, light bars of several squad cars were flashing their tricolor warning. Some of the vehicles were parked end to end along the shoulder; one was sideways in the middle of the road. A state trooper, outfitted in a slicker, alighted from the passenger side and came over as Hick rolled to a stop and lowered the driver’s window.