“He could have been talking to him from anywhere in the world. Switzerland. Kathmandu. South America.”

“Could have.” Two vertical furrows appeared between his brows. “But if Panella was in South America with thirty million at his disposal, he would be lounging on a beach, getting blown by dusky girls in thong bikinis, and the furthest thing from his mind would be the sister of his moneyman who turned snitch.

“If Panella had access to the money, he would have severed all ties with the good ol’ U.S. of A. and everybody in it. Instead, the man’s obsessed. He didn’t want you leaving that bar alive, and I predict he’ll go apeshit when I inform that you ain’t dead. Now why would he care so much?

“He’s also paranoid as hell,” he continued. “Mickey said he uses one of those voice synthesizer things to garble his speech. If he was in Switzerland or Kathmandu, why’s he bothering to disguise his voice? See where I’m going with this, Jordie? If he was languishing somewhere, using hundred-dollar bills to light his cigars, he wouldn’t give a flying fuck that Josh had gone aground. Instead, Josh’s flight last Tuesday made him angry and antsy and mean.”

She tried not to reveal how uneasy she became over the thought of Panella being angry, antsy, and mean. It didn’t bode well for her or Josh. “How did he even find out that Josh had escaped? There’s been nothing on the news about it.”

“You can bet the FBI are good and pissed off that their star witness welshed on the deal, but they’re not gonna go on TV and broadcast that they let a bean counter slip through their fingers.”

“Then how did Panella hear about it?”

“I asked Mickey that. He claimed not to know, and maybe he didn’t. I’m guessing that Panella has moles in law enforcement. He had to have had help getting away. Fake IDs. Private aircraft. He could spread around a lot of graft with thirty mil.”

“You said he didn’t have it.”

“Not the jackpot, but he would have kept a million or two handy to cover expenses.”

“Like your retainer.”

“Yeah, like that. Two hundred grand, minimum.” He placed his hands over his knees and bent at the waist to bring them to eye level. “But you don’t have to worry about me icing you if you’ll tell me where your brother is.”

“We’re back to that?”

“Where is he, Jordie?”

“How much clearer can I make it? I. Don’t. Know.”

“Do yourself a favor. Don’t hold out on me.”

“I’m not.”

“Four days and Josh hasn’t made contact with you in some way, shape, or form?”

“No.”

“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.

“Where are the kids?”

“Upstairs. Molly is in the tub. Henry is dressed and ready. He’s in his room playing a video game.”

“They okay?”

“They had a knock-down, drag-out this morning over whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher.”

“Who won?”

“I did.”

Joe smiled as he pulled a chair from beneath the dining table and dropped into it. “How was Top Gun?”

“Goose dies every time.”

“The wine?”

“Maybe I should have splurged on an eight-dollar bottle.”

“Anything’s drinkable with popcorn.”

“I skipped the double butter. I’m getting fat.”