“What’s option two?” Panella asked.

“I walk away from this whole friggin’ mess. You won’t know if she’s alive and in the bosom of the FBI, or buried where you’ll never find her.”

“If you walk away, you get nothing for your trouble.”

“True. But neither do you. And here’s why that would be consequential. First you lose sleep, wondering what happened with Jordie.”

“I don’t care that much.”

“Bullshit, you don’t. Because without his sister as a pawn, Josh will make good on his escape and retrieve the money. Because you ain’t got it.”

“You say.”

“I say because, if you did, none of this would matter to you. We wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Panella didn’t respond.

“If Josh gets away,” Shaw continued, “he’ll collect the money and live to a ripe old age in a distant land, enjoying the grand lifestyle that you envisioned for yourself. If he’s recaptured, he’ll be locked behind bars forever with the key thrown away, and the money will molder till doomsday because he’ll never tell you where it is. Either way, you wind up with only your dick in your hand.”

He let all that sink in, then said, “Better choice, Panella. Agree to my current asking price. Jordie dies. Josh surfaces. You gain another opportunity to get your revenge on him, plus a shot at finding where he hid your money.”

The only sound coming through the phone now was heavy breathing amplified by the electrolarynx. He was thinking it over. Finally he said, “I warned Josh that if he ever screwed me over, I’d kill him, but not before killing his sister first. That rat needs reminding that I always make good on my promises. Jordie coming through this alive is not an option.”

Shaw’s gut clenched. It was difficult, but he held her gaze as he said, “Understood.”

“Okay then,” Panella said. “Get at it and call me when it’s done.”

“We haven’t come to terms yet.”

“Five hundred thousand.”

“Two million. Have a nice day.”

After Shaw clicked off, he continued looking at Jordie for a beat or two, then turned away from her and concentrated on removing the battery from Mickey’s phone. He put the phone in one front pocket of his jeans, the battery in the other.

Jordie moved around to stand facing him. “Two million dollars?”

“You think it’s too much or not enough?”

“He still wants you to kill me?”

He sidestepped her and walked around the car to the trunk and took out a bottle of water. He twisted off the top, poured half the bottle over his face, then drank the rest.

She knocked the empty plastic bottle out of his hand. “Answer me.”

He looked down at the bottle that had landed and rolled, coming to a stop against the toe of his right boot. Then he raised his gaze back to hers. He wanted to strangle her, and at that moment he would have happily done it for nothing.

He went to the backseat door of the car, which was still standing open. “Get in. Lie down.”

“Why?”

“Get in and lie down.”

“Or what?”

He stormed back to her, grabbed her hand, and dragged her toward the open door.

She tried to wrest her hand free. “You said you didn’t want to hurt me.”

“I won’t. Believe me, when I pop you, you won’t feel it.”

When they reached the door, she kicked it shut, which made him even more furious. They wrestled, although it was never any real contest. He easily backed her against the car door, her hands sandwiched between it and her butt. He held her there by pressing his body flush with hers.

“You had better hope Panella says no to my terms.”

“You’re not going to kill me or you would have already.”

“For two million dollars—”

“Not for any amount,” she retorted. “I don’t think you will.”

“You know I will. You’ve seen me in action. Mickey? Not my first. Not even my first this week.” Her eyes widened fractionally. “Oh, yeah, Jordie. Tuesday night, I left two dead in Mexico before beating it to New Orleans. So don’t delude yourself.”

She swallowed. Blue eyes that had been throwing daggers moments ago now filled with misgiving. He felt her literally going softer against him as her resistance ebbed.

To impress upon her his point, he squeezed her shoulders tighter. “I did Mickey without a blink. The two in Mexico? A snap. Didn’t even stop to think about it.”

“You’ve stopped to think about me.”

“Not really.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

He stared into her defiant eyes, then lowered his gaze to her shoulder where her bra strap had slipped from the armhole of her top onto her upper arm. He slid two fingers beneath the strap, the backs of his fingers brushing her skin. It was warm and as smooth as the satin strip he rubbed between his fingers and thumb.

When he slid the strap up and replaced it inside her top, he didn’t immediately pull his fingers from underneath it, but kept them there and ran them back and forth across her shoulder, once, twice, watching as his knuckles slid along her skin, the softest of it being that patch in front where arm and chest were adjoined.

His hand stilled there, then he pulled his fingers from under the satin and lowered his hand. His eyes moved to hers and held before he abruptly stepped back and turned away, saying roughly, “You’d be my first woman.”

Chapter 13

You’d be my first woman.

He spoke in a rumble that was barely audible, but if he’d shouted the words, they would have had no less effect. They caused a catch in her breath and a little flutter of optimism around her heart. For one or two seconds, she let herself hope that her gender would be a deterrent, a deal breaker between him and Panella.

But that ray of hope was extinguished by his glower. Actually he seemed angrier now than before, possibly at himself for revealing his human side.

He took another bottle of water from the car trunk and twisted off the cap. “Drink this, or I swear I’ll pour it down your throat.”

He thrust the bottle at her in such a way that she either had to catch it against her chest or let it drop, and she didn’t dare. Not after he’d looked ready to kill her on the spot when she’d knocked the empty bottle out of his hand and onto the floor.