Page 161 of Sting
Shaw and Joe Wiley would discover her gone and come looking for her. She just had to live long enough for them to get to her, because she knew with certainty that Josh’s intention was to kill her. He wouldn’t be confessing all this if he planned to let her live.
How much time did she have? How long would it take for Shaw to find her? Would she ever see his face again? His scarred, severe, beautiful face.
Josh was telling her that he hadn’t had time to dispose of Panella’s body before he was due to tender himself to Uncle Sam. “I had no choice except to bag him up and leave him here, and actually, since I got back, he and I have had some interesting conversations.” He giggled. “Of course I did most of the talking. He just laid there, staring up at me. For a change he was forced to listen while I ranted. I loved it. He really stunk up the place, though.”
She scanned the surroundings for something she could use to defend herself. Even if the ground were strewn with potential weapons, her hands were bound and Josh was giving her no time to stop. Each time she stumbled or slowed down, he nearly pulled her shoulders from their sockets, jerking her along.
He was still talking. “After I killed him, I went to his house and made it look like he’d left in a hurry. Everyone jumped to the conclusion that I knew they would, that he’d successfully skipped the country. All I had to do was cool my heels for a while, let things settle down, gradually alter my appearance for the day I would escape.
“I took a risk by coming back here, but I didn’t want to miss all the fun. The fallout from your getting whacked, that is. I planned on hiding out here to enjoy the hubbub, the media coverage. But, thanks to Bolden’s humongous screwup, things took a turn and put me behind schedule on disappearing for good.
“I’ve perfected becoming invisible, you know,” he said, continuing in that frightfully normal, conversational tone. “Nobody sees me because I don’t want them to. Which is how I was able to go to the redneck bar unnoticed. I nearly came unglued last Friday when Bolden called and told me you’d walked into the very bar where he and Kinnard were having a drink. That is not your kind of place, Jordie. How’d you happen to be there?”
He looked back as though expecting her to reply. She made pleading sounds against the gag.
He resumed walking and talking. “Never mind. It doesn’t make any difference now. I went there Sunday night to check the place out. The loudmouth put me in such a foul mood. That was also the night when Wiley informed me of your rescue. Your second rescue. Foiled again. I decided Panella needed to surface, scare the shit out of everybody. ‘He’s out there. I know it! He’s gonna kill me!’” he screeched, mimicking his own hysteria.
“The black guy? Hickam? He was dropped in my lap, so to speak. I acted on impulse, but it was brilliant. How about this?” He began limping. “I knew that would jog your memory, and you’d tell them that it had to be Panella.”
Then he tsked with regret. “But Hickam didn’t die. I should have gone for mass then, too, but I’d done so well with that redneck, I thought a head shot would work. Oh, well, one can’t have everything one wants.”
He was insane. How could she defend herself against someone who’d lost all touch with reality? And she was running out of time to think of a way. Just ahead of them was the bayou. On the bank was a small fishing boat, apparently his destination.
He pulled her over to it and yanked the handkerchief from her mouth. “Josh,” she gasped. “Please? Let me help you.”
“Help me? That’s a laugh.”
“What is it you want?”
Cautiously he took a step back, but was still within a foot of her as he raised the pistol. “To disappear and never have to worry again about people gaping at me.”
“Nobody gapes at you.”
“Yes they do. You made sure they do. You pushed me into the fireplace and made me a freak show.”
Stall, stall, stall. She tipped her head toward the boat. “You intend to escape in that?”
“No, silly. My car is parked just around the next bend. I can make it that far in this boat. You’ll be dead, and I’ll be long gone before they can catch me. But in order to disappear, I need my money.”
He waggled the pistol as though to remind her of it and that it was still aimed at her. “You’re the only thing standing between my fortune and me. What’s the password?”
“Password?”
He rolled his eyes. “We don’t have time for you to play dumb. Give me the password. The second password. The one required to access the main account. ‘Jordan Bennett’s password,’” he said in a ridiculously tony British accent.
“Josh, I swear to you, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She raised her bound hands in appeal. “How could I have a password into an account I know nothing about?”
“You cracked my security codes.”
“That’s absurd. I wouldn’t know how, or even where to start.”
He screwed up his face mistrustfully, then seemed to come to a conclusion. “You wouldn’t, would you? Even if you’d had access to my computers, which you didn’t, you’re not smart enough to know how to do something that complicated.”
“That’s right,” she said, grasping at that and hoping to appeal to his pride. “You’re the genius, not me. I’ve never been as smart as you.”
“Not even close.”
“Because you’re so intelligent, you must realize that you can’t escape.”
