Page 133 of Sting
“Not anymore. A bachelor leased it from my parents for a while, but when he moved away, they—” He shut down as though a switch had been flipped. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does. If it didn’t matter you wouldn’t have kept the place all this time.”
Shaw turned away before she detected just how accurate she was. “I’ll be back.” At the bedroom door, he paused. “Don’t even think about skipping out.”
He went through the bedroom into the bathroom. Using liquid soap and the hottest water he could stand, he scrubbed Hickam’s blood off his hands, trying not to dwell on the amount of it he’d seen pumping out of him.
When the water in the sink ran clear, he dried his hands, peeled back the bandage to check his incision, then returned to the living room. Jordie had removed the t-shirt, beads, and bulletproof vest and piled them in a chair. Otherwise, she was standing precisely where she’d been, looking around in bewilderment.
“What?” he said.
“You’re full of surprises. That’s all.”
He headed for the kitchen. “The place comes in handy. I camped out here when I was investigating Panella. I came by here last Thursday before hooking up with Mickey Bolden. Stocked some food and water in case I needed a place to stay out of sight for a while, dependant on what went down in Tobias. Little did I know.” He took two bottles of water from the refrigerator and carried one to her.
They both drank, then she asked, “Instead of taking me to that filthy garage, why didn’t you bring me here?”
“Too comfy. Too many people nearby. Too many avenues of escape. I needed an isolated and uncomfortable spot.”
“In which to frighten and torture me.”
“I didn’t torture you. But hold the thought. It may come down to that later.”
He took the burner phone from his shirt pocket and called Wiley, who took several rings to answer, and when he did he sounded physically beat down and emotionally hammered.
“It’s me,” Shaw said.
“She with you?”
“I’m looking at her.”
Jordie motioned for him to put the phone on speaker so she could hear. Fearing the worst, Shaw said, “Hickam?”
“Alive. Critical condition.”
Looking stricken, Jordie sat down on the padded arm of the easy chair where she’d placed the articles she’d taken off. She’d said she didn’t want anyone else to die because of her. That was before Royce Sherman. Now Hickam was another casualty. “Are you at the hospital?” Shaw asked Wiley.
“Just got here. Detectives released me so I could come. Hick’s in surgery now. They’ve had to raid the blood bank. May take a miracle to pull him through.”
Shaw ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Thanks.” Wiley cleared his throat and took a moment, then he said, “Why’d you run off?”
“Jordie’s safety.”
“That’s a laugh. You and safety don’t mix.”
“I’ve also placed her under arrest and read her her rights.”
“Really? Why now?”
Looking directly into her eyes, Shaw said, “I’ve come to believe like you do that she hasn’t been entirely truthful with us. She knows more than she’s telling. She’s sure as hell got Panella worried or he wouldn’t be sending her warnings. He hit Royce Sherman for shooting off his mouth. Now the attempt on Hickam—”
“—wasn’t Panella.”
Shaw twitched as though he’d been jabbed with that propeller again. “What?”
“A security camera caught the suspect walking fast down the sidewalk in the direction of Hick’s car. This was just a minute or two ahead of the motorcycle cops who held back traffic. Some gangbanger.”
