Page 94 of Sting
Gwen had collected changes of clothing and toiletries from her house in Tobias, as Wiley had said. Jordie was glad to swap clean clothes for those hopelessly blood-stained, although she was strangely reluctant to hand them over to Gwen when she asked for them. Jordie couldn’t account for why she was inclined to hug them against her chest and not let go.
Since her arrival, they’d ordered two room service meals. Jordie should’ve been ravenous, but she’d listlessly picked at the food. After drinking a half glass of minibar white wine, encouraged by Gwen, she’d pleaded exhaustion and gone to bed.
It surprised her now that she’d slept at all, but she supposed that her body had demanded it whether she’d desired it or not. The sleep had restored her physically, but she’d come abruptly awake with her anxiety intact.
Staring at the cold floor tiles between her bare feet, she thought how badly she dreaded tomorrow and the unwelcome surprises it could have in store. Then she realized that it was tomorrow. She had no alternative except to face it.
When she stepped into the bedroom, Gwen was standing backlit in the doorway that opened into the living area of the suite.
U.S. Marshal Gwen Saunders was of average height, her frame padded by fifteen pounds of extra weight, which she carried well and unselfconsciously. She wasn’t unkind, just…official. She was on high alert even at four thirty in the morning. Not that Jordie could blame her. Josh’s escapade hadn’t inspired much trust between the Marshal’s Service and the Bennett family.
Gwen asked, “Everything okay?”
“I just needed the bathroom.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“No thank you.”
“I received a text from Joe Wiley after you went to bed.”
Jordie’s heart tripped. Shaw?
“He’d like us to be at his office at nine thirty,” Gwen said, dashing her hope, and fear, of getting an update on Shaw. She went on to tell Jordie that she’d ordered a Continental breakfast to be sent up at eight. “Unless you want me to order something else.”
“No, that’s fine.”
Gwen asked what time she wanted to be woken up. Jordie gave her a time. “But wake me if you receive any news.”
The marshal nodded but made no promises. “Get some more rest.” She pulled the door closed as she went out.
Jordie got back into bed, rolled onto her side, and curled into the fetal position.
What a godawful mess.
By escaping, Josh had set things into motion, but it was unfair to lay her present circumstances entirely at his feet. She was also culpable. When the FBI agents had questioned her six months ago and asked specifically about her relationship with Billy, she should have told them about that cursed trip to Costa Rica. Of course, she hadn’t known then about the funds that Josh had transferred down there to facilitate Panella’s getaway.
She’d also made an egregious mistake by going to that redneck bar on Friday night. When Josh was being taken away and she’d told him, “I’m done,” she should have meant it. She should have ignored the anonymous phone summons.
Instead, she had responded as years of conditioning had trained her to. Old habits weren’t hard to break—they were impossible. Or so it seemed. Josh needed her, so she went running, this time plunging headlong into the appalling situation in which she now found herself. She was under the suspicion of the FBI.
And then there was the conundrum of Shaw Kinnard. Regarding her kidnapper, her heart and her reason were at odds. No, that was inadequate phraseology. She was foundering in an emotional maelstrom.
She’d witnessed him commit cold-blooded murder. Although he hadn’t treated her cruelly, never once had he let her forget that she was his hostage and under threat of death. He had kept her frightened and unsure. Her fate had been at his whim.
The moment I laid eyes on you, your life was spared. Truth? Or just nice words to keep her off balance? She’d been inclined to believe him. She’d wanted to badly, not as a hostage, but as a woman.
And that was the most frightening aspect of the entire experience. That was what had her caught in a whirlpool of conflicting and incomprehensible emotions.
As she’d watched the ambulance speed away with him in shackles, she should have been weak with relief. Instead, all she’d felt was despair. She’d inflicted his wound, but it pained her that he was suffering so terribly. If he lived, he would face harsh punishment for his crimes. Knowing that should have been gratifying. It wasn’t.
The thought of his forbidding face didn’t cause her to shudder with revulsion, as it should have. Instead, she ached to look into it again. Recalling his touch, she didn’t flinch. Rather, she had a bone-deep yearning to be touched again. She didn’t try to erase his kiss from her mind but avariciously clung to the memory of it, deeply regretting that he had limited himself to only one.
She should have been brimming with happiness just for being alive. And she was.
But there was no real joy in it, because of her profound sense of loss over possibilities unrealized.
Chapter 24
