“The call came in on one of the many cell phones we found in Josh’s house. I asked the banker if he’d ever spoken to Jordan Bennett personally. No, he said. He’d never had the pleasure of dealing directly with that gentleman. He’d assumed Jordan Bennett was male.”
“Does that let me off the hook, then? You no longer suspect me of collaborating with Josh and Panella?”
“Your participation in the Costa Rican scam will be reviewed, but I don’t believe you’ll face charges, especially if you agree to assist us.”
“Assist you?”
“This case has been a multilayered tangle and will continue to be. We still don’t know everything Josh and Panella did jointly and separately to try and screw not only their clients but each other. Things like those Malaysian accounts could come to light off and on for years.”
“Years?”
That was a dismal thought. Had she been so naïve as to think that with the discovery of Panella’s body and Josh’s death, the case would be over, sealed, and forgotten? When she was released from the hospital, the media would be all over her. She intended to ask Adrian Dover to be her spokesperson and release a public statement that hopefully would satisfy them, but she doubted it would.
She also faced the grim duty of seeing that Josh’s ashes were interred. He should be placed with their parents, she supposed, although she had no idea whether or not that would have been his wish.
And, it seemed, she would be cooperating with and even contributing to the government’s ongoing investigation. It was little enough for her to do in recompense for her brother’s crimes. Civic duty demanded it. She also felt a moral obligation. “Possibly I can help restore some of the losses to Josh’s victims.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t restore what she most wished she could: Shaw’s parents.
Wiley nodded, but uncomfortably shifted his stance again. “As to your personal loss, Ms. Bennett, I’m sorry it ended the way it did.”
“I’m not.” Seeing his surprise, she smiled wistfully. “Before you start thinking what a wretched person I am, let me explain. I mourn my brother’s life far more than I do his death. What other outcome would have been better or more merciful?
“The indignity of a trial where he would be on constant display, gaped at? Years spent in prison where he would be subjected to God knows what kind of cruelty? No, Agent Wiley, that would have been torture of the worst sort. When I pulled that trigger, I wasn’t saving myself. I was saving Josh. I can’t mourn that his torment has ended.”
“The torment he caused you is over, too. You must feel freed.”
“I do. Actually what grieves me most,” she said, her voice cracking, “is that I don’t grieve him. That makes me truly sorrowful. For both of us.”
His look of compassion and understanding touched her deeply and brought tears to her eyes.
Discomfitted by them, he coughed. “Well, I’ll leave you to get some rest. You’ve got my number if you need anything.” He turned and headed for the door.
“Agent Wiley?”
He stopped and turned but had trouble meeting her gaze. When he finally did and saw the unspoken question there, he heaved a sigh and shook his head. “I don’t know, Jordie,” he said, using her given name for the first time. “He pulled a lot of stitches and was brought here to be stitched up again, then came to the office last night and filled out all the required paperwork. I stepped out to grab a coffee. When I came back, he was gone. Nobody’s seen him since.”
She pressed her head into the pillow and closed her eyes. “Nobody will.”
Epilogue
Three months later
Jordie and her Extravaganza staff celebrated the transfer of ownership.
The party commenced at four o’clock when they presented her with a crystal-studded Mardi Gras mask as a going-away gift. They ate canapes. They raised toasts. They said their collective and individual good-byes and swapped promises to stay in close touch.
At five o’clock, she called an end to the farewell party before it became maudlin. “My last official act as boss—former boss—is to send you all home. I’ll turn out the lights and lock the door when I leave.”
They must have sensed that she wanted to spend a few moments alone in the space in which she’d built her business. One by one, they hugged her and left. Her personal assistant was the last to go. As she swiped at her tearful eyes, she said, “As we were uncorking the champagne, a package was delivered to you. Probably from a grateful client. I left it on your desk.”
When Jordie was alone, she went into her private office. All her personal things had been packed and removed already, but the space was still so familiar. She listened to the whistle in the AC vent and noted that the crack in the floor tile was the same length it had been the day she moved in. The window blind had never hung straight, no matter how often she’d tried to balance it. She would look back on these imperfections with fondness.
For the last time, she sat in her desk chair. She reached for the FedEx envelope, opened it, and dumped out the contents.
A heap of camouflage-print bandanas landed on her desktop.
“They come twelve to a pack.”
He was standing in the open doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb, dressed very much as she’d seen him the first time. The pearl snaps on his shirt winked in the late-afternoon sunlight coming through the window with the crooked blind.