Lifting his face away from hers, he whispered roughly, “I’m going to have you, Jordie.”

Her eyes were still angry, but now also lambent with arousal as she stared into his.

“You know it as well as I do, don’t you?”

Slowly, she nodded.

A knock sounded on the door. “Ms. Bennett?” Hickam said.

Shaw squeezed her lightly before withdrawing his hand. He backed away from her then nudged her aside and opened the door. “She’s ready.”

Before Hick left the suite, Joe reviewed some last-minute details with him. “Got your earpiece in?”

Hick tapped his ear.

“Keep it open. I’ll advise when we get on the elevator.”

“The spare car is parked across the street and about half a block down from the entrance to the garage.” Hick held up the key fob that another agent had delivered to the hotel earlier. “Soon as the SUVs clear the garage, I’ll wheel in there.” He looked over at Shaw Kinnard, who was munching an apple. “When you sent me to fetch Ms. Bennett, he was in the bedroom with her. He opened the door. Steam escaped.”

Before Joe could remark on that, Kinnard approached them. “Sure you don’t want my help?”

“We got it.” Hick lifted the maroon hoodie from off a chair and passed it to him. “Don’t forget this. You don’t want to be recognized and apprehended as you roam the streets tonight.”

Kinnard made his opinion of the blankety-blank fleece furnace clear, but, anchoring the apple between his teeth, he pulled it on.

Hick left, taking the ladies’ bags to stow in the trunk. The marshals went with him to take up their positions in the parking garage.

Kinnard finished his apple and tossed the core into a trash can. “Guess I should shove off.”

“Transportation?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

Joe had no doubt of that.

Kinnard didn’t say good-bye to Jordie but paused at the door of the suite and shot her a telling look before going out. Joe pretended not to notice and walked over to her. “All set, Ms. Bennett?”

“Did you tell him about Costa Rica?”

“Who, Kinnard?”

“Did you?”

“He needed to know, especially now that it appears Panella isn’t in a distant land after all.” He paused, then asked, “Are you afraid he’ll retaliate?”

“He can’t. He’s a federal agent.”

Joe waited a second then said drily, “I was referring to Panella.”

“Oh.”

While the egg was still congealing on Jordie’s face, Gwen, who’d been on her cell phone, quickly clicked off. “They’re ready downstairs.”

The three of them left the suite and walked along the corridor to the elevator that provided hotel guests direct access to the parking garage. Joe, speaking into the mike on his lapel, communicated to all officers involved that they were on their way.

No one said anything as they rode the elevator down, but Joe covertly studied Jordie’s reflection in the brass door. Her expression was thoughtful, her brow slightly furrowed. He wondered what, exactly, had made her so contemplative.

Maybe it was concern over Kinnard knowing about her romantic getaway with Panella, whom he had sworn to either put away or blow away. Meanwhile, she and Kinnard were steaming up bedrooms. Strange dynamics for a budding romance.

He’d called Marsha earlier to tell her that he would be late—again. He recapped everything that had happened in Tobias and shocked her with their discovery about Shaw Kinnard.

“He’s good. Fooled Jordie Bennett. The rest of us, too. Hick almost shot him.”

“What’s he like?”

“Like?”

“As a person.”

Joe hem-hawed a description, circled the wagons, backtracked, tried again. Marsha interrupted and asked, “Is he Maverick, Iceman, or Goose?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Which is he?”

“I don’t know, Marsha. He’s—”

“Of the three.”

“Then Iceman.”

“Okay.”

Before hanging up, he’d asked, “Which am I?”

“Goose. Definitely.”

A slightly disappointing answer.

When the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, the two young marshals were there to greet them. One held up a hand. “Hold tight. SUVs are rolling.”

Through the open elevator door, Joe watched the three vehicles whiz past. They looked intimidating and official with darkly tinted windows and flashing lights in their tricked-out grilles. After a few moments, one of the marshals said, “SUVs are clear of the garage. Motorcycle cops are opening up the street.”

“Okay, Hick, we’re good to go,” Joe said into his mike.

Then, one of the marshals said, “Hold it. We’ve got a clown at three o’clock.”

Gwen backed Jordie into the corner of the elevator. Joe whispered for Hick to wait, drew his weapon, and peered around the open door toward the street entrance where the “clown” was strolling in on foot. Undeterred by the automated red-and-white-striped arm at the ticket dispenser, he went around it without breaking stride.

He had on a maroon hoodie, sunglasses with blue lenses, several strands of Mardi Gras beads, and was laughing into the cell phone held against his ear.

“Shit.” One of the marshals relaxed his obvious tension. “It’s Kinnard.”

No sooner had he recognized Kinnard than an undercover policeman and a man in uniform rushed into the garage. “He’s ours,” the marshal called out to them. “We got it covered in here.” They waved and retreated.

“Good to go, Hick,” Joe said into the mike.

Kinnard dropped the pretense and pocketed his cell phone. He pushed back the hood and pulled off the sunglasses as he approached the elevator.

Joe said, “You’re screwing the plan.”

“Bad plan. Where’s Jordie?”

Joe motioned into the elevator. Coming abreast of it, Kinnard looked inside and acknowledged her with a nod, then asked Joe, “Where’s Hickam?”

“On his way. You have an alternate plan?”

“You ride shotgun. Gwen and I will flank Jordie in the backseat.” He looked toward the entrance. “If I waltzed in here, Panella can.”