“Panella?”
“Of course Panella! Who do you think?”
“Please calm down. Tell me where you are. I’ll come—”
“No!”
“Josh, you cannot outrun the authorities.”
“I already have. I’m not worried about them. It’s Panella. You know what I think?” Without waiting for her to answer, he rushed on. “I don’t think he ever left the country. I think he’s been lurking around, waiting for me to—”
“—to do something crazy like leave the government’s protection?”
“I knew it! I knew you’d side with them.”
“Dammit, Josh, I’m on your side.”
“And you’re probably mad because I told Wiley about Costa Rica. I had to, Jordie. I didn’t say anything bad about you. Only that you went with Panella.”
She refrained from pointing out how damaging even that much might be. It also occurred to her that even though this was the first time they’d spoken in six months, Josh hadn’t asked after her welfare. Knowing full well the ordeal she’d suffered this week because of him, he hadn’t apologized or expressed concern over her situation. She wouldn’t have expected him to. Nevertheless, it hurt.
As evenly as possible, she said, “If you want my help you have to tell me where you are.”
“No way. Panella’s close. I can feel him. He’s probably watching you. If I told you where I am, you’d lead him right to me. He’ll never give up. I know him. He won’t stop looking for me till I’m dead.”
“That’s paranoia talking, Josh. Billy Panella is thousands of miles away.”
“No. He’s here. He killed that guy last night.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No it’s not.”
She envisioned him shaking his head in the manner of an obstinate child, red-faced and unyielding, impossible to reason with.
“That dumb redneck interfered with Panella’s plan to have you killed. Worse, he was shooting off his mouth about it last night. The bartender said he took credit for you being alive. To Panella that would be a personal affront. He wouldn’t let that slide.”
On the television, a news reporter was trying to get a sound bite from Deputy Morrow, whom she recognized from her rescue the day before. He was pushing his way through a throng, saying nothing except, “No comment at this time.”
The undaunted reporter turned to the camera and said, “Although authorities are reluctant to disclose details of the homicide, unnamed sources have told our newsroom that Royce Sherman was killed execution style with a single gunshot.”
Beginning to worm through Jordie was a suspicion that Josh’s ranting wasn’t so farfetched after all. What he was saying came uncomfortably close to Shaw’s warning. You can’t protect your brother from Panella.
Nevertheless, she hastily dismissed the possibility that Panella was nearby and doing his own killing rather than hiring professionals. That was too frightening a thought to entertain.
Besides, whenever her brother was having a meltdown of this caliber, one of them had to remain calm and rational. She said, “For the sake of argument, let’s say that Panella never left the United States. Why would he care about a smart-aleck bragging about his encounter with me? He would have much more important things to worry about.”
“That’s right. He does. Me! He’s got me to worry about. That’s what I’m trying to tell you! He’s going to kill me.”
“If you’re that afraid of him, Josh, turn yourself in.”
“They’ll put me in prison and throw away the key.”
“Well, which are you more afraid of?” she asked angrily. “Prison or Billy Panella?” She could just see him worrying the corner of his lip between his teeth. At least he was no longer screeching. She reigned in her own temper and switched to a cajoling tone.
“You’ve placed yourself in a no-win situation, Josh. You played both ends against the middle and lost, leaving you only two choices. Turn yourself in, or continue living in fear of Panella until either he or a hired assassin ferrets you out. Clearly, your best option is to surrender yourself to the authorities.”
“And be punished for things that aren’t my fault.”