Page 120 of Sting
Her heart tripped. “What?”
“Murdered, Jordie. Murdered. I thought you were watching TV.”
“I am. I—”
“He was found shot in the head. It happened after he left the bar where he had an audience while boasting about meeting you. Now do you understand why I’m panicked?”
On the screen now was video showing a pickup truck. Its windshield was blood-spattered. It was in a woodsy setting surrounded by crime scene tape, squad cars, and uniformed men.
“That’s awful,” she murmured. “But he probably got into an argument with someone last night. I’m sure his murder had nothing to do with me.”
“Are you stupid?” Josh shouted.
“How could it involve me?”
“Before I called you, they were interviewing this hairy, tattooed bartender. He said Royce Sherman was acting like a big shot, bragging about the role he’d played in the ‘Panella-Bennett case.’ That’s how they phrased it.”
“That’s what it is, Josh.”
“Don’t tell me this guy’s murder has nothing to do with you. With us.” He made a choking sound. “I’m never going to get away from him, am I?”
“Panella?”
“Of course Panella! Who do you think?”
“Please calm down. Tell me where you are. I’ll come—”
“No!”
“Josh, you cannot outrun the authorities.”
“I already have. I’m not worried about them. It’s Panella. You know what I think?” Without waiting for her to answer, he rushed on. “I don’t think he ever left the country. I think he’s been lurking around, waiting for me to—”
“—to do something crazy like leave the government’s protection?”
“I knew it! I knew you’d side with them.”
“Dammit, Josh, I’m on your side.”
“And you’re probably mad because I told Wiley about Costa Rica. I had to, Jordie. I didn’t say anything bad about you. Only that you went with Panella.”
She refrained from pointing out how damaging even that much might be. It also occurred to her that even though this was the first time they’d spoken in six months, Josh hadn’t asked after her welfare. Knowing full well the ordeal she’d suffered this week because of him, he hadn’t apologized or expressed concern over her situation. She wouldn’t have expected him to. Nevertheless, it hurt.
As evenly as possible, she said, “If you want my help you have to tell me where you are.”
“No way. Panella’s close. I can feel him. He’s probably watching you. If I told you where I am, you’d lead him right to me. He’ll never give up. I know him. He won’t stop looking for me till I’m dead.”
“That’s paranoia talking, Josh. Billy Panella is thousands of miles away.”
“No. He’s here. He killed that guy last night.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No it’s not.”
She envisioned him shaking his head in the manner of an obstinate child, red-faced and unyielding, impossible to reason with.
“That dumb redneck interfered with Panella’s plan to have you killed. Worse, he was shooting off his mouth about it last night. The bartender said he took credit for you being alive. To Panella that would be a personal affront. He wouldn’t let that slide.”
