Sting

“—and invoked Josh’s name to get you there.”

She put her fingertips to her temples and massaged them. “I don’t think it was Panella, but I suppose it’s possible.”

“If you loathe him, why would you heed his summons?”

“I didn’t. I…I…”

“My client is declining to answer,” Adrian said.

Hickam persisted. “If it wasn’t Panella, it was your brother.”

“I don’t believe it was Josh, but I can’t be certain.”

“You went there to aid and abet one of them, Ms. Bennett.”

Adrian Dover said, “Do not respond.”

“Who did you expect to be there waiting for you?” Hickam asked. “Panella?”

“No.”

“Then your brother.”

“No.” She shook her head in confusion. “Possibly. I don’t know.”

Adrian was pressing her arm, demanding that she say nothing more.

Hickam leaned across the table again and thumped it with his fist. “Not Panella. Not Josh. Then who? Tell us. Who called you?”

“I did.”

At the sound of the new voice in the room, four pairs of eyes swung toward the door. There stood Shaw Kinnard.

Chapter 26

Jordie and Joe Wiley lurched out of their chairs. Jordie’s tipped over backward.

But Wiley’s partner moved faster than anyone. In under a second his pistol was drawn and aimed at the bridge of Shaw’s nose, his finger on the trigger.

Behind Shaw, Xavier Dupaw shouted, “Don’t shoot! He’s one of you. FBI. Special Agent Shaw Kinnard.”

Shaw’s focus remained on Jordie’s wide, incredulous gaze, but in his peripheral vision he saw that the woman sitting in the chair next to her was blinking rapidly. Joe Wiley mouthed several profanities and looked like he wanted to drive his fist through a wall.

The guy with the nine-millimeter acted like he hadn’t heard the disclaimer. He still had a bead on Shaw’s forehead.

Shaw didn’t move except to cut his eyes over to him. “Want to lower that?”

“Not really.”

The prosecutor edged around Shaw and entered the room, chortling, “You should see your faces. I guess we pulled it off.”

Shaw watched Jordie’s lips part in disbelief. Or disillusionment, maybe. In a barely audible voice, she said, “You’re an FBI agent?”

“Guilty.”

With obvious reluctance the black agent lowered his pistol. “You son of a bitch. I almost shot you.”

Shaw turned his head and sized him up. “I don’t like you all that much, either.”