Sting

“Message in a bottle, smoke signal, disappearing ink?”

She didn’t honor that with a response.

Moving in closer, he whispered, “Why were you in that bar?”

Her heart lurched. He hadn’t let go of that, damn him. Not trusting herself to speak calmly, she didn’t say anything.

He flashed a wicked grin. “You went there expecting to find Josh, didn’t you?”

She turned her head aside. He followed with his, and when she turned away again, he trapped her face between his hands. “Did Mickey and I spoil a touching family reunion?”

She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see the ruthless determination in his. Also to prevent him from reading any giveaways in hers.

“Where is your brother, Jordie?”

She rolled her lips inward, refusing to answer.

“Be smart and tell me. Panella will pay me to kill you. Josh will pay me not to.”

“You’ll kill me regardless.”

“I won’t. Cross my heart.”

His mocking tone angered her. She gripped his wrists, digging her nails into the skin on the undersides.

“Stop that! I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want to hurt you.”

“It hurts like hell.”

“Then let me go!”

“I will as soon as you tell me where to find your brother.”

“I can’t,” she said, straining the words through clenched teeth. “I don’t know.”

“Last chance. I won’t ask again. Tell me, or you leave me no choice but to follow through with Panella. ’Cause I put a lot of time and effort into getting this job. It’s boosted me to the top of the pay grade. No way in hell am I walking away empty-handed.”

She opened her eyes to gauge his resolve, and what she saw chilled her. She figured she had just as well call his bluff. “Then I guess you’ll just have to kill me.”

They stared into each other’s eyes—each as unyielding as the other—until the cell phone inside his shirt pocket rang.

Chapter 12

Joe entered his house through the kitchen door, slid the folder he’d brought from the office onto the table, then tiredly removed his wrinkled jacket and hung it on the designated hook adjacent to the door. He placed his shoulder holster on top of the hutch out of the kids’ reach.

“Anybody home?” He opened the fridge and decided on orange juice.

Marsha caught him drinking straight from the carton. “The kids know better than to do that.”

“They know better than to get caught.” He drained the carton and set it on the counter beside a large pumpkin. “What’s that?”

“It’s called a pumpkin.”

Joe shot her a look.

“For the carnival. I have to draw a face on it.” She held up the black marker she’d brought with her into the kitchen.