“He bought it,” Wiley said.

“Good to know. The dispatcher told him it was a delicate police matter, some cock-and-bull like that, and ordered him not to put the media wise to it. Which he wouldn’t have anyway, because it might set him in the hot seat for green-lighting my premature release and making his hospital look bad.”

It had been necessary to take the surgeon into their confidence. He’d reluctantly removed the staples from Shaw’s incision and given him a supply of oral medications and extra bandages to take with him. Morrow had them in his squad car.

Thinking of that, Shaw said, “Morrow remembered to retrieve my boots from the hospital room closet before we left. I was rolled out, bare-assed in a hospital gown and handcuffed to a stretcher. Morrow went into a Walmart and bought me a change of clothes. Here I am.”

“Cover still protected,” Wiley said.

“Hopefully. For the time being anyway.”

“Why isn’t Morrow with you now?” Wiley asked.

“On the way here, he got an emergency call from his office. Couldn’t delegate. Had to turn back. He dismissed the ambulance and drivers. Dupaw brought me the rest of the way in his car. Morrow said to tell you that he’d check in with you as soon as he could.”

“Would have been nice for y’all to let us in on this,” Wiley said.

“Morrow was handier. He’d left my room just a few minutes before Dupaw showed up. Morrow wanted to bring you in, but the fewer people involved in the ruse, the more likely it would work. I convinced him of that.”

“How?”

“By telling him that was how it was gonna be.” He let that settle then glanced at Jordie, who had resumed glaring at him. “Besides, Morrow knew you had your hands full here.”

Wiley’s partner chimed in, “And letting us in on it would have spoiled your big entrance.”

Shaw looked up at him and decided to let the snide remark pass. “You’re Hickam?”

“That’s right.”

“I was denied the pleasure of meeting you yesterday during my arrest.”

The agent looked down at the spot where Shaw’s shirttail was draped over his holster. “Where’d you get the piece?”

“When I asked for my weapons back, Morrow obliged.”

“‘Weapons’ plural?”

“He keeps a pistol in his boot.” That from Jordie, who nastily added, “What kind of hit man carries only one gun?”

Matching her testiness, Shaw said, “A dead one.”

While the smoke was still clearing from that exchange, Joe Wiley asked, “What about the playboy and corrupt state policeman in Mexico?”

“They resisted arrest.” He said it deadpan and nobody commented. “By the way, whichever agency that girl belongs to needs to bring her in and give her some better training.”

“Girl?”

“The one who left the party with the three of us that night. She hadn’t been at the villa for five minutes before I marked her as heat.”

“Only call girl to leave her clothes on?” Wiley asked.

“No, first one out of them. She’s too eager. She needs to learn subtlety. The idea is to make them try to impress her, not the other way around. If she doesn’t learn that, she’s gonna give herself away and die bloody. Find out which agency she works for and get word to them that I said so.”

Hickam and Wiley exchanged a look with eyebrows raised, but Hickam made a note of it on his iPad.

“I left the bodies where I knew they’d be found, along with a secret sign so our plant inside the state police would know it was me who took them out and would handle the mop-up, including all the paperwork required in Atlanta. I beat it across the border that night.”

“How’d you get across undetected?” Hickam asked.

“That’s classified.” Unfazed by the other agent’s resentful glower, Shaw continued, “I beat it here quick as I could. I’d waited months for a call from Mickey Bolden and didn’t want to keep him waiting.”

Wiley and Hickam continued to ask about his journey from Mexico to New Orleans. Most of their inquiries he answered with, “Classified.” And mainly, it was. But it was also a convenient dodge. He didn’t want to waste time on something irrelevant while Billy Panella and Josh Bennett were still at large.

Shaw tipped his head toward Jordie. “Do you have her cell phone?”

“In Wiley’s office,” Hickam said.

“Would you get it?” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Please?”

With a look, Hickam consulted Joe Wiley, who okayed him with a nod. Hickam left the room. The four of them sat in strained silence until he returned with Jordie’s bagged cell phone.

Shaw said, “When I came in, you were grilling her about who called her to the bar. Check her call history. Friday night, there are two incoming calls from an unknown number.”

“We’ve called it back several times,” Hickam said. “Never got an answer.”

“Call it again.”

Hickam removed the phone from the bag, went to the log and tapped the screen. A few seconds later the phone inside Shaw’s shirt pocket began to ring. He took it out and showed them Jordie’s cell number in the readout. “This is a burner I bought the day I arrived in New Orleans, just before I hooked up with Mickey Bolden.”

“Okay,” Wiley said. “Friday night. What really went down? Why you’d call Ms. Bennett to the bar?”

“I’m coming to that.” Suddenly struck with a wave of dizziness, he propped his elbow on the table and tunneled his fingers through his hair. He was tempted to rest his forehead in his palm and close his eyes. But, afraid he’d be unable to reopen them, he lowered his hand, ignored the throbbing in his side, and plowed on.

“When I talked to Mickey from Mexico and he told me that Josh Bennett was on the loose, I figured he was the target we’d been contracted to hit. Then I got here. Shocker. Bennett’s sister was the target. Killing a woman? Jesus.” He shook his head. “Underscored just what a cowardly scumbag Panella is.

“But I had to appear indifferent to Mickey so I could stay cheek by jowl with the asshole and learn what I could. Mickey and I spent all day Friday following Jordie around Tobias. She went home around six. We watched her house for a while. It looked like she was tucked in for the night.”

“We had a sheriff’s deputy surveilling her,” Wiley said.

Shaw scoffed. “And doing a piss-poor job of it. He’d just as well have had a Maglite on his head. I spotted him right away, and I couldn’t believe he didn’t mark Mickey and me.” Looking at Jordie, he said, “You knew he was there, didn’t you? You shook him on the way to the bar.”

“Go to hell.”

He ignored the putdown. “Doesn’t matter now, I guess.” Turning back to his FBI colleagues, he continued, “Mickey and I went to a diner for supper, and that’s when he laid out the plan.”

“Plan A?” Jordie said with insincere sweetness.

Shaw looked at her, but didn’t respond. Wiley asked, “What was plan A?”

Shaw went back to Wiley. “To hit her early the next morning at her house. Make it look like a burglary turned deadly. Dumbest idea I’d ever heard and told Mickey so. It was rushed, rash, and breaking into her house was an engraved invitation to leave evidence.