Sting

Kinnard opened his eyes, looked at the evidence bag Joe was holding up to him, then closed his eyes again. “Get fucked.”

“If I call the last caller, who am I gonna reach?”

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“Okay, be a smart-ass. It’s not my shit being pumped through my system. It’s not me who’ll be charged with kidnapping and three homicides.” When Kinnard’s slitted eyes opened wider, Joe said, “Two dead guys in Mexico. One dead Mickey Bolden. An abduction. You’ve had a busy week. And on account of it, my personal life was put in time-out. When I finally do go home, I look forward to getting fucked.” Joe leaned down, smiled, and whispered, “You already are.”

Chapter 22

Joe ushered Jordie Bennett to his and Hick’s car and helped her into the backseat. He asked again if she was all right, if she needed anything, but she responded to those inquiries with head movements.

They covered the half mile to the main road in silence. Joe saluted the state trooper he’d spoken to earlier as they drove past, and now Hick aimed them toward New Orleans. He wasn’t as intent on his driving as before, because the sun had come up and, although the day was gray, the deluge had slowed to a manageable drizzle.

Speaking for the first time, Jordie asked, “Will he be all right?”

Before turning to address her question, Joe caught the meaningful look Hick cast him out of the corner of his eye. “Are you referring to Shaw Kinnard, Ms. Bennett?”

She nodded.

Joe had conferred with one of the paramedics before they’d sped away with Kinnard secured in the ambulance. Deputy Morrow had gone with them. “I was told that he’s stable, which is about all they could tell of his condition till a surgeon gets in there and takes a look. A trauma team is standing by.”

“In New Orleans?”

“Houma.” Seeing her doubtful expression, he added, “Nearest one.”

She turned her head aside and looked out the rain-streaked backseat window.

“Did Kinnard mistreat you, Ms. Bennett?”

Her head shake indicated that he hadn’t.

“I noticed the marks on your wrists.”

She rubbed the left one with her right hand. “He kept them bound in those plastic things.”

“Flexcuffs?”

“He kept them on me that whole first night, except to let me go to the bathroom. He gave me more freedom after we got to the garage.”

“When was that?”

“Yesterday. Sometime in the morning. We’d driven all night.”

“You didn’t cover very much ground.”

“I guessed as much. Once he took the blindfold off, and I—”

“He blindfolded you?”

“For a while.”

“Why’d he go to that particular place?”

“He didn’t say.” After a beat, she turned her head away from the window and toward Joe. “Maybe he should be taken by CareFlight to a major hospital in New Orleans.”

“He’s a survivor. Been in a lot of scrapes.”

“Yes. That scar on his chin…”