Kinnard nodded at the paramedic, but his gaze had moved beyond him and connected with Joe’s. He looked him up and down and gave a derisive snort. “I didn’t know the FBI was so hard up.”

Joe smiled. “I caught them on a slow day.”

“Must have. They actually issued you a weapon?”

Joe turned his back and raised his rain slicker to reveal the holster, where he’d replaced his nine-millimeter.

When he came back around, Kinnard asked, “You ever actually fired it?”

“Practice range.” When Kinnard registered his scornful opinion of that, Joe added, “At least I never got stabbed with a broken boat part. By a girl.” He paused, then added, “’Course, a man who takes money to kill a woman doesn’t have any balls.”

Kinnard gave another snuffle of contempt and closed his eyes.

Not to be ignored, Joe nudged the sole of his cowboy boot. “Whose phone is this?”

Kinnard opened his eyes, looked at the evidence bag Joe was holding up to him, then closed his eyes again. “Get fucked.”

“If I call the last caller, who am I gonna reach?”

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“Okay, be a smart-ass. It’s not my shit being pumped through my system. It’s not me who’ll be charged with kidnapping and three homicides.” When Kinnard’s slitted eyes opened wider, Joe said, “Two dead guys in Mexico. One dead Mickey Bolden. An abduction. You’ve had a busy week. And on account of it, my personal life was put in time-out. When I finally do go home, I look forward to getting fucked.” Joe leaned down, smiled, and whispered, “You already are.”

Chapter 22

Joe ushered Jordie Bennett to his and Hick’s car and helped her into the backseat. He asked again if she was all right, if she needed anything, but she responded to those inquiries with head movements.

They covered the half mile to the main road in silence. Joe saluted the state trooper he’d spoken to earlier as they drove past, and now Hick aimed them toward New Orleans. He wasn’t as intent on his driving as before, because the sun had come up and, although the day was gray, the deluge had slowed to a manageable drizzle.

Speaking for the first time, Jordie asked, “Will he be all right?”

Before turning to address her question, Joe caught the meaningful look Hick cast him out of the corner of his eye. “Are you referring to Shaw Kinnard, Ms. Bennett?”

She nodded.

Joe had conferred with one of the paramedics before they’d sped away with Kinnard secured in the ambulance. Deputy Morrow had gone with them. “I was told that he’s stable, which is about all they could tell of his condition till a surgeon gets in there and takes a look. A trauma team is standing by.”

“In New Orleans?”

“Houma.” Seeing her doubtful expression, he added, “Nearest one.”

She turned her head aside and looked out the rain-streaked backseat window.

“Did Kinnard mistreat you, Ms. Bennett?”

Her head shake indicated that he hadn’t.

“I noticed the marks on your wrists.”

She rubbed the left one with her right hand. “He kept them bound in those plastic things.”

“Flexcuffs?”

“He kept them on me that whole first night, except to let me go to the bathroom. He gave me more freedom after we got to the garage.”

“When was that?”

“Yesterday. Sometime in the morning. We’d driven all night.”

“You didn’t cover very much ground.”

“I guessed as much. Once he took the blindfold off, and I—”

“He blindfolded you?”

“For a while.”

“Why’d he go to that particular place?”

“He didn’t say.” After a beat, she turned her head away from the window and toward Joe. “Maybe he should be taken by CareFlight to a major hospital in New Orleans.”

“He’s a survivor. Been in a lot of scrapes.”

“Yes. That scar on his chin…”

Hick cut Joe another look, which he pretended not to notice. “Right. That scar helped identify him. He has a history of violence. You’re lucky to be alive, and, frankly, your concern for his welfare is misplaced. If you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Well, I do mind you saying so,” she snapped. “I could have killed him.”

“Wasn’t that what you had in mind when you stabbed him?”

“Yes. No. I…I don’t know.” The starch going out of her, she rubbed her eye sockets then turned back to the window. “I reacted out of fear for my life. But when I attacked him, I didn’t wish him to die, and still don’t.”

Joe stalled by coughing behind his fist. Finally he said, “You’re more forgiving than I’d be in your situation. I’m relieved and grateful he didn’t kill you outright. I was afraid we’d find your remains, not you.”

“I feared that, too. At first. But then he kept putting off killing me, and I began thinking that he couldn’t do it.”

“Even though he’d killed Mickey Bolden directly in front of you.”

“I grant you, that was horrendous.”

“Most of the blood on your clothes must be Kinnard’s because it’s fresh. But some of those stains aren’t that recent. Bolden’s?”

She glanced down at her front, closed her eyes briefly, and murmured, “He washed it off my face.”

“Come again?”

“I don’t remember it. I was still unconscious.”

“He knocked you unconscious?”

“I don’t remember that, either. He told me later. A tap, he said. When he stopped to switch license plates, he washed the blood spatters off my face.”

Joe and Hick exchanged another look, then Joe settled more comfortably into his front seat. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, Ms. Bennett. Why don’t we pass the time by you talking Agent Hickam and me through the past thirty-six hours, minute by minute. You don’t mind if I take notes, do you?” He held up Hick’s iPad, and she shook her head.

“Okay then…” Joe opened up a word processing app. “What were you doing in the bar? Why’d you go there Friday night?”