No doubt she was grateful to be alive and equally fearful that he would decide he shouldn’t have left a witness and would come after her. He couldn’t be bothered. She would never be able to identify him. The electrolarynx could be implicating, he supposed, but since anybody could get one, that would never hold up in court.

Not that he would be caught or brought to trial.

He hadn’t been all that surprised when Agents Wiley and Hickam joined the party. Like good lawmen everywhere they would have connected dot A to dot B and concluded that there were coincidences, and then there were bizarre coincidences, and that the murder of Royce Sherman qualified as the latter.

What had come as a shock—and more of one than he was willing to admit—was seeing Kinnard climb out of the backseat of their unmarked sedan. Anyone giving him only a passing glance might have missed the sharp cheekbones beneath the silly sunglasses.

However, if one was looking closely, Kinnard was recognizable from his mug shot, which had been shown on TV. He was accused of being the abductor from whom Jordie Bennett had been rescued. He was the alleged slayer of Mickey Bolden.

But he hadn’t been shuffling along in an orange jumpsuit and leg irons, a prisoner. No, he’d been wearing cowboy boots and a hoodie. Despite the outfit, he was obviously very much a part of the law enforcement team.

Well, fuck me.

The group had stayed inside the annex for approximately an hour. When they piled into the sedan and left Tobias, he’d followed them back to the city, figuring they would eventually lead him to Jordie. Because trickery or no trickery, he still had every intention of killing her. The fact that he’d been made a chump only heightened his resolve.

The feds’ car pulled into the parking garage of a multistoried hotel. The Panella Investments Group had once hosted a seminar in one of its conference rooms, so he knew its general layout. Recognizing both the unique challenges and opportunities that a busy hotel presented, he drove past the entrance to the garage and parked in another lot several blocks over.

Returning on foot, he took an idea from the FBI and bought a hoodie at a souvenir walk-up. He kept his head down and melded with the ebb and flow of foot traffic on the sidewalks surrounding the hotel while monitoring the maw of the parking garage.

At dusk, three official-looking SUVs caravanned into it. Soon after that, the police presence increased around the hotel—men in uniform as well as undercover officers. (Did they really think they would fool him?)

Something was about to happen. He’d considered retrieving his car. If they transported Jordie in one of the SUVs, he would need his car in order to follow them. But if he were gone even for a few minutes, he might miss the big event.

While still debating, he spotted the handsome black agent emerging from the hotel’s parking garage on foot, carrying a pair of duffel bags. The agent crossed the street then turned and struck off down the sidewalk toward a waiting car. Not the one they’d taken to Tobias.

It was like a gift! Only a coward or a fool wouldn’t have acted on it. Why not seize an opportunity to underscore that if you messed with Billy Panella, you did so at great personal risk?

He slipped from his hiding place between two buildings and moved along the sidewalk. As he approached the car, the agent was deceived by the hoodie. He’d actually lowered the car window. Last thing he said was, “Kinnard, what the hell are you—”

Phfft!

Smiling into the phone now, he wondered what the Asian banker would think of the coup he’d pulled off tonight. Who needed hired help? “I didn’t request the wire transfer because I didn’t need the funds after all.”

“I see.”

He didn’t see, of course. He didn’t have an effing clue.

“I hope you’re not unhappy with our service.”

He reveled in the man’s deferential tone. Everyone wanted to keep Billy Panella pacified. “I contracted men to do a job. They turned out to be incompetent and untrustworthy. The job wasn’t completed, but your bank’s service wasn’t an issue.”

“Splendid. I’m glad to hear that.” He paused. “What service may I perform for you today?”

What was this guy, a whore? Well, in a manner of speaking, he was. Which was why it was going to crush him to hear this.

“I want you to close all my accounts.”

“I’m sorry?”

He adjusted the electrolarynyx. “I want you to close all my accounts. Subtract whatever service charges apply, then withdraw every last cent.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m moving these funds to another financial institution. Is that clarifying enough?”

The guy seemed to have swallowed his golden tongue. Seconds passed.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes, Mr. Panella. I’m just—”

“Can you handle this request, or do I need to speak with your superior?”

“No, I’ll handle it.”

“Thank you.”

Obviously flustered, the banker asked for the details of where the funds were to be transferred. In the background, his computer keys were clicking. “And your password, please?”

He gave it.

More keyboard clicking. “Thank you, Mr. Panella.”

“You’re welcome.” It had been such a successful twenty-four hours, he felt like being expansive. “Let me say, this isn’t a reflection on you. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. I like your accent. Very classy, very—”

“Excuse me. I need the second password.”

“What?”

“Jordan Bennett’s password?”

Jordan Bennett’s password? Had he heard right? “What are you talking about?”

“After opening the account where the lion’s share of your funds were deposited, you contacted me a few days later and stipulated that two passwords be required to access that particular account. Yours and Jordan Bennett’s.”

He had done no such thing!

“Had you forgotten making that stipulation, Mr. Panella?”

Bloody fucking shit!

Chapter 36

The phone on the nightstand vibrated, waking them. Shaw disentangled from Jordie, reached for his cell, and answered.

She could hear Joe Wiley through the speaker. “Hick survived the surgery. He’s in ICU. Holding his own, but, you know…it could still go either way.”

“Good so far, though,” Shaw said. “How are you?”

“Cross-eyed tired, but I’m gonna hang around.”

“Keep me posted.”

Shaw was about to click off when Wiley said, “Ms. Bennett still hasn’t been out of your sight?”

Shaw placed his hand on her hip which was snug up against his groin. “No.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

Wiley brought up the concern he’d expressed earlier. “The attempt on Hick has been on the news. I expected we’d hear from Josh in full freak-out mode.”

“No way he can reach Jordie without our knowing,” Shaw reminded him.

“True, but he hasn’t even tried. And he knows he can call me.”

“He’s scared is all. Don’t borrow trouble.”

Jordie got the impression that Shaw was saying that as much for her benefit as for Joe Wiley’s.