So he’d blinked sweat from his eyes and, as an officer of the law, assessed the situation with as much professional detachment as he could muster.

Nevertheless, he vowed that if that crazy son of a bitch killed Jordie he was going to cut his fucking heart out.

Now, not too loudly, but with authority, he said, “You’re not killing anybody.”

Jordie’s head snapped around toward the sound of his voice. She gave a sob of relief.

Josh didn’t even flinch. “Who’s that skulking behind the tree?”

“FBI Special Agent Shaw Kinnard. Drop. The. Gun.”

“No.”

“If you don’t, you’re a dead man.”

Jordie said, “He means it, Josh.”

He yelled at her to shut up.

In his peripheral vision, Shaw noticed motion among the trees and undergrowth on the far side of the bayou. Other officers had arrived and were taking positions. He hoped to hell that if this came down to a shoot-out, they were all good marksmen. Jordie was standing too damn close to Josh.

Josh said, “You really spoiled my plan last Friday, Kinnard. But you can’t save my dear sister this time.”

“I can kill you. And I will unless you drop the gun.”

“Josh, please.”

“Better listen to her, Josh. She watched me pop Mickey Bolden without a blink. Last chance. Drop the pistol and back away from her.”

“Do as he says. Please.” She raised her hands and placed them beneath her chin in a begging motion, then dropped them back to waist level. “Put the pistol down, Josh. Surrender. I’ll help you.”

“Like you’ve helped me before?” he screamed. “I don’t need your help anymore.”

“Please, Josh.” Her wrists were straining against the flexcuffs. “Please. I implore you.”

“Shut up, Jordie! Just shut up.”

“Josh, please don’t make—”

“You ruin everything! I hate you!”

Shaw saw Josh’s trigger finger tense, then several weapons fired almost simultaneously.

Chapter 42

Joe Wiley was curious. “When did you put the vest back on?”

“When you left the car to take your call from Hickam’s mother,” Jordie said.

“One of Kinnard’s rules of engagement?”

“He insisted.” While they were alone in the car, Shaw had made her take off her shirt and put the vest on underneath it. “I thought it was an unnecessary precaution, but if I hadn’t been wearing it, I would be dead.” She brushed away a tear.

Wiley, standing at the foot of her hospital bed, cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “Josh…uh…none of you had a choice.”

“I know.”

She had slipped Shaw’s palm pistol into her pants pocket when she’d gone inside the house to see for herself what was in there. During her face-off with Josh, realizing that his psychotic determination was to end her life, she’d distracted him with a begging gesture. When she lowered her hands from her chin, she’d managed to ease the pistol out of her pocket.

The shot she’d fired had been one of the barrage that had cut him down.

“The ME says any one of the shots could’ve been fatal, so unless you really want to know—”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. If it’s any comfort to you, he died instantly.”

She’d missed seeing the worst of it. She’d been flat on her back, thrust backward onto the ground by the impact of the bullet her brother had fired at her.

“I hear you have a heck of a bruise,” Wiley said.

“Larger than my fist. The X-ray revealed a hairline fracture.” She touched her breastbone. “Which is why they’ve kept me here for another night. They’re giving me pain meds, and I’m still under observation.”

She’d been transported to the ER by ambulance, although she barely remembered that. It was probably for the best that her recollection of those hours immediately following the crisis were fuzzy.

In addition to the fracture and bruise on her chest, the scratches on her arms had been treated with topical antibiotics. Two stitches had been required to close the cut on her scalp due to the blow. She also had a slight concussion from it.

Added to these physical injuries were the emotional ones. She suffered bouts of uncontrollable weeping followed by periods of depression that left her nearly catatonic. The medical staff concluded that she needed a few days to recover from the ordeal.

“What’s one more night? Better to err on the side of caution,” Wiley said for something to say.

She didn’t bother to add anything.

It was an obligatory conversation between two people who had survived a catastrophe. They had matters to discuss, but the issues were delicate, and each was as reluctant as the other to broach them right now.

After a lengthy, awkward silence, she said, “Gwen Saunders called. That was thoughtful of her, wasn’t it? And Deputy Morrow came by this morning.”

“In an official capacity?”

“Royce Sherman’s murder was his case. Josh’s confession closed it. But he didn’t make the visit seem official. He expressed his condolences.”

“My wife sends hers, too.”

“Please thank her for the calla lilies.” She motioned toward the windowsill where now several flower arrangements were lined up.

“They’re from both of us,” he said, “but Marsha picked them out.”

“She must be terribly relieved that you weren’t injured yesterday.”

“Pissed off, if you want the truth. She said a glorified accountant had no business chasing around the countryside with a loaded weapon.”

Jordie gave him a weak smile. “She sounds like a sensible woman.” A beat, then, “You told Agent Hickam how it ended?”

“He’s on the floor just above you here. Still in ICU, but, yes, I filled him in. He couldn’t believe…well, none of it.”

“My brother tried to kill him.”

“He doesn’t hold that against you, Ms. Bennett. Josh is the only one accountable for the crimes he committed.”

She picked at the edge of the cotton blanket covering her. “He played all the roles well. The spoiled man-child with acute anxiety. The downtrodden employee corrupted by his overbearing boss. But a cold-blooded murderer? I never would have guessed Josh capable of that.”

“Or of hating you bad enough to want you dead.”

“No,” she murmured. “I never would have guessed that, either.”

Wiley sensed her rising emotion and didn’t say anything until she’d used a tissue to blot her eyes. He then told her about a banker in Malaysia who’d called to inquire if Mr. Panella had remembered that second password that had caused him so much consternation.

“The call came in on one of the many cell phones we found in Josh’s house. I asked the banker if he’d ever spoken to Jordan Bennett personally. No, he said. He’d never had the pleasure of dealing directly with that gentleman. He’d assumed Jordan Bennett was male.”

“Does that let me off the hook, then? You no longer suspect me of collaborating with Josh and Panella?”