He scrolled to another page.

“That’s the amount in the account as of this morning. Half a million and change, the change being the interest that’s accrued in the past six months.” He leaned farther forward. “Panella hasn’t touched it. No withdrawals.”

Both he and Hickam were still looking at her expectantly. She raised her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. “He must’ve changed his mind about San Jose. He went someplace else.”

“And left this money there? Does that sound like him to you? Doesn’t sound like him to me. To us. To Josh, who told us while sitting in that chair you’re sitting in now that, although Panella made a show of spending to enhance his reputation as a brilliant moneyman, he kept track of every single cent. Squeezed the copper off every penny. He’d made a science of having his money multiply while he slept. Why would he leave five hundred thou in an account that earns less than one percent interest?”

They waited. She felt the walls closing in and was powerless to stop them. “I have no idea.”

Wiley said, “Only thing we can guess? He plans on keeping it there till he can retrieve it or move it, and the timing just hasn’t been right.”

“I don’t know what he plans,” she said. “I never did.”

“Who called you to that honky tonk last Friday night?”

Again, the switch in tone and subjects momentarily threw her. “I’ve told you repeatedly that I didn’t recognize the voice.”

Wiley leaned toward her. “And all he said was—”

“I quoted it to you exactly. You wrote it down.” She gestured to the iPad now lying on the table.

Hickam picked up. “You’re an intelligent woman, Ms. Bennett. You’ve got common sense. You’re rational. A savvy businesswoman. Yet you expect us to believe that when a man you can’t identify called and told you to rush to a seedy bar out in the sticks, you dropped everything and went tearing out there?”

Adrian Dover intervened. “This is becoming harassment, gentlemen. My client has affirmed several times that she doesn’t know who that caller was.”

“Was it Panella?” Wiley asked.

“No.”

“How do you know it wasn’t?” That from Hickam. “You said you didn’t recognize his voice.”

“I didn’t! He only said a few words and then he was gone.”

“Has Panella been cooling his heels somewhere until you and he could sneak off to—”

“Oh, good God, no!”

Adrian was urging her not to say another word.

Unmindful of her lawyer’s advice she said, “I wouldn’t go anywhere with him.”

“You went to Costa Rica.”

“If I had it to do over, I wouldn’t.”

“Why? What happened down there?”

“Don’t answer,” Adrian said.

“I hated Billy Panella then, and I utterly loathe him now. And the feeling is mutual,” she said, stressing it. “He sent two men to kill me. Have you forgotten that?”

Hickam patted the air between them. “Okay. Right. He had Bolden and Kinnard waiting there for you. He laid a trap.”

She negated that with a shake of her head. “Shaw Kinnard told me that it came as a shock to them when I walked in.”

Hickam scoffed at that. “You believe Kinnard?”

She thought back to all the times he had tricked her with a lie or semitruth, and she’d been gullible enough to believe him. Maybe plan A had been to kill her at that bar.

Hickam didn’t let up. “Panella called you—”

Shaw had said otherwise.

“—and invoked Josh’s name to get you there.”

She put her fingertips to her temples and massaged them. “I don’t think it was Panella, but I suppose it’s possible.”

“If you loathe him, why would you heed his summons?”

“I didn’t. I…I…”

“My client is declining to answer,” Adrian said.

Hickam persisted. “If it wasn’t Panella, it was your brother.”

“I don’t believe it was Josh, but I can’t be certain.”

“You went there to aid and abet one of them, Ms. Bennett.”

Adrian Dover said, “Do not respond.”

“Who did you expect to be there waiting for you?” Hickam asked. “Panella?”

“No.”

“Then your brother.”

“No.” She shook her head in confusion. “Possibly. I don’t know.”

Adrian was pressing her arm, demanding that she say nothing more.

Hickam leaned across the table again and thumped it with his fist. “Not Panella. Not Josh. Then who? Tell us. Who called you?”

“I did.”

At the sound of the new voice in the room, four pairs of eyes swung toward the door. There stood Shaw Kinnard.

Chapter 26

Jordie and Joe Wiley lurched out of their chairs. Jordie’s tipped over backward.

But Wiley’s partner moved faster than anyone. In under a second his pistol was drawn and aimed at the bridge of Shaw’s nose, his finger on the trigger.

Behind Shaw, Xavier Dupaw shouted, “Don’t shoot! He’s one of you. FBI. Special Agent Shaw Kinnard.”

Shaw’s focus remained on Jordie’s wide, incredulous gaze, but in his peripheral vision he saw that the woman sitting in the chair next to her was blinking rapidly. Joe Wiley mouthed several profanities and looked like he wanted to drive his fist through a wall.

The guy with the nine-millimeter acted like he hadn’t heard the disclaimer. He still had a bead on Shaw’s forehead.

Shaw didn’t move except to cut his eyes over to him. “Want to lower that?”

“Not really.”

The prosecutor edged around Shaw and entered the room, chortling, “You should see your faces. I guess we pulled it off.”

Shaw watched Jordie’s lips part in disbelief. Or disillusionment, maybe. In a barely audible voice, she said, “You’re an FBI agent?”

“Guilty.”

With obvious reluctance the black agent lowered his pistol. “You son of a bitch. I almost shot you.”

Shaw turned his head and sized him up. “I don’t like you all that much, either.”