“Your participation in the Costa Rican scam will be reviewed, but I don’t believe you’ll face charges, especially if you agree to assist us.”

“Assist you?”

“This case has been a multilayered tangle and will continue to be. We still don’t know everything Josh and Panella did jointly and separately to try and screw not only their clients but each other. Things like those Malaysian accounts could come to light off and on for years.”

“Years?”

That was a dismal thought. Had she been so naïve as to think that with the discovery of Panella’s body and Josh’s death, the case would be over, sealed, and forgotten? When she was released from the hospital, the media would be all over her. She intended to ask Adrian Dover to be her spokesperson and release a public statement that hopefully would satisfy them, but she doubted it would.

She also faced the grim duty of seeing that Josh’s ashes were interred. He should be placed with their parents, she supposed, although she had no idea whether or not that would have been his wish.

And, it seemed, she would be cooperating with and even contributing to the government’s ongoing investigation. It was little enough for her to do in recompense for her brother’s crimes. Civic duty demanded it. She also felt a moral obligation. “Possibly I can help restore some of the losses to Josh’s victims.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t restore what she most wished she could: Shaw’s parents.

Wiley nodded, but uncomfortably shifted his stance again. “As to your personal loss, Ms. Bennett, I’m sorry it ended the way it did.”

“I’m not.” Seeing his surprise, she smiled wistfully. “Before you start thinking what a wretched person I am, let me explain. I mourn my brother’s life far more than I do his death. What other outcome would have been better or more merciful?

“The indignity of a trial where he would be on constant display, gaped at? Years spent in prison where he would be subjected to God knows what kind of cruelty? No, Agent Wiley, that would have been torture of the worst sort. When I pulled that trigger, I wasn’t saving myself. I was saving Josh. I can’t mourn that his torment has ended.”

“The torment he caused you is over, too. You must feel freed.”

“I do. Actually what grieves me most,” she said, her voice cracking, “is that I don’t grieve him. That makes me truly sorrowful. For both of us.”

His look of compassion and understanding touched her deeply and brought tears to her eyes.

Discomfitted by them, he coughed. “Well, I’ll leave you to get some rest. You’ve got my number if you need anything.” He turned and headed for the door.

“Agent Wiley?”

He stopped and turned but had trouble meeting her gaze. When he finally did and saw the unspoken question there, he heaved a sigh and shook his head. “I don’t know, Jordie,” he said, using her given name for the first time. “He pulled a lot of stitches and was brought here to be stitched up again, then came to the office last night and filled out all the required paperwork. I stepped out to grab a coffee. When I came back, he was gone. Nobody’s seen him since.”

She pressed her head into the pillow and closed her eyes. “Nobody will.”

Epilogue

Three months later

Jordie and her Extravaganza staff celebrated the transfer of ownership.

The party commenced at four o’clock when they presented her with a crystal-studded Mardi Gras mask as a going-away gift. They ate canapes. They raised toasts. They said their collective and individual good-byes and swapped promises to stay in close touch.

At five o’clock, she called an end to the farewell party before it became maudlin. “My last official act as boss—former boss—is to send you all home. I’ll turn out the lights and lock the door when I leave.”

They must have sensed that she wanted to spend a few moments alone in the space in which she’d built her business. One by one, they hugged her and left. Her personal assistant was the last to go. As she swiped at her tearful eyes, she said, “As we were uncorking the champagne, a package was delivered to you. Probably from a grateful client. I left it on your desk.”

When Jordie was alone, she went into her private office. All her personal things had been packed and removed already, but the space was still so familiar. She listened to the whistle in the AC vent and noted that the crack in the floor tile was the same length it had been the day she moved in. The window blind had never hung straight, no matter how often she’d tried to balance it. She would look back on these imperfections with fondness.

For the last time, she sat in her desk chair. She reached for the FedEx envelope, opened it, and dumped out the contents.

A heap of camouflage-print bandanas landed on her desktop.

“They come twelve to a pack.”

He was standing in the open doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb, dressed very much as she’d seen him the first time. The pearl snaps on his shirt winked in the late-afternoon sunlight coming through the window with the crooked blind.

She found her breath, her voice. She’d lost her heart three months earlier. “Wasn’t it I who owed you a twelve-pack?”

“Was it?” He shrugged. “Who’s keeping count?”

Afraid he would see the emotion threatening her eyes, she looked down at the bandanas, picked up one and rubbed the fabric between her fingers. “This supply should last me awhile.”

“Depends on what you use them for.”

“They have lots of uses.”

In a voice husky with suggestiveness, he said, “I can think of several right off.”

She stood up and rounded the desk, but that was as far as she got before her knees went too weak to go farther. He pushed away from the doorjamb and walked toward her until only a few feet separated them. For the next few moments they just took each other in. His scar stood out against his scruff. His hair was uncombed and needed cutting. He looked completely disreputable and altogether desirable.

“How did you get past the guard in the lobby?” she asked.

“I’m a fed, remember?”

“Oh, right. You’re carrying an ID now?”

“No. I just got past the guard in the lobby.”

Naturally he had. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She motioned toward his left side. “How is it?”

“Good. Only pinches every now and then.”

She took a swift breath. “I’m so sorry for that.”

“I had it coming.” His eyes were as incisive as ever as they scaled down her and remained. “First time I’ve ever seen you in a skirt.”

“Shaw?”

“Damn. Those legs.”

“Shaw?”

“Hmm?” His eyes tracked back up to hers.

“I…I…” She stopped, then said on a gust of air, “I’m surprised to see you.”

“Your sign is gone.”

“What?”

“The one on the freeway. Extravaganza. Glitter letters. Fireworks. I came down to get some work done on the cherub. As I was driving in from the airport, I noticed your sign had been replaced by one with a bucket of fried chicken.”

“The billboard rental came up for renewal. I declined because the advertising budget is no longer up to me. My former employees pooled their resources and bought me out.”