Sting

“No need to. You can’t go anywhere.”

“Fine. I told you, I like it here.”

“Good.” He pulled her closer and slid

his thighs up beneath hers. “And, anyway, you don’t know the combination to the gate lock.”

Morning came.

By the time Shaw finished showering, wrapped a towel around his waist, and went into the living area, Jordie had the coffee made. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said as he took the mug she extended him.

“I didn’t do it for you, I did it for me. I was in desperate need.”

The cleavage above her own towel wrap was a distraction he couldn’t resist. He kissed it, then they touched lips, clinked mugs, and sipped, but Jordie almost sloshed hot coffee over her hand when she recoiled at the sound of the buzzer.

“What in heaven’s name is that?”

“Someone’s at the gate.” He set down his coffee and hurried into the bedroom where he whipped off the towel, jerked on his jeans, and retrieved his nine-millimeter. On his way out, he said to Jordie, “Lock the door behind me, and if anybody except me comes back, call 911.”

He jogged down the stairs until his incision protested, then took the rest of the treads more slowly. As he approached the corner of the building, he stopped and peeked around it toward the street.

Joe Wiley said, “Don’t shoot. But hurry up, let me in.”

Shaw relaxed his gun hand and started down the path toward the gate, buttoning his fly as he went. “Hickam?”

“Holding his own. His aunt’s voodoo must’ve worked. Everybody’s cautiously optimistic.”

“Voodoo?”

“At my request she took the pins out of your dolls.”

“Thanks. I owe you.” Dropping the drollness, he added, “Glad to hear about Hickam. I mean that.”

“I know you do.” Wiley motioned toward the bandage. “How’s it feeling this morning?”

“Okay. But you don’t look so good.”

“Tired as hell. Marsha’s furious. Said I should be home sleeping.”

“This must be important then.” Shaw reached through the iron pickets and dialed the combination, then unlatched the lock. He let Wiley through, then locked it back. “What’s up?”

“She inside?”

“Yes.”

“Under arrest?”

“No. I got her to come clean about Costa Rica.” In three or four concise sentences, he told Wiley about Jordie’s limited participation in the scam. “Panella coerced and threatened her. She didn’t solicit or make a sales pitch. Took nothing from it. The guiltiest aspect of it is her conscience.”

“Okay. I’m willing to shelve that for now and address it later.”

“I figured. What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you together. It’s Josh.”

Shaw stopped in his tracks and shot a worried glance up the exterior staircase before turning to Wiley. “Dead?”

“We don’t know.” Wiley chinned him up. “In any case, you’ve got to put some clothes on.”