Sting

“Turn your head.”

“I can’t see anything when I’m lying down. That’s why you insisted on it, right? So I couldn’t see road signs? The only thing I can see through the window is the sky.”

“Which was fine when it was dark. But now it’s getting light.”

“I won’t be able to see anything.”

“Not if you’re blindfolded. Now turn your head so I can tie this on.”

“You’ll have to force me.”

“Is that what you want?”

She didn’t move.

“Goddammit,” he said under his breath. “It’s been a long night. I’m tired of this crap.”

“I’m tired of you,” she said, her voice cracking. “Why don’t you just get it over with. Panella wouldn’t know when—” She broke off when she realized she had blurted out the name.

It hovered there, a sound wave momentarily trapped between them. Moving slowly, Shaw bent down to bring them eye to eye. “Ooops.” He said it softly but with enough emphasis for her to feel his puff of breath against her face. “Earlier you asked who’d hired Mickey and me to kill you. Why’d you play dumb when you knew it was Billy Panella?”

When she didn’t answer, he pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tipped her head back so she had to look at him directly. “Do you know where he is, Jordie?”

“How would I know?”

“Fucking good question.”

“No one knows. He vanished. No one’s seen or heard from him—”

“Mickey did.”

That momentarily stymied her.

Then she said, “Well, I certainly haven’t. I’d be the last person he would contact.”

“You’re completely in the dark about where he is?”

“Completely.”

“Then why was he willing to pay two hundred grand to put you on ice?”

“You can ask him that when you renegotiate your deal. But if he thinks I know anything about anything, he’s wasting his money to have me killed.”

“What about your brother Josh? Does he know Panella’s whereabouts?”

Her blue eyes were turbulent with anger, frustration, possibly fear, a catalog of strong emotions, but she didn’t verbalize any of them, perhaps fearing that she would make another slip.

He goaded her with a cold grin. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Not at all. I can articulate Go to hell.”

They stared at each other for several moments, then he said, “Interesting.” She didn’t ask him what was interesting, but he continued as though she had. “Yesterday morning as Mickey and I were leaving the city, he pointed out a billboard on the freeway.”

Her face remained impassive.

“The thing couldn’t be missed. ‘Extravaganza’ was spelled out in glittering capital letters, a sparkly firework exploding behind the letter E. And across the bottom of the sign was your name.”

He gave her time to comment. She didn’t.